"Do no blame me," he says, addressing the "gentle doctors of Gaule," as he called them, "if because I would not be found a loyterer in mine own countrie, amongst so many virtuously occupied, I have put my pen to paper: if I have bene busie, labourd, sweat, dropt, studied, devised, fought, bought, borrowed, turned, translated, mined, fined, refined, interlined, glossed, composed, and taken intollerable toil to shew an easie entrance and introduction to my deare countrimen, in your curious and courtesan French tongue, to the end to advance them as much as may bee, in the knowledge of all virtuous and noble qualities, to the which they are all naturally adicted."
He is quite ready to have his book criticised as the work of an Englishman, and challenges these "gentle doctors" "to be ready quickly to cavill at his booke."
"I beseech you," he continues, "heartily calumniate my doings with speede, I request you humbly controll my method as soone as you may, I earnestly entreat you hisse at my inventions, I desire you to peruse my periodicall punctuations, find fault with my pricks, nicks, and tricks, prove them not worth a pin, not a point, not a pish: argue me a fond, foolish, frivolous, and phantasicall author, and persuade every one that you meet, that my booke is a false, fained, slight, confused, absurd, barbarous, lame, imperfect, single, uncertaine, childish, piece of work, and not able to teach and why so? Forsooth because it is not your owne but an Englishman's doing. Faile you not to do so, if you love me, and would have me do the like for you another time."
While admitting that there may be a few good French teachers amongst the refugees, he outlines a picture of the ordinary type which is far from flattering; and we gather that he had himself studied French with several refugees. He implies that the French teachers receive money in advance, and then do nothing else but "take their eases and, as the renowned poet saith,
Saulter, dancer, faire les tours,
Boire vin blanc et vermeil,
Et ne rien faire tous les jours
Que conter escuz au soleil.
Mercurie the god of Cunning, and Dis the Father of French crowns are their deities." They care nothing for the progress of their scholars; all they do is to give them a short lesson of half an hour, in which they read and construe about half a page of French. They are equally indifferent to the troubled state of their country, provided they themselves are comfortable and well provided with French wines.
"Messires, what newes from France, can you tell?" he asks them, "still warres, warres. A heavy hearing truly, yet if you be in good health, have many scholars, get good store of crowns, and drink good wine, I doubt not but you shall do well, and I desire the good God of Heaven to continue it so still. Have they had a fruitful vintage in France this year, or no? me thinks our Bordeaux wines are very deare, and in good faith I am very sorry for it. But they will be at a more reasonable reckoning, if these same loftie Leaguers would once crouch and come to some good composition ... that we may safely fetch their deifying liquer, which dieth quickly our flegmaticke faces into a pure sanguine complexion."
The style of the introduction is maintained throughout the rest of the book. Eliote says he wrote the whole "in a merrie phantasicall vaine to confirme and stir up the wit and memorie of the learner," and "diversified it with a varietie of stories no lesse authenticall than the devices of Lucian's dialogues." He admits that he had turned over some French authors, and where he "espied any pretie example that might quicken the capacitie of the learner," he "presumed to make a peece of it flie this way, to set together the frame of (his) fantasticall comedie ... and out of every one (he) had some share for the better ornament of (his) worke." Eliote was well acquainted with French literature. He considered Marot the best poet, and gave Ronsard the second place only. He also read Du Bartas, Belleau, Desportes, and other sixteenth-century writers. But most of his admiration was reserved for Rabelais, "that merrie grig," and it is clear that he modelled his style on that of the great French humorist. Like Rabelais, he occasionally affects a sort of gibberish, coins words, and, like him also, he strings words together and is fond of exaggeration. Numerous passages in the Ortho-Epia Gallica are reminiscent of famous incidents in Gargantua and Pantagruel. Like Panurge, he defends debts and debtors:
"Quoy! Debtes! O chose rare et antiquaire. Il n'est bon chrestien qui ne doibt rien," and, in the style of Rabelais, he assures us that his book contains "profound and deep mysteries, ... and very worthie the reading, and such as I thinke you have not had performed in any other book that is yet extant.... Doest thou see what a sea, what a gulfe there is? Thou hadst need of Theseus' thread to guide thee out of that Labyrinth."
The Ortho-Epia Gallica forms a striking contrast to Palsgrave's rather austere Esclarcissement, the last work on the JOHN ELIOTEFrench language composed by an Englishman before that of Eliote. The dialogues occupy nearly the whole volume. The first few pages, however, contain a table of French sounds with their pseudo-English equivalents. The pronunciation was, in Eliote's opinion, one of the chief difficulties of this difficult language, "deemed a jewel, so dearly bought, and so much desired by all"; and he considered that, with the help of Ramus and Peletier for the pronunciation, he had succeeded in reducing "the gulf of difficulties into a small stream" by "sounding the French by our English alphabet."