How Bacbuc, the high-priestess, brought Panurge before the Holy Bottle.
There the noble priestess Bacbuc made Panurge stoop and kiss the brink of
the fountain; then bade him rise and dance three ithymbi [‘Dances in the
honour of Bacchus.’--Motteux.). Which done, she ordered him to sit down
between two stools placed there for that purpose, his arse upon the ground.
Then she opened her ceremonial book, and, whispering in his left ear, made
him sing an epileny, inserted here in the figure of the bottle.
Bottle, whose Mysterious Deep
Do’s ten thousand Secrets keep,
With attentive Ear I wait;
Ease my Mind, and speak my Fate.
Soul of Joy! Like Bacchus, we
More than India gain by thee.
Truths unborn thy Juice reveals,
Which Futurity conceals.
Antidote to Frauds and Lies,
Wine, that mounts us to the Skies,
May thy Father Noah’s Brood
Like him drown, but in thy Flood.
Speak, so may the Liquid Mine
Of Rubies, or of Diamonds shine.
Bottle, whose Mysterious Deep
Do’s ten thousand Secrets keep,
With attentive Ear I wait;
Ease my Mind, and speak my Fate.
When Panurge had sung, Bacbuc threw I don’t know what into the fountain,
and straight its water began to boil in good earnest, just for the world as
doth the great monastical pot at Bourgueil when ‘tis high holiday there.
Friend Panurge was listening with one ear, and Bacbuc kneeled by him, when
such a kind of humming was heard out of the Bottle as is made by a swarm of
bees bred in the flesh of a young bull killed and dressed according to
Aristaeus’s art, or such as is made when a bolt flies out of a crossbow, or
when a shower falls on a sudden in summer. Immediately after this was
heard the word Trinc. By cob’s body, cried Panurge, ‘tis broken, or
cracked at least, not to tell a lie for the matter; for even so do crystal
bottles speak in our country when they burst near the fire.
Bacbuc arose, and gently taking Panurge under the arms, said, Friend, offer
your thanks to indulgent heaven, as reason requires. You have soon had the
word of the Goddess-Bottle; and the kindest, most favourable, and certain
word of answer that I ever yet heard her give since I officiated here at
her most sacred oracle. Rise, let us go to the chapter, in whose gloss
that fine word is explained. With all my heart, quoth Panurge; by jingo, I
am just as wise as I was last year. Light, where’s the book? Turn it
over, where’s the chapter? Let’s see this merry gloss.