CARRACHO! MYLORD
TO FRANCIS HODGSON, Lisbon, July 16,1809
Thus far have we pursued our route, and seen all sorts of marvellous sights, palaces, convents, etc.;--which, being to be heard in my friend Hobhouse's forthcoming Book of Travels, I shall not anticipate by smuggling any account whatsoever to you in a private and clandestine manner. I must just observe, that the village of Cintra in Estremadura is the most beautiful, perhaps, in the world.
I am very happy here, because I loves oranges, and talks bad Latin to the monks, who understand it, as it is like their own,--and I goes into society (with my pocket-pistols), and I swims in the Tagus all across at once, and I rides on an ass or a mule, and swears Portuguese, and have got a diarrhea and bites from the mosquitoes. But what of that? Comfort must not be expected by folks that go a pleasuring.
When the Portuguese are pertinacious, I say, Carracho!--the great oath of the grandees, that very well supplies the place of 'Damme,'--and, when dissatisfied with my neighbour, I pronounce him Ambra di merdo. With these two phrases, and a third, Avra bouro, which signifieth 'Get an ass,' I am universally understood to be a person of degree and a master of languages. How merrily we lives that travellers be!--if we had food and raiment. But, in sober sadness, any thing is better than England, and I am infinitely amused with my pilgrimage as far as it has gone.
To-morrow we start to ride post near 400 miles as far as Gibraltar, where we embark for Melita and Byzantium. A letter to Malta will find me, or to be forwarded, if I am absent. Pray embrace the Drury and Dwyer, and all the Ephesians you encounter. I am writing with Butler's donative pencil, which makes my bad hand worse. Excuse illegibility.
Hodgson! send me the news, and the deaths and defeats and capital crimes and the misfortunes of one's friends; and let us hear of literary matters, and the controversies and the criticisms. All this will be pleasant--Suave mari magno, etc. Talking of that, I have been sea-sick, and sick of the sea.
Adieu. Yours faithfully, etc.
Comentário: Lord Byron que era coxo, tinha certamente bastante mau ouvido. "Carracho" não existe em português. E transformar o car...nisso... o alho em acho denota cera a mais.
O "Avra bouro" que segundo o surdo Lord significa "get an ass" então é misteriosissimo. Dão-se alvíssaras a quem descobrir o que significa.
Seja como fôr infere-se que o barão além de falar mau latim com os monges, como ele o diz, também falava mau palavrão.
posted by Miguel Drummond de Castro | 20:44
2 Comments:
Sim, mas este material também dá origem a poema (nunca retrair as possibilidades de neologismo quando são os insultos que estão em causa).
Sim Pedro, tem toda razão. Também devo dizer que não sou um fundamentalista da pureza do palavrão. Durante uns tempos, carracho!, vou adoptar carracho.
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