



Produced by Sue Asscher and David Widger





MASTER FRANCIS RABELAIS


FIVE BOOKS OF THE LIVES, HEROIC DEEDS AND SAYINGS OF

GARGANTUA AND HIS SON PANTAGRUEL


[Illustration: He Did Cry Like a Cow--frontispiece]


[Illustration: titlepage]


Translated into English by

Sir Thomas Urquhart of Cromarty

and

Peter Antony Motteux




The text of the first Two Books of Rabelais has been reprinted from the
first edition (1653) of Urquhart's translation.  Footnotes initialled 'M.'
are drawn from the Maitland Club edition (1838); other footnotes are by the
translator.  Urquhart's translation of Book III. appeared posthumously in
1693, with a new edition of Books I. and II., under Motteux's editorship.
Motteux's rendering of Books IV. and V. followed in 1708.  Occasionally (as
the footnotes indicate) passages omitted by Motteux have been restored from
the 1738 copy edited by Ozell.


[Illustration: Rabelais Dissecting Society--portrait2]




CONTENTS.




[Illustration: Francois Rabelais--portrait]


Introduction.

Had Rabelais never written his strange and marvellous romance, no one would
ever have imagined the possibility of its production.  It stands outside
other things--a mixture of mad mirth and gravity, of folly and reason, of
childishness and grandeur, of the commonplace and the out-of-the-way, of
popular verve and polished humanism, of mother-wit and learning, of
baseness and nobility, of personalities and broad generalization, of the
comic and the serious, of the impossible and the familiar.  Throughout the
whole there is such a force of life and thought, such a power of good
sense, a kind of assurance so authoritative, that he takes rank with the
greatest; and his peers are not many.  You may like him or not, may attack
him or sing his praises, but you cannot ignore him.  He is of those that
die hard.  Be as fastidious as you will; make up your mind to recognize
only those who are, without any manner of doubt, beyond and above all
others; however few the names you keep, Rabelais' will always remain.

We may know his work, may know it well, and admire it more every time we
read it.  After being amused by it, after having enjoyed it, we may return
again to study it and to enter more fully into its meaning.  Yet there is
no possibility of knowing his own life in the same fashion.  In spite of
all the efforts, often successful, that have been made to throw light on
it, to bring forward a fresh document, or some obscure mention in a
forgotten book, to add some little fact, to fix a date more precisely, it
remains nevertheless full of uncertainty and of gaps.  Besides, it has been
burdened and sullied by all kinds of wearisome stories and foolish
anecdotes, so that really there is more to weed out than to add.

This injustice, at first wilful, had its rise in the sixteenth century, in
the furious attacks of a monk of Fontevrault, Gabriel de Puy-Herbault, who
seems to have drawn his conclusions concerning the author from the book,
and, more especially, in the regrettable satirical epitaph of Ronsard,
piqued, it is said, that the Guises had given him only a little pavillon in
the Forest of Meudon, whereas the presbytery was close to the chateau.
From that time legend has fastened on Rabelais, has completely travestied
him, till, bit by bit, it has made of him a buffoon, a veritable clown, a
vagrant, a glutton, and a drunkard.

The likeness of his person has undergone a similar metamorphosis.  He has
been credited with a full moon of a face, the rubicund nose of an
incorrigible toper, and thick coarse lips always apart because always
laughing.  The picture would have surprised his friends no less than
himself.  There have been portraits painted of Rabelais; I have seen many
such.  They are all of the seventeenth century, and the greater number are
conceived in this jovial and popular style.

As a matter of fact there is only one portrait of him that counts, that has
more than the merest chance of being authentic, the one in the Chronologie
collee or coupee.  Under this double name is known and cited a large sheet
divided by lines and cross lines into little squares, containing about a
hundred heads of illustrious Frenchmen.  This sheet was stuck on pasteboard
for hanging on the wall, and was cut in little pieces, so that the
portraits might be sold separately.  The majority of the portraits are of
known persons and can therefore be verified.  Now it can be seen that these
have been selected with care, and taken from the most authentic sources;
from statues, busts, medals, even stained glass, for the persons of most
distinction, from earlier engravings for the others.  Moreover, those of
which no other copies exist, and which are therefore the most valuable,
have each an individuality very distinct, in the features, the hair, the
beard, as well as in the costume.  Not one of them is like another.  There
has been no tampering with them, no forgery.  On the contrary, there is in
each a difference, a very marked personality.  Leonard Gaultier, who
published this engraving towards the end of the sixteenth century,
reproduced a great many portraits besides from chalk drawings, in the style
of his master, Thomas de Leu.  It must have been such drawings that were
the originals of those portraits which he alone has issued, and which may
therefore be as authentic and reliable as the others whose correctness we
are in a position to verify.

Now Rabelais has here nothing of the Roger Bontemps of low degree about
him.  His features are strong, vigorously cut, and furrowed with deep
wrinkles; his beard is short and scanty; his cheeks are thin and already
worn-looking.  On his head he wears the square cap of the doctors and the
clerks, and his dominant expression, somewhat rigid and severe, is that of
a physician and a scholar.  And this is the only portrait to which we need
attach any importance.

This is not the place for a detailed biography, nor for an exhaustive
study.  At most this introduction will serve as a framework on which to fix
a few certain dates, to hang some general observations.  The date of
Rabelais' birth is very doubtful.  For long it was placed as far back as
1483:  now scholars are disposed to put it forward to about 1495.  The
reason, a good one, is that all those whom he has mentioned as his friends,
or in any real sense his contemporaries, were born at the very end of the
fifteenth century.  And, indeed, it is in the references in his romance to
names, persons, and places, that the most certain and valuable evidence is
to be found of his intercourse, his patrons, his friendships, his
sojournings, and his travels:  his own work is the best and richest mine in
which to search for the details of his life.

Like Descartes and Balzac, he was a native of Touraine, and Tours and
Chinon have only done their duty in each of them erecting in recent years a
statue to his honour, a twofold homage reflecting credit both on the
province and on the town.  But the precise facts about his birth are
nevertheless vague.  Huet speaks of the village of Benais, near Bourgeuil,
of whose vineyards Rabelais makes mention.  As the little vineyard of La
Deviniere, near Chinon, and familiar to all his readers, is supposed to
have belonged to his father, Thomas Rabelais, some would have him born
there.  It is better to hold to the earlier general opinion that Chinon was
his native town; Chinon, whose praises he sang with such heartiness and
affection.  There he might well have been born in the Lamproie house, which
belonged to his father, who, to judge from this circumstance, must have
been in easy circumstances, with the position of a well-to-do citizen.  As
La Lamproie in the seventeenth century was a hostelry, the father of
Rabelais has been set down as an innkeeper.  More probably he was an
apothecary, which would fit in with the medical profession adopted by his
son in after years.  Rabelais had brothers, all older than himself.
Perhaps because he was the youngest, his father destined him for the
Church.

The time he spent while a child with the Benedictine monks at Seuille is
uncertain.  There he might have made the acquaintance of the prototype of
his Friar John, a brother of the name of Buinart, afterwards Prior of
Sermaize.  He was longer at the Abbey of the Cordeliers at La Baumette,
half a mile from Angers, where he became a novice.  As the brothers Du
Bellay, who were later his Maecenases, were then studying at the University
of Angers, where it is certain he was not a student, it is doubtless from
this youthful period that his acquaintance and alliance with them should
date.  Voluntarily, or induced by his family, Rabelais now embraced the
ecclesiastical profession, and entered the monastery of the Franciscan
Cordeliers at Fontenay-le-Comte, in Lower Poitou, which was honoured by his
long sojourn at the vital period of his life when his powers were ripening.
There it was he began to study and to think, and there also began his
troubles.

In spite of the wide-spread ignorance among the monks of that age, the
encyclopaedic movement of the Renaissance was attracting all the lofty
minds.  Rabelais threw himself into it with enthusiasm, and Latin antiquity
was not enough for him.  Greek, a study discountenanced by the Church,
which looked on it as dangerous and tending to freethought and heresy, took
possession of him.  To it he owed the warm friendship of Pierre Amy and of
the celebrated Guillaume Bude.  In fact, the Greek letters of the latter
are the best source of information concerning this period of Rabelais'
life.  It was at Fontenay-le-Comte also that he became acquainted with the
Brissons and the great jurist Andre Tiraqueau, whom he never mentions but
with admiration and deep affection.  Tiraqueau's treatise, De legibus
connubialibus, published for the first time in 1513, has an important
bearing on the life of Rabelais.  There we learn that, dissatisfied with
the incomplete translation of Herodotus by Laurent Valla, Rabelais had
retranslated into Latin the first book of the History.  That translation
unfortunately is lost, as so many other of his scattered works.  It is
probably in this direction that the hazard of fortune has most discoveries
and surprises in store for the lucky searcher.  Moreover, as in this law
treatise Tiraqueau attacked women in a merciless fashion, President Amaury
Bouchard published in 1522 a book in their defence, and Rabelais, who was a
friend of both the antagonists, took the side of Tiraqueau.  It should be
observed also in passing, that there are several pages of such audacious
plain-speaking, that Rabelais, though he did not copy these in his Marriage
of Panurge, has there been, in his own fashion, as out spoken as Tiraqueau.
If such freedom of language could be permitted in a grave treatise of law,
similar liberties were certainly, in the same century, more natural in a
book which was meant to amuse.

The great reproach always brought against Rabelais is not the want of
reserve of his language merely, but his occasional studied coarseness,
which is enough to spoil his whole work, and which lowers its value.  La
Bruyere, in the chapter Des ouvrages de l'esprit, not in the first edition
of the Caracteres, but in the fifth, that is to say in 1690, at the end of
the great century, gives us on this subject his own opinion and that of his
age:

'Marot and Rabelais are inexcusable in their habit of scattering filth
about their writings.  Both of them had genius enough and wit enough to do
without any such expedient, even for the amusement of those persons who
look more to the laugh to be got out of a book than to what is admirable in
it.  Rabelais especially is incomprehensible.  His book is an enigma,--one
may say inexplicable.  It is a Chimera; it is like the face of a lovely
woman with the feet and the tail of a reptile, or of some creature still
more loathsome.  It is a monstrous confusion of fine and rare morality with
filthy corruption.  Where it is bad, it goes beyond the worst; it is the
delight of the basest of men.  Where it is good, it reaches the exquisite,
the very best; it ministers to the most delicate tastes.'

Putting aside the rather slight connection established between two men of
whom one is of very little importance compared with the other, this is
otherwise very admirably said, and the judgment is a very just one, except
with regard to one point--the misunderstanding of the atmosphere in which
the book was created, and the ignoring of the examples of a similar
tendency furnished by literature as well as by the popular taste.  Was it
not the Ancients that began it?  Aristophanes, Catullus, Petronius,
Martial, flew in the face of decency in their ideas as well as in the words
they used, and they dragged after them in this direction not a few of the
Latin poets of the Renaissance, who believed themselves bound to imitate
them.  Is Italy without fault in this respect?  Her story-tellers in prose
lie open to easy accusation.  Her Capitoli in verse go to incredible
lengths; and the astonishing success of Aretino must not be forgotten, nor
the licence of the whole Italian comic theatre of the sixteenth century.
The Calandra of Bibbiena, who was afterwards a Cardinal, and the Mandragola
of Machiavelli, are evidence enough, and these were played before Popes,
who were not a whit embarrassed.  Even in England the drama went very far
for a time, and the comic authors of the reign of Charles II., evidently
from a reaction, and to shake off the excess and the wearisomeness of
Puritan prudery and affectation, which sent them to the opposite extreme,
are not exactly noted for their reserve.  But we need not go beyond France.
Slight indications, very easily verified, are all that may be set down
here; a formal and detailed proof would be altogether too dangerous.

Thus, for instance, the old Fabliaux--the Farces of the fifteenth century,
the story-tellers of the sixteenth--reveal one of the sides, one of the
veins, so to speak, of our literature.  The art that addresses itself to
the eye had likewise its share of this coarseness.  Think of the sculptures
on the capitals and the modillions of churches, and the crude frankness of
certain painted windows of the fifteenth century.  Queen Anne was, without
any doubt, one of the most virtuous women in the world.  Yet she used to go
up the staircase of her chateau at Blois, and her eyes were not offended at
seeing at the foot of a bracket a not very decent carving of a monk and a
nun.  Neither did she tear out of her book of Hours the large miniature of
the winter month, in which, careless of her neighbours' eyes, the mistress
of the house, sitting before her great fireplace, warms herself in a
fashion which it is not advisable that dames of our age should imitate.
The statue of Cybele by the Tribolo, executed for Francis I., and placed,
not against a wall, but in the middle of Queen Claude's chamber at
Fontainebleau, has behind it an attribute which would have been more in
place on a statue of Priapus, and which was the symbol of generativeness.
The tone of the conversations was ordinarily of a surprising coarseness,
and the Precieuses, in spite of their absurdities, did a very good work in
setting themselves in opposition to it.  The worthy Chevalier de
La-Tour-Landry, in his Instructions to his own daughters, without a thought
of harm, gives examples which are singular indeed, and in Caxton's
translation these are not omitted.  The Adevineaux Amoureux, printed at
Bruges by Colard Mansion, are astonishing indeed when one considers that
they were the little society diversions of the Duchesses of Burgundy and of
the great ladies of a court more luxurious and more refined than the French
court, which revelled in the Cent Nouvelles of good King Louis XI.
Rabelais' pleasantry about the woman folle a la messe is exactly in the
style of the Adevineaux.

A later work than any of his, the Novelle of Bandello, should be kept in
mind--for the writer was Bishop of Agen, and his work was translated into
French--as also the Dames Galantes of Brantome.  Read the Journal of
Heroard, that honest doctor, who day by day wrote down the details
concerning the health of Louis XIII. from his birth, and you will
understand the tone of the conversation of Henry IV.  The jokes at a
country wedding are trifles compared with this royal coarseness.  Le Moyen
de Parvenir is nothing but a tissue and a mass of filth, and the too
celebrated Cabinet Satyrique proves what, under Louis XIII., could be
written, printed, and read.  The collection of songs formed by Clairambault
shows that the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were no purer than the
sixteenth.  Some of the most ribald songs are actually the work of
Princesses of the royal House.

It is, therefore, altogether unjust to make Rabelais the scapegoat, to
charge him alone with the sins of everybody else.  He spoke as those of his
time used to speak; when amusing them he used their language to make
himself understood, and to slip in his asides, which without this sauce
would never have been accepted, would have found neither eyes nor ears.
Let us blame not him, therefore, but the manners of his time.

Besides, his gaiety, however coarse it may appear to us--and how rare a
thing is gaiety!--has, after all, nothing unwholesome about it; and this is
too often overlooked.  Where does he tempt one to stray from duty?  Where,
even indirectly, does he give pernicious advice?  Whom has he led to evil
ways?  Does he ever inspire feelings that breed misconduct and vice, or is
he ever the apologist of these?  Many poets and romance writers, under
cover of a fastidious style, without one coarse expression, have been
really and actively hurtful; and of that it is impossible to accuse
Rabelais.  Women in particular quickly revolt from him, and turn away
repulsed at once by the archaic form of the language and by the
outspokenness of the words.  But if he be read aloud to them, omitting the
rougher parts and modernizing the pronunciation, it will be seen that they
too are impressed by his lively wit as by the loftiness of his thought.  It
would be possible, too, to extract, for young persons, without
modification, admirable passages of incomparable force.  But those who have
brought out expurgated editions of him, or who have thought to improve him
by trying to rewrite him in modern French, have been fools for their pains,
and their insulting attempts have had, and always will have, the success
they deserve.

His dedications prove to what extent his whole work was accepted.  Not to
speak of his epistolary relations with Bude, with the Cardinal d'Armagnac
and with Pellissier, the ambassador of Francis I. and Bishop of Maguelonne,
or of his dedication to Tiraqueau of his Lyons edition of the Epistolae
Medicinales of Giovanni Manardi of Ferrara, of the one addressed to the
President Amaury Bouchard of the two legal texts which he believed antique,
there is still the evidence of his other and more important dedications.
In 1532 he dedicated his Hippocrates and his Galen to Geoffroy d'Estissac,
Bishop of Maillezais, to whom in 1535 and 1536 he addressed from Rome the
three news letters, which alone have been preserved; and in 1534 he
dedicated from Lyons his edition of the Latin book of Marliani on the
topography of Rome to Jean du Bellay (at that time Bishop of Paris) who was
raised to the Cardinalate in 1535.  Beside these dedications we must set
the privilege of Francis I. of September, 1545, and the new privilege
granted by Henry II. on August 6th, 1550, Cardinal de Chatillon present,
for the third book, which was dedicated, in an eight-lined stanza, to the
Spirit of the Queen of Navarre.  These privileges, from the praises and
eulogies they express in terms very personal and very exceptional, are as
important in Rabelais' life as were, in connection with other matters, the
Apostolic Pastorals in his favour.  Of course, in these the popes had not
to introduce his books of diversions, which, nevertheless, would have
seemed in their eyes but very venial sins.  The Sciomachie of 1549, an
account of the festivities arranged at Rome by Cardinal du Bellay in honour
of the birth of the second son of Henry II., was addressed to Cardinal de
Guise, and in 1552 the fourth book was dedicated, in a new prologue, to
Cardinal de Chatillon, the brother of Admiral de Coligny.

These are no unknown or insignificant personages, but the greatest lords
and princes of the Church.  They loved and admired and protected Rabelais,
and put no restrictions in his way.  Why should we be more fastidious and
severe than they were?  Their high contemporary appreciation gives much
food for thought.

There are few translations of Rabelais in foreign tongues; and certainly
the task is no light one, and demands more than a familiarity with ordinary
French.  It would have been easier in Italy than anywhere else.  Italian,
from its flexibility and its analogy to French, would have lent itself
admirably to the purpose; the instrument was ready, but the hand was not
forthcoming.  Neither is there any Spanish translation, a fact which can be
more easily understood.  The Inquisition would have been a far more serious
opponent than the Paris' Sorbonne, and no one ventured on the experiment.
Yet Rabelais forces comparison with Cervantes, whose precursor he was in
reality, though the two books and the two minds are very different.  They
have only one point in common, their attack and ridicule of the romances of
chivalry and of the wildly improbable adventures of knight-errants.  But in
Don Quixote there is not a single detail which would suggest that Cervantes
knew Rabelais' book or owed anything to it whatsoever, even the
starting-point of his subject.  Perhaps it was better he should not have
been influenced by him, in however slight a degree; his originality is the
more intact and the more genial.

On the other hand, Rabelais has been several times translated into German.
In the present century Regis published at Leipsic, from 1831 to 1841, with
copious notes, a close and faithful translation.  The first one cannot be
so described, that of Johann Fischart, a native of Mainz or Strasburg, who
died in 1614.  He was a Protestant controversialist, and a satirist of
fantastic and abundant imagination.  In 1575 appeared his translation of
Rabelais' first book, and in 1590 he published the comic catalogue of the
library of Saint Victor, borrowed from the second book.  It is not a
translation, but a recast in the boldest style, full of alterations and of
exaggerations, both as regards the coarse expressions which he took upon
himself to develop and to add to, and in the attacks on the Roman Catholic
Church.  According to Jean Paul Richter, Fischart is much superior to
Rabelais in style and in the fruitfulness of his ideas, and his equal in
erudition and in the invention of new expressions after the manner of
Aristophanes.  He is sure that his work was successful, because it was
often reprinted during his lifetime; but this enthusiasm of Jean Paul would
hardly carry conviction in France.  Who treads in another's footprints must
follow in the rear.  Instead of a creator, he is but an imitator.  Those
who take the ideas of others to modify them, and make of them creations of
their own, like Shakespeare in England, Moliere and La Fontaine in France,
may be superior to those who have served them with suggestions; but then
the new works must be altogether different, must exist by themselves.
Shakespeare and the others, when they imitated, may be said always to have
destroyed their models.  These copyists, if we call them so, created such
works of genius that the only pity is they are so rare.  This is not the
case with Fischart, but it would be none the less curious were some one
thoroughly familiar with German to translate Fischart for us, or at least,
by long extracts from him, give an idea of the vagaries of German taste
when it thought it could do better than Rabelais.  It is dangerous to
tamper with so great a work, and he who does so runs a great risk of
burning his fingers.

England has been less daring, and her modesty and discretion have brought
her success.  But, before speaking of Urquhart's translation, it is but
right to mention the English-French Dictionary of Randle Cotgrave, the
first edition of which dates from 1611.  It is in every way exceedingly
valuable, and superior to that of Nicot, because instead of keeping to the
plane of classic and Latin French, it showed an acquaintance with and
mastery of the popular tongue as well as of the written and learned
language.  As a foreigner, Cotgrave is a little behind in his information.
He is not aware of all the changes and novelties of the passing fashion.
The Pleiad School he evidently knew nothing of, but kept to the writers of
the fifteenth and the first half of the sixteenth century.  Thus words out
of Rabelais, which he always translates with admirable skill, are frequent,
and he attaches to them their author's name.  So Rabelais had already
crossed the Channel, and was read in his own tongue.  Somewhat later,
during the full sway of the Commonwealth--and Maitre Alcofribas Nasier must
have been a surprising apparition in the midst of Puritan severity--Captain
Urquhart undertook to translate him and to naturalize him completely in
England.

Thomas Urquhart belonged to a very old family of good standing in the North
of Scotland.  After studying in Aberdeen he travelled in France, Spain, and
Italy, where his sword was as active as that intelligent curiosity of his
which is evidenced by his familiarity with three languages and the large
library which he brought back, according to his own account, from sixteen
countries he had visited.

On his return to England he entered the service of Charles I., who knighted
him in 1641.  Next year, after the death of his father, he went to Scotland
to set his family affairs in order, and to redeem his house in Cromarty.
But, in spite of another sojourn in foreign lands, his efforts to free
himself from pecuniary embarrassments were unavailing.  At the king's death
his Scottish loyalty caused him to side with those who opposed the
Parliament.  Formally proscribed in 1649, taken prisoner at the defeat of
Worcester in 1651, stripped of all his belongings, he was brought to
London, but was released on parole at Cromwell's recommendation.  After
receiving permission to spend five months in Scotland to try once more to
settle his affairs, he came back to London to escape from his creditors.
And there he must have died, though the date of his death is unknown.  It
probably took place after 1653, the date of the publication of the two
first books, and after having written the translation of the third, which
was not printed from his manuscript till the end of the seventeenth
century.

His life was therefore not without its troubles, and literary activity must
have been almost his only consolation.  His writings reveal him as the
strangest character, fantastic, and full of a naive vanity, which, even at
the time he was translating the genealogy of Gargantua--surely well
calculated to cure any pondering on his own--caused him to trace his
unbroken descent from Adam, and to state that his family name was derived
from his ancestor Esormon, Prince of Achaia, 2139 B.C., who was surnamed
Ourochartos, that is to say the Fortunate and the Well-beloved.  A Gascon
could not have surpassed this.

Gifted as he was, learned in many directions, an enthusiastic
mathematician, master of several languages, occasionally full of wit and
humour, and even good sense, yet he gave his books the strangest titles,
and his ideas were no less whimsical.  His style is mystic, fastidious, and
too often of a wearisome length and obscurity; his verses rhyme anyhow, or
not at all; but vivacity, force and heat are never lacking, and the
Maitland Club did well in reprinting, in 1834, his various works, which are
very rare.  Yet, in spite of their curious interest, he owes his real
distinction and the survival of his name to his translation of Rabelais.

The first two books appeared in 1653.  The original edition, exceedingly
scarce, was carefully reprinted in 1838, only a hundred copies being
issued, by an English bibliophile T(heodore) M(artin), whose interesting
preface I regret to sum up so cursorily.  At the end of the seventeenth
century, in 1693, a French refugee, Peter Antony Motteux, whose English
verses and whose plays are not without value, published in a little octavo
volume a reprint, very incorrect as to the text, of the first two books, to
which he added the third, from the manuscript found amongst Urquhart's
papers.  The success which attended this venture suggested to Motteux the
idea of completing the work, and a second edition, in two volumes, appeared
in 1708, with the translation of the fourth and fifth books, and notes.
Nineteen years after his death, John Ozell, translator on a large scale of
French, Italian, and Spanish authors, revised Motteux's edition, which he
published in five volumes in 1737, adding Le Duchat's notes; and this
version has often been reprinted since.

The continuation by Motteux, who was also the translator of Don Quixote,
has merits of its own.  It is precise, elegant, and very faithful.
Urquhart's, without taking liberties with Rabelais like Fischart, is not
always so closely literal and exact.  Nevertheless, it is much superior to
Motteux's.  If Urquhart does not constantly adhere to the form of the
expression, if he makes a few slight additions, not only has he an
understanding of the original, but he feels it, and renders the sense with
a force and a vivacity full of warmth and brilliancy.  His own learning
made the comprehension of the work easy to him, and his anglicization of
words fabricated by Rabelais is particularly successful.  The necessity of
keeping to his text prevented his indulgence in the convolutions and
divagations dictated by his exuberant fancy when writing on his own
account.  His style, always full of life and vigour, is here balanced,
lucid, and picturesque.  Never elsewhere did he write so well.  And thus
the translation reproduces the very accent of the original, besides
possessing a very remarkable character of its own.  Such a literary tone
and such literary qualities are rarely found in a translation.  Urquhart's,
very useful for the interpretation of obscure passages, may, and indeed
should be read as a whole, both for Rabelais and for its own merits.

Holland, too, possesses a translation of Rabelais.  They knew French in
that country in the seventeenth century better than they do to-day, and
there Rabelais' works were reprinted when no editions were appearing in
France.  This Dutch translation was published at Amsterdam in 1682, by J.
Tenhoorn.  The name attached to it, Claudio Gallitalo (Claudius
French-Italian) must certainly be a pseudonym.  Only a Dutch scholar could
identify the translator, and state the value to be assigned to his work.

Rabelais' style has many different sources.  Besides its force and
brilliancy, its gaiety, wit, and dignity, its abundant richness is no less
remarkable.  It would be impossible and useless to compile a glossary of
Voltaire's words.  No French writer has used so few, and all of them are of
the simplest.  There is not one of them that is not part of the common
speech, or which demands a note or an explanation.  Rabelais' vocabulary,
on the other hand, is of an astonishing variety.  Where does it all come
from?  As a fact, he had at his command something like three languages,
which he used in turn, or which he mixed according to the effect he wished
to produce.

First of all, of course, he had ready to his hand the whole speech of his
time, which had no secrets for him.  Provincials have been too eager to
appropriate him, to make of him a local author, the pride of some village,
in order that their district might have the merit of being one of the
causes, one of the factors of his genius.  Every neighbourhood where he
ever lived has declared that his distinction was due to his knowledge of
its popular speech.  But these dialect-patriots have fallen out among
themselves.  To which dialect was he indebted?  Was it that of Touraine, or
Berri, or Poitou, or Paris?  It is too often forgotten, in regard to French
patois--leaving out of count the languages of the South--that the words or
expressions that are no longer in use to-day are but a survival, a still
living trace of the tongue and the pronunciation of other days.  Rabelais,
more than any other writer, took advantage of the happy chances and the
richness of the popular speech, but he wrote in French, and nothing but
French.  That is why he remains so forcible, so lucid, and so living, more
living even--speaking only of his style out of charity to the others--than
any of his contemporaries.

It has been said that great French prose is solely the work of the
seventeenth century.  There were nevertheless, before that, two men,
certainly very different and even hostile, who were its initiators and its
masters, Calvin on the one hand, on the other Rabelais.

Rabelais had a wonderful knowledge of the prose and the verse of the
fifteenth century:  he was familiar with Villon, Pathelin, the Quinze Joies
de Mariage, the Cent Nouvelles, the chronicles and the romances, and even
earlier works, too, such as the Roman de la Rose.  Their words, their turns
of expression came naturally to his pen, and added a piquancy and, as it
were, a kind of gloss of antique novelty to his work.  He fabricated words,
too, on Greek and Latin models, with great ease, sometimes audaciously and
with needless frequency.  These were for him so many means, so many
elements of variety.  Sometimes he did this in mockery, as in the humorous
discourse of the Limousin scholar, for which he is not a little indebted to
Geoffroy Tory in the Champfleury; sometimes, on the contrary, seriously,
from a habit acquired in dealing with classical tongues.

Again, another reason of the richness of his vocabulary was that he
invented and forged words for himself.  Following the example of
Aristophanes, he coined an enormous number of interminable words, droll
expressions, sudden and surprising constructions.  What had made Greece and
the Athenians laugh was worth transporting to Paris.

With an instrument so rich, resources so endless, and the skill to use
them, it is no wonder that he could give voice to anything, be as humorous
as he could be serious, as comic as he could be grave, that he could
express himself and everybody else, from the lowest to the highest.  He had
every colour on his palette, and such skill was in his fingers that he
could depict every variety of light and shade.

We have evidence that Rabelais did not always write in the same fashion.
The Chronique Gargantuaine is uniform in style and quite simple, but cannot
with certainty be attributed to him.  His letters are bombastic and thin;
his few attempts at verse are heavy, lumbering, and obscure, altogether
lacking in harmony, and quite as bad as those of his friend, Jean Bouchet.
He had no gift of poetic form, as indeed is evident even from his prose.
And his letters from Rome to the Bishop of Maillezais, interesting as they
are in regard to the matter, are as dull, bare, flat, and dry in style as
possible.  Without his signature no one would possibly have thought of
attributing them to him.  He is only a literary artist when he wishes to be
such; and in his romance he changes the style completely every other
moment:  it has no constant character or uniform manner, and therefore
unity is almost entirely wanting in his work, while his endeavours after
contrast are unceasing.  There is throughout the whole the evidence of
careful and conscious elaboration.

Hence, however lucid and free be the style of his romance, and though its
flexibility and ease seem at first sight to have cost no trouble at all,
yet its merit lies precisely in the fact that it succeeds in concealing the
toil, in hiding the seams.  He could not have reached this perfection at a
first attempt.  He must have worked long at the task, revised it again and
again, corrected much, and added rather than cut away.  The aptness of form
and expression has been arrived at by deliberate means, and owes nothing to
chance.  Apart from the toning down of certain bold passages, to soften
their effect, and appease the storm--for these were not literary
alterations, but were imposed on him by prudence--one can see how numerous
are the variations in his text, how necessary it is to take account of
them, and to collect them.  A good edition, of course, would make no
attempt at amalgamating these.  That would give a false impression and end
in confusion; but it should note them all, and show them all, not combined,
but simply as variations.

After Le Duchat, all the editions, in their care that nothing should be
lost, made the mistake of collecting and placing side by side things which
had no connection with each other, which had even been substituted for each
other.  The result was a fabricated text, full of contradictions naturally.
But since the edition issued by M. Jannet, the well-known publisher of the
Bibliotheque Elzevirienne, who was the first to get rid of this patchwork,
this mosaic, Rabelais' latest text has been given, accompanied by all the
earlier variations, to show the changes he made, as well as his
suppressions and additions.  It would also be possible to reverse the
method.  It would be interesting to take his first text as the basis,
noting the later modifications.  This would be quite as instructive and
really worth doing.  Perhaps one might then see more clearly with what care
he made his revisions, after what fashion he corrected, and especially what
were the additions he made.

No more striking instance can be quoted than the admirable chapter about
the shipwreck.  It was not always so long as Rabelais made it in the end:
it was much shorter at first.  As a rule, when an author recasts some
passage that he wishes to revise, he does so by rewriting the whole, or at
least by interpolating passages at one stroke, so to speak.  Nothing of the
kind is seen here.  Rabelais suppressed nothing, modified nothing; he did
not change his plan at all.  What he did was to make insertions, to slip in
between two clauses a new one.  He expressed his meaning in a lengthier
way, and the former clause is found in its integrity along with the
additional one, of which it forms, as it were, the warp.  It was by this
method of touching up the smallest details, by making here and there such
little noticeable additions, that he succeeded in heightening the effect
without either change or loss.  In the end it looks as if he had altered
nothing, added nothing new, as if it had always been so from the first, and
had never been meddled with.

The comparison is most instructive, showing us to what an extent Rabelais'
admirable style was due to conscious effort, care, and elaboration, a fact
which is generally too much overlooked, and how instead of leaving any
trace which would reveal toil and study, it has on the contrary a
marvellous cohesion, precision, and brilliancy.  It was modelled and
remodelled, repaired, touched up, and yet it has all the appearance of
having been created at a single stroke, or of having been run like molten
wax into its final form.

Something should be said here of the sources from which Rabelais borrowed.
He was not the first in France to satirize the romances of chivalry.  The
romance in verse by Baudouin de Sebourc, printed in recent years, was a
parody of the Chansons de Geste.  In the Moniage Guillaume, and especially
in the Moniage Rainouart, in which there is a kind of giant, and
occasionally a comic giant, there are situations and scenes which remind us
of Rabelais.  The kind of Fabliaux in mono-rhyme quatrains of the old
Aubery anticipate his coarse and popular jests.  But all that is beside the
question; Rabelais did not know these.  Nothing is of direct interest save
what was known to him, what fell under his eyes, what lay to his hand--as
the Facetiae of Poggio, and the last sermonnaires.  In the course of one's
reading one may often enough come across the origin of some of Rabelais'
witticisms; here and there we may discover how he has developed a
situation.  While gathering his materials wherever he could find them, he
was nevertheless profoundly original.

On this point much research and investigation might be employed.  But there
is no need why these researches should be extended to the region of fancy.
Gargantua has been proved by some to be of Celtic origin.  Very often he is
a solar myth, and the statement that Rabelais only collected popular
traditions and gave new life to ancient legends is said to be proved by the
large number of megalithic monuments to which is attached the name of
Gargantua.  It was, of course, quite right to make a list of these, to draw
up, as it were, a chart of them, but the conclusion is not justified.  The
name, instead of being earlier, is really later, and is a witness, not to
the origin, but to the success and rapid popularity of his novel.  No one
has ever yet produced a written passage or any ancient testimony to prove
the existence of the name before Rabelais.  To place such a tradition on a
sure basis, positive traces must be forthcoming; and they cannot be adduced
even for the most celebrated of these monuments, since he mentions himself
the great menhir near Poitiers, which he christened by the name of
Passelourdin.  That there is something in the theory is possible.  Perrault
found the subjects of his stories in the tales told by mothers and nurses.
He fixed them finally by writing them down.  Floating about vaguely as they
were, he seized them, worked them up, gave them shape, and yet of scarcely
any of them is there to be found before his time a single trace.  So we
must resign ourselves to know just as little of what Gargantua and
Pantagruel were before the sixteenth century.

In a book of a contemporary of Rabelais, the Legende de Pierre Faifeu by
the Angevin, Charles de Bourdigne, the first edition of which dates from
1526 and the second 1531--both so rare and so forgotten that the work is
only known since the eighteenth century by the reprint of Custelier--in the
introductory ballad which recommends this book to readers, occur these
lines in the list of popular books which Faifeu would desire to replace:

  'Laissez ester Caillette le folastre,
  Les quatre filz Aymon vestuz de bleu,
  Gargantua qui a cheveux de plastre.'

He has not 'cheveux de plastre' in Rabelais.  If the rhyme had not
suggested the phrase--and the exigencies of the strict form of the ballade
and its forced repetitions often imposed an idea which had its whole origin
in the rhyme--we might here see a dramatic trace found nowhere else.  The
name of Pantagruel is mentioned too, incidentally, in a Mystery of the
fifteenth century.  These are the only references to the names which up
till now have been discovered, and they are, as one sees, of but little
account.

On the other hand, the influence of Aristophanes and of Lucian, his
intimate acquaintance with nearly all the writers of antiquity, Greek as
well as Latin, with whom Rabelais is more permeated even than Montaigne,
were a mine of inspiration.  The proof of it is everywhere.  Pliny
especially was his encyclopaedia, his constant companion.  All he says of
the Pantagruelian herb, though he amply developed it for himself, is taken
from Pliny's chapter on flax.  And there is a great deal more of this kind
to be discovered, for Rabelais does not always give it as quotation.  On
the other hand, when he writes, 'Such an one says,' it would be difficult
enough to find who is meant, for the 'such an one' is a fictitious writer.
The method is amusing, but it is curious to account of it.

The question of the Chronique Gargantuaine is still undecided.  Is it by
Rabelais or by someone else?  Both theories are defensible, and can be
supported by good reasons.  In the Chronique everything is heavy,
occasionally meaningless, and nearly always insipid.  Can the same man have
written the Chronique and Gargantua, replaced a book really commonplace by
a masterpiece, changed the facts and incidents, transformed a heavy icy
pleasantry into a work glowing with wit and life, made it no longer a mass
of laborious trifling and cold-blooded exaggerations but a satire on human
life of the highest genius?  Still there are points common to the two.
Besides, Rabelais wrote other things; and it is only in his romance that he
shows literary skill.  The conception of it would have entered his mind
first only in a bare and summary fashion.  It would have been taken up
again, expanded, developed, metamorphosed.  That is possible, and, for my
part, I am of those who, like Brunet and Nodier, are inclined to think that
the Chronique, in spite of its inferiority, is really a first attempt,
condemned as soon as the idea was conceived in another form.  As its
earlier date is incontestable, we must conclude that if the Chronique is
not by him, his Gargantua and its continuation would not have existed
without it.  This would be a great obligation to stand under to some
unknown author, and in that case it is astonishing that his enemies did not
reproach him during his lifetime with being merely an imitator and a
plagiarist.  So there are reasons for and against his authorship of it, and
it would be dangerous to make too bold an assertion.

One fact which is absolutely certain and beyond all controversy, is that
Rabelais owed much to one of his contemporaries, an Italian, to the
Histoire Macaronique of Merlin Coccaie.  Its author, Theophilus Folengo,
who was also a monk, was born in 1491, and died only a short time before
Rabelais, in 1544.  But his burlesque poem was published in 1517.  It was
in Latin verse, written in an elaborately fabricated style.  It is not dog
Latin, but Latin ingeniously italianized, or rather Italian, even Mantuan,
latinized.  The contrast between the modern form of the word and its Roman
garb produces the most amusing effect.  In the original it is sometimes
difficult to read, for Folengo has no objection to using the most
colloquial words and phrases.

The subject is quite different.  It is the adventures of Baldo, son of Guy
de Montauban, the very lively history of his youth, his trial, imprisonment
and deliverance, his journey in search of his father, during which he
visits the Planets and Hell.  The narration is constantly interrupted by
incidental adventures.  Occasionally they are what would be called to-day
very naturalistic, and sometimes they are madly extravagant.

But Fracasso, Baldo's friend, is a giant; another friend, Cingar, who
delivers him, is Panurge exactly, and quite as much given to practical
joking.  The women in the senile amour of the old Tognazzo, the judges, and
the poor sergeants, are no more gently dealt with by Folengo than by the
monk of the Iles d'Hyeres.  If Dindenaut's name does not occur, there are
the sheep.  The tempest is there, and the invocation to all the saints.
Rabelais improves all he borrows, but it is from Folengo he starts.  He
does not reproduce the words, but, like the Italian, he revels in drinking
scenes, junkettings, gormandizing, battles, scuffles, wounds and corpses,
magic, witches, speeches, repeated enumerations, lengthiness, and a
solemnly minute precision of impossible dates and numbers.  The atmosphere,
the tone, the methods are the same, and to know Rabelais well, you must
know Folengo well too.

Detailed proof of this would be too lengthy a matter; one would have to
quote too many passages, but on this question of sources nothing is more
interesting than a perusal of the Opus Macaronicorum.  It was translated
into French only in 1606--Paris, Gilley Robinot.  This translation of
course cannot reproduce all the many amusing forms of words, but it is
useful, nevertheless, in showing more clearly the points of resemblance
between the two works,--how far in form, ideas, details, and phrases
Rabelais was permeated by Folengo.  The anonymous translator saw this quite
well, and said so in his title, 'Histoire macaronique de Merlin Coccaie,
prototype of Rabelais.'  It is nothing but the truth, and Rabelais, who
does not hide it from himself, on more than one occasion mentions the name
of Merlin Coccaie.

Besides, Rabelais was fed on the Italians of his time as on the Greeks and
Romans.  Panurge, who owes much to Cingar, is also not free from
obligations to the miscreant Margutte in the Morgante Maggiore of Pulci.
Had Rabelais in his mind the tale from the Florentine Chronicles, how in
the Savonarola riots, when the Piagnoni and the Arrabiati came to blows in
the church of the Dominican convent of San-Marco, Fra Pietro in the scuffle
broke the heads of the assailants with the bronze crucifix he had taken
from the altar?  A well-handled cross could so readily be used as a weapon,
that probably it has served as such more than once, and other and even
quite modern instances might be quoted.

But other Italian sources are absolutely certain.  There are few more
wonderful chapters in Rabelais than the one about the drinkers.  It is not
a dialogue:  those short exclamations exploding from every side, all
referring to the same thing, never repeating themselves, and yet always
varying the same theme.  At the end of the Novelle of Gentile Sermini of
Siena, there is a chapter called Il Giuoco della pugna, the Game of Battle.
Here are the first lines of it:  'Apre, apre, apre.  Chi gioca, chi gioca
--uh, uh!--A Porrione, a Porrione.--Viela, viela; date a ognuno.--Alle
mantella, alle mantella.--Oltre di corsa; non vi fermate.--Voltate qui;
ecco costoro; fate veli innanzi.--Viela, viela; date costi.--Chi la fa?
Io--Ed io.--Dagli; ah, ah, buona fu.--Or cosi; alla mascella, al fianco.
--Dagli basso; di punta, di punta.--Ah, ah, buon gioco, buon gioco.'

And thus it goes on with fire and animation for pages.  Rabelais probably
translated or directly imitated it.  He changed the scene; there was no
giuooco della pugna in France.  He transferred to a drinking-bout this
clatter of exclamations which go off by themselves, which cross each other
and get no answer.  He made a wonderful thing of it.  But though he did not
copy Sermini, yet Sermini's work provided him with the form of the subject,
and was the theme for Rabelais' marvellous variations.

Who does not remember the fantastic quarrel of the cook with the poor devil
who had flavoured his dry bread with the smoke of the roast, and the
judgment of Seyny John, truly worthy of Solomon?  It comes from the Cento
Novelle Antiche, rewritten from tales older than Boccaccio, and moreover of
an extreme brevity and dryness.  They are only the framework, the notes,
the skeleton of tales.  The subject is often wonderful, but nothing is made
of it:  it is left unshaped.  Rabelais wrote a version of one, the ninth.
The scene takes place, not at Paris, but at Alexandria in Egypt among the
Saracens, and the cook is called Fabrac.  But the surprise at the end, the
sagacious judgment by which the sound of a piece of money was made the
price of the smoke, is the same.  Now the first dated edition of the Cento
Novelle (which were frequently reprinted) appeared at Bologna in 1525, and
it is certain that Rabelais had read the tales.  And there would be much
else of the same kind to learn if we knew Rabelais' library.

A still stranger fact of this sort may be given to show how nothing came
amiss to him.  He must have known, and even copied the Latin Chronicle of
the Counts of Anjou.  It is accepted, and rightly so, as an historical
document, but that is no reason for thinking that the truth may not have
been manipulated and adorned.  The Counts of Anjou were not saints.  They
were proud, quarrelsome, violent, rapacious, and extravagant, as greedy as
they were charitable to the Church, treacherous and cruel.  Yet their
anonymous panegyrist has made them patterns of all the virtues.  In reality
it is both a history and in some sort a romance; especially is it a
collection of examples worthy of being followed, in the style of the
Cyropaedia, our Juvenal of the fifteenth century, and a little like
Fenelon's Telemaque.  Now in it there occurs the address of one of the
counts to those who rebelled against him and who were at his mercy.
Rabelais must have known it, for he has copied it, or rather, literally
translated whole lines of it in the wonderful speech of Gargantua to the
vanquished.  His contemporaries, who approved of his borrowing from
antiquity, could not detect this one, because the book was not printed till
much later.  But Rabelais lived in Maine.  In Anjou, which often figures
among the localities he names, he must have met with and read the
Chronicles of the Counts in manuscript, probably in some monastery library,
whether at Fontenay-le-Comte or elsewhere it matters little.  There is not
only a likeness in the ideas and tone, but in the words too, which cannot
be a mere matter of chance.  He must have known the Chronicles of the
Counts of Anjou, and they inspired one of his finest pages.  One sees,
therefore, how varied were the sources whence he drew, and how many of them
must probably always escape us.

When, as has been done for Moliere, a critical bibliography of the works
relating to Rabelais is drawn up--which, by the bye, will entail a very
great amount of labour--the easiest part will certainly be the bibliography
of the old editions.  That is the section that has been most satisfactorily
and most completely worked out.  M. Brunet said the last word on the
subject in his Researches in 1852, and in the important article in the
fifth edition of his Manuel du Libraire (iv., 1863, pp. 1037-1071).

The facts about the fifth book cannot be summed up briefly.  It was printed
as a whole at first, without the name of the place, in 1564, and next year
at Lyons by Jean Martin.  It has given, and even still gives rise to two
contradictory opinions.  Is it Rabelais' or not?

First of all, if he had left it complete, would sixteen years have gone by
before it was printed?  Then, does it bear evident marks of his
workmanship?  Is the hand of the master visible throughout?  Antoine Du
Verdier in the 1605 edition of his Prosopographie writes: '(Rabelais')
misfortune has been that everybody has wished to "pantagruelize!" and
several books have appeared under his name, and have been added to his
works, which are not by him, as, for instance, l'Ile Sonnante, written by a
certain scholar of Valence and others.'

The scholar of Valence might be Guillaume des Autels, to whom with more
certainty can be ascribed the authorship of a dull imitation of Rabelais,
the History of Fanfreluche and Gaudichon, published in 1578, which, to say
the least of it, is very much inferior to the fifth book.

Louis Guyon, in his Diverses Lecons, is still more positive:  'As to the
last book which has been included in his works, entitled l'Ile Sonnante,
the object of which seems to be to find fault with and laugh at the members
and the authorities of the Catholic Church, I protest that he did not
compose it, for it was written long after his death.  I was at Paris when
it was written, and I know quite well who was its author; he was not a
doctor.'  That is very emphatic, and it is impossible to ignore it.

Yet everyone must recognize that there is a great deal of Rabelais in the
fifth book.  He must have planned it and begun it.  Remembering that in
1548 he had published, not as an experiment, but rather as a bait and as an
announcement, the first eleven chapters of the fourth book, we may conclude
that the first sixteen chapters of the fifth book published by themselves
nine years after his death, in 1562, represent the remainder of his
definitely finished work.  This is the more certain because these first
chapters, which contain the Apologue of the Horse and the Ass and the
terrible Furred Law-cats, are markedly better than what follows them.  They
are not the only ones where the master's hand may be traced, but they are
the only ones where no other hand could possibly have interfered.

In the remainder the sentiment is distinctly Protestant.  Rabelais was much
struck by the vices of the clergy and did not spare them.  Whether we are
unable to forgive his criticisms because they were conceived in a spirit of
raillery, or whether, on the other hand, we feel admiration for him on this
point, yet Rabelais was not in the least a sectary.  If he strongly desired
a moral reform, indirectly pointing out the need of it in his mocking
fashion, he was not favourable to a political reform.  Those who would make
of him a Protestant altogether forget that the Protestants of his time were
not for him, but against him.  Henri Estienne, for instance, Ramus,
Theodore de Beze, and especially Calvin, should know how he was to be
regarded.  Rabelais belonged to what may be called the early reformation,
to that band of honest men in the beginning of the sixteenth century,
precursors of the later one perhaps, but, like Erasmus, between the two
extremes.  He was neither Lutheran nor Calvinist, neither German nor
Genevese, and it is quite natural that his work was not reprinted in
Switzerland, which would certainly have happened had the Protestants looked
on him as one of themselves.

That Rabelais collected the materials for the fifth book, had begun it, and
got on some way, there can be no doubt:  the excellence of a large number
of passages prove it, but--taken as a whole--the fifth book has not the
value, the verve, and the variety of the others.  The style is quite
different, less rich, briefer, less elaborate, drier, in parts even
wearisome.  In the first four books Rabelais seldom repeats himself.  The
fifth book contains from the point of view of the vocabulary really the
least novelty.  On the contrary, it is full of words and expressions
already met with, which is very natural in an imitation, in a copy, forced
to keep to a similar tone, and to show by such reminders and likenesses
that it is really by the same pen.  A very striking point is the profound
difference in the use of anatomical terms.  In the other books they are
most frequently used in a humorous sense, and nonsensically, with a quite
other meaning than their own; in the fifth they are applied correctly.  It
was necessary to include such terms to keep up the practice, but the writer
has not thought of using them to add to the comic effect:  one cannot
always think of everything.  Trouble has been taken, of course, to include
enumerations, but there are much fewer fabricated and fantastic words.  In
short, the hand of the maker is far from showing the same suppleness and
strength.

A eulogistic quatrain is signed Nature quite, which, it is generally
agreed, is an anagram of Jean Turquet.  Did the adapter of the fifth book
sign his work in this indirect fashion?  He might be of the Genevese family
to whom Louis Turquet and his son Theodore belonged, both well-known, and
both strong Protestants.  The obscurity relating to this matter is far from
being cleared up, and perhaps never will be.

It fell to my lot--here, unfortunately, I am forced to speak of a personal
matter--to print for the first time the manuscript of the fifth book.  At
first it was hoped it might be in Rabelais' own hand; afterwards that it
might be at least a copy of his unfinished work.  The task was a difficult
one, for the writing, extremely flowing and rapid, is execrable, and most
difficult to decipher and to transcribe accurately.  Besides, it often
happens in the sixteenth and the end of the fifteenth century, that
manuscripts are much less correct than the printed versions, even when they
have not been copied by clumsy and ignorant hands.  In this case, it is the
writing of a clerk executed as quickly as possible.  The farther it goes
the more incorrect it becomes, as if the writer were in haste to finish.

What is really the origin of it?  It has less the appearance of notes or
fragments prepared by Rabelais than of a first attempt at revision.  It is
not an author's rough draft; still less is it his manuscript.  If I had not
printed this enigmatical text with scrupulous and painful fidelity, I would
do it now.  It was necessary to do it so as to clear the way.  But as the
thing is done, and accessible to those who may be interested, and who wish
to critically examine it, there is no further need of reprinting it.  All
the editions of Rabelais continue, and rightly, to reproduce the edition of
1564.  It is not the real Rabelais, but however open to criticism it may
be, it was under that form that the fifth book appeared in the sixteenth
century, under that form it was accepted.  Consequently it is convenient
and even necessary to follow and keep to the original edition.

The first sixteen chapters may, and really must be, the text of Rabelais,
in the final form as left by him, and found after his death; the framework,
and a number of the passages in the continuation, the best ones, of course,
are his, but have been patched up and tampered with.  Nothing can have been
suppressed of what existed; it was evidently thought that everything should
be admitted with the final revision; but the tone was changed, additions
were made, and 'improvements.'  Adapters are always strangely vain.

In the seventeenth century, the French printing-press, save for an edition
issued at Troyes in 1613, gave up publishing Rabelais, and the work passed
to foreign countries.  Jean Fuet reprinted him at Antwerp in 1602.  After
the Amsterdam edition of 1659, where for the first time appears 'The
Alphabet of the French Author,' comes the Elzevire edition of 1663.  The
type, an imitation of what made the reputation of the little volumes of the
Gryphes of Lyons, is charming, the printing is perfect, and the paper,
which is French--the development of paper-making in Holland and England did
not take place till after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes--is
excellent.  They are pretty volumes to the eye, but, as in all the reprints
of the seventeenth century, the text is full of faults and most
untrustworthy.

France, through a representative in a foreign land, however, comes into
line again in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and in a really
serious fashion, thanks to the very considerable learning of a French
refugee, Jacob Le Duchat, who died in 1748.  He had a most thorough
knowledge of the French prose-writers of the sixteenth century, and he made
them accessible by his editions of the Quinze Joies du Mariage, of Henri
Estienne, of Agrippa d'Aubigne, of L'Etoile, and of the Satyre Menippee.
In 1711 he published an edition of Rabelais at Amsterdam, through Henry
Bordesius, in five duodecimo volumes.  The reprint in quarto which he
issued in 1741, seven years before his death, is, with its engravings by
Bernard Picot, a fine library edition.  Le Duchat's is the first of the
critical editions.  It takes account of differences in the texts, and
begins to point out the variations.  His very numerous notes are
remarkable, and are still worthy of most serious consideration.  He was the
first to offer useful elucidations, and these have been repeated after him,
and with good reason will continue to be so.  The Abbe de Massy's edition
of 1752, also an Amsterdam production, has made use of Le Duchat's but does
not take its place.  Finally, at the end of the century, Cazin printed
Rabelais in his little volume, in 1782, and Bartiers issued two editions
(of no importance) at Paris in 1782 and 1798.  Fortunately the nineteenth
century has occupied itself with the great 'Satyrique' in a more competent
and useful fashion.

In 1820 L'Aulnaye published through Desoer his three little volumes,
printed in exquisite style, and which have other merits besides.  His
volume of annotations, in which, that nothing might be lost of his own
notes, he has included many things not directly relating to Rabelais, is
full of observations and curious remarks which are very useful additions to
Le Duchat.  One fault to be found with him is his further complication of
the spelling.  This he did in accordance with a principle that the words
should be referred to their real etymology.  Learned though he was,
Rabelais had little care to be so etymological, and it is not his theories
but those of the modern scholar that have been ventilated.

Somewhat later, from 1823 to 1826, Esmangart and Johanneau issued a
variorum edition in nine volumes, in which the text is often encumbered by
notes which are really too numerous, and, above all, too long.  The work
was an enormous one, but the best part of it is Le Duchat's, and what is
not his is too often absolutely hypothetical and beside the truth.  Le
Duchat had already given too much importance to the false historical
explanation.  Here it is constantly coming in, and it rests on no evidence.
In reality, there is no need of the key to Rabelais by which to discover
the meaning of subtle allusions.  He is neither so complicated nor so full
of riddles.  We know how he has scattered the names of contemporaries about
his work, sometimes of friends, sometimes of enemies, and without
disguising them under any mask.  He is no more Panurge than Louis XII. is
Gargantua or Francis I. Pantagruel.  Rabelais says what he wants, all he
wants, and in the way he wants.  There are no mysteries below the surface,
and it is a waste of time to look for knots in a bulrush.  All the
historical explanations are purely imaginary, utterly without proof, and
should the more emphatically be looked on as baseless and dismissed.  They
are radically false, and therefore both worthless and harmful.

In 1840 there appeared in the Bibliotheque Charpentier the Rabelais in a
single duodecimo volume, begun by Charles Labiche, and, after his death,
completed by M. Paul Lacroix, whose share is the larger.  The text is that
of L'Aulnaye; the short footnotes, with all their brevity, contain useful
explanations of difficult words.  Amongst the editions of Rabelais this is
one of the most important, because it brought him many readers and
admirers.  No other has made him so well and so widely known as this
portable volume, which has been constantly reprinted.  No other has been so
widely circulated, and the sale still goes on.  It was, and must still be
looked on as a most serviceable edition.

The edition published by Didot in 1857 has an altogether special character.
In the biographical notice M. Rathery for the first time treated as they
deserve the foolish prejudices which have made Rabelais misunderstood, and
M. Burgaud des Marets set the text on a quite new base.  Having proved,
what of course is very evident, that in the original editions the spelling,
and the language too, were of the simplest and clearest, and were not
bristling with the nonsensical and superfluous consonants which have given
rise to the idea that Rabelais is difficult to read, he took the trouble
first of all to note the spelling of each word.  Whenever in a single
instance he found it in accordance with modern spelling, he made it the
same throughout.  The task was a hard one, and Rabelais certainly gained in
clearness, but over-zeal is often fatal to a reform.  In respect to its
precision and the value of its notes, which are short and very judicious,
Burgaud des Marets' edition is valuable, and is amongst those which should
be known and taken into account.

Since Le Duchat all the editions have a common fault.  They are not exactly
guilty of fabricating, but they set up an artificial text in the sense
that, in order to lose as little as possible, they have collected and
united what originally were variations--the revisions, in short, of the
original editions.  Guided by the wise counsels given by Brunet in 1852 in
his Researches on the old editions of Rabelais, Pierre Jannet published the
first three books in 1858; then, when the publication of the Bibliotheque
Elzevirienne was discontinued, he took up the work again and finished the
edition in Picard's blue library, in little volumes, each book quite
distinct.  It was M. Jannet who in our days first restored the pure and
exact text of Rabelais, not only without retouching it, but without making
additions or insertions, or juxtaposition of things that were not formerly
found together.  For each of the books he has followed the last edition
issued by Rabelais, and all the earlier differences he gives as variations.
It is astonishing that a thing so simple and so fitting should not have
been done before, and the result is that this absolutely exact fidelity has
restored a lucidity which was not wanting in Rabelais's time, but which had
since been obscured.  All who have come after Jannet have followed in his
path, and there is no reason for straying from it.




FRANCIS RABELAIS.


THE FIRST BOOK.


To the Honoured, Noble Translator of Rabelais.

Rabelais, whose wit prodigiously was made,
All men, professions, actions to invade,
With so much furious vigour, as if it
Had lived o'er each of them, and each had quit,
Yet with such happy sleight and careless skill,
As, like the serpent, doth with laughter kill,
So that although his noble leaves appear
Antic and Gottish, and dull souls forbear
To turn them o'er, lest they should only find
Nothing but savage monsters of a mind,--
No shapen beauteous thoughts; yet when the wise
Seriously strip him of his wild disguise,
Melt down his dross, refine his massy ore,
And polish that which seem'd rough-cast before,
Search his deep sense, unveil his hidden mirth,
And make that fiery which before seem'd earth
(Conquering those things of highest consequence,
What's difficult of language or of sense),
He will appear some noble table writ
In the old Egyptian hieroglyphic wit;
Where, though you monsters and grotescoes see,
You meet all mysteries of philosophy.
For he was wise and sovereignly bred
To know what mankind is, how 't may be led:
He stoop'd unto them, like that wise man, who
Rid on a stick, when 's children would do so.
For we are easy sullen things, and must
Be laugh'd aright, and cheated into trust;
Whilst a black piece of phlegm, that lays about
Dull menaces, and terrifies the rout,
And cajoles it, with all its peevish strength
Piteously stretch'd and botch'd up into length,
Whilst the tired rabble sleepily obey
Such opiate talk, and snore away the day,
By all his noise as much their minds relieves,
As caterwauling of wild cats frights thieves.
  But Rabelais was another thing, a man
Made up of all that art and nature can
Form from a fiery genius,--he was one
Whose soul so universally was thrown
Through all the arts of life, who understood
Each stratagem by which we stray from good;
So that he best might solid virtue teach,
As some 'gainst sins of their own bosoms preach:
He from wise choice did the true means prefer,
In the fool's coat acting th' philosopher.
  Thus hoary Aesop's beasts did mildly tame
Fierce man, and moralize him into shame;
Thus brave romances, while they seem to lay
Great trains of lust, platonic love display;
Thus would old Sparta, if a seldom chance
Show'd a drunk slave, teach children temperance;
Thus did the later poets nobly bring
The scene to height, making the fool the king.
  And, noble sir, you vigorously have trod
In this hard path, unknown, un-understood
By its own countrymen, 'tis you appear
Our full enjoyment which was our despair,
Scattering his mists, cheering his cynic frowns
(For radiant brightness now dark Rabelais crowns),
Leaving your brave heroic cares, which must
Make better mankind and embalm your dust,
So undeceiving us, that now we see
All wit in Gascon and in Cromarty,
Besides that Rabelais is convey'd to us,
And that our Scotland is not barbarous.

                                      J. De la Salle.



Rablophila.

The First Decade.

The Commendation.

Musa! canas nostrorum in testimonium Amorum,
  Et Gargantueas perpetuato faces,
Utque homini tali resultet nobilis Eccho:
  Quicquid Fama canit, Pantagruelis erit.

The Argument.

  Here I intend mysteriously to sing
    With a pen pluck'd from Fame's own wing,
Of Gargantua that learn'd breech-wiping king.

Decade the First.

   I.

  Help me, propitious stars; a mighty blaze
    Benumbs me!  I must sound the praise
Of him hath turn'd this crabbed work in such heroic phrase.

   II.

  What wit would not court martyrdom to hold
    Upon his head a laurel of gold,
Where for each rich conceit a Pumpion-pearl is told:

   III.

  And such a one is this, art's masterpiece,
    A thing ne'er equall'd by old Greece:
A thing ne'er match'd as yet, a real Golden Fleece.

   IV.

  Vice is a soldier fights against mankind;
    Which you may look but never find:
For 'tis an envious thing, with cunning interlined.

   V.

  And thus he rails at drinking all before 'em,
    And for lewd women does be-whore 'em,
And brings their painted faces and black patches to th' quorum.

   VI.

  To drink he was a furious enemy
    Contented with a six-penny--
(with diamond hatband, silver spurs, six horses.) pie--

   VII.

  And for tobacco's pate-rotunding smoke,
    Much had he said, and much more spoke,
But 'twas not then found out, so the design was broke.

   VIII.

  Muse! Fancy! Faith! come now arise aloud,
    Assembled in a blue-vein'd cloud,
And this tall infant in angelic arms now shroud.

   IX.

  To praise it further I would now begin
    Were 't now a thoroughfare and inn,
It harbours vice, though 't be to catch it in a gin.

   X.

  Therefore, my Muse, draw up thy flowing sail,
    And acclamate a gentle hail
With all thy art and metaphors, which must prevail.

Jam prima Oceani pars est praeterita nostri.
  Imparibus restat danda secunda modis.
Quam si praestiterit mentem Daemon malus addam,
  Cum sapiens totus prodierit Rabelais.

                                             Malevolus.



(Reader, the Errata, which in this book are not a few, are casually lost;
and therefore the Translator, not having leisure to collect them again,
craves thy pardon for such as thou may'st meet with.)


[Illustration: prologue1]


The Author's Prologue to the First Book.

Most noble and illustrious drinkers, and you thrice precious pockified
blades (for to you, and none else, do I dedicate my writings), Alcibiades,
in that dialogue of Plato's, which is entitled The Banquet, whilst he was
setting forth the praises of his schoolmaster Socrates (without all
question the prince of philosophers), amongst other discourses to that
purpose, said that he resembled the Silenes.  Silenes of old were little
boxes, like those we now may see in the shops of apothecaries, painted on
the outside with wanton toyish figures, as harpies, satyrs, bridled geese,
horned hares, saddled ducks, flying goats, thiller harts, and other
such-like counterfeited pictures at discretion, to excite people unto
laughter, as Silenus himself, who was the foster-father of good Bacchus, was
wont to do; but within those capricious caskets were carefully preserved and
kept many rich jewels and fine drugs, such as balm, ambergris, amomon, musk,
civet, with several kinds of precious stones, and other things of great
price.  Just such another thing was Socrates.  For to have eyed his outside,
and esteemed of him by his exterior appearance, you would not have given the
peel of an onion for him, so deformed he was in body, and ridiculous in his
gesture.  He had a sharp pointed nose, with the look of a bull, and
countenance of a fool:  he was in his carriage simple, boorish in his
apparel, in fortune poor, unhappy in his wives, unfit for all offices in the
commonwealth, always laughing, tippling, and merrily carousing to everyone,
with continual gibes and jeers, the better by those means to conceal his
divine knowledge.  Now, opening this box you would have found within it a
heavenly and inestimable drug, a more than human understanding, an admirable
virtue, matchless learning, invincible courage, unimitable sobriety, certain
contentment of mind, perfect assurance, and an incredible misregard of all
that for which men commonly do so much watch, run, sail, fight, travel, toil
and turmoil themselves.

Whereunto (in your opinion) doth this little flourish of a preamble tend?
For so much as you, my good disciples, and some other jolly fools of ease
and leisure, reading the pleasant titles of some books of our invention, as
Gargantua, Pantagruel, Whippot (Fessepinte.), the Dignity of Codpieces, of
Pease and Bacon with a Commentary, &c., are too ready to judge that there
is nothing in them but jests, mockeries, lascivious discourse, and
recreative lies; because the outside (which is the title) is usually,
without any farther inquiry, entertained with scoffing and derision.  But
truly it is very unbeseeming to make so slight account of the works of men,
seeing yourselves avouch that it is not the habit makes the monk, many
being monasterially accoutred, who inwardly are nothing less than monachal,
and that there are of those that wear Spanish capes, who have but little of
the valour of Spaniards in them.  Therefore is it, that you must open the
book, and seriously consider of the matter treated in it.  Then shall you
find that it containeth things of far higher value than the box did
promise; that is to say, that the subject thereof is not so foolish as by
the title at the first sight it would appear to be.

And put the case, that in the literal sense you meet with purposes merry
and solacious enough, and consequently very correspondent to their
inscriptions, yet must not you stop there as at the melody of the charming
syrens, but endeavour to interpret that in a sublimer sense which possibly
you intended to have spoken in the jollity of your heart.  Did you ever
pick the lock of a cupboard to steal a bottle of wine out of it?  Tell me
truly, and, if you did, call to mind the countenance which then you had.
Or, did you ever see a dog with a marrowbone in his mouth,--the beast of
all other, says Plato, lib. 2, de Republica, the most philosophical?  If
you have seen him, you might have remarked with what devotion and
circumspectness he wards and watcheth it:  with what care he keeps it:  how
fervently he holds it:  how prudently he gobbets it:  with what affection
he breaks it:  and with what diligence he sucks it.  To what end all this?
What moveth him to take all these pains?  What are the hopes of his labour?
What doth he expect to reap thereby?  Nothing but a little marrow.  True it
is, that this little is more savoury and delicious than the great
quantities of other sorts of meat, because the marrow (as Galen testifieth,
5. facult. nat. & 11. de usu partium) is a nourishment most perfectly
elaboured by nature.

In imitation of this dog, it becomes you to be wise, to smell, feel and
have in estimation these fair goodly books, stuffed with high conceptions,
which, though seemingly easy in the pursuit, are in the cope and encounter
somewhat difficult.  And then, like him, you must, by a sedulous lecture,
and frequent meditation, break the bone, and suck out the marrow,--that is,
my allegorical sense, or the things I to myself propose to be signified by
these Pythagorical symbols, with assured hope, that in so doing you will at
last attain to be both well-advised and valiant by the reading of them:
for in the perusal of this treatise you shall find another kind of taste,
and a doctrine of a more profound and abstruse consideration, which will
disclose unto you the most glorious sacraments and dreadful mysteries, as
well in what concerneth your religion, as matters of the public state, and
life economical.

Do you believe, upon your conscience, that Homer, whilst he was a-couching
his Iliads and Odysses, had any thought upon those allegories, which
Plutarch, Heraclides Ponticus, Eustathius, Cornutus squeezed out of him,
and which Politian filched again from them?  If you trust it, with neither
hand nor foot do you come near to my opinion, which judgeth them to have
been as little dreamed of by Homer, as the Gospel sacraments were by Ovid
in his Metamorphoses, though a certain gulligut friar (Frere Lubin
croquelardon.) and true bacon-picker would have undertaken to prove it, if
perhaps he had met with as very fools as himself, (and as the proverb says)
a lid worthy of such a kettle.

If you give no credit thereto, why do not you the same in these jovial new
chronicles of mine?  Albeit when I did dictate them, I thought upon no more
than you, who possibly were drinking the whilst as I was.  For in the
composing of this lordly book, I never lost nor bestowed any more, nor any
other time than what was appointed to serve me for taking of my bodily
refection, that is, whilst I was eating and drinking.  And indeed that is
the fittest and most proper hour wherein to write these high matters and
deep sciences:  as Homer knew very well, the paragon of all philologues,
and Ennius, the father of the Latin poets, as Horace calls him, although a
certain sneaking jobernol alleged that his verses smelled more of the wine
than oil.

So saith a turlupin or a new start-up grub of my books, but a turd for him.
The fragrant odour of the wine, O how much more dainty, pleasant, laughing
(Riant, priant, friant.), celestial and delicious it is, than that smell of
oil!  And I will glory as much when it is said of me, that I have spent
more on wine than oil, as did Demosthenes, when it was told him, that his
expense on oil was greater than on wine.  I truly hold it for an honour and
praise to be called and reputed a Frolic Gualter and a Robin Goodfellow;
for under this name am I welcome in all choice companies of Pantagruelists.
It was upbraided to Demosthenes by an envious surly knave, that his
Orations did smell like the sarpler or wrapper of a foul and filthy
oil-vessel.  For this cause interpret you all my deeds and sayings in the
perfectest sense; reverence the cheese-like brain that feeds you with these
fair billevezees and trifling jollities, and do what lies in you to keep me
always merry.  Be frolic now, my lads, cheer up your hearts, and joyfully
read the rest, with all the ease of your body and profit of your reins.
But hearken, joltheads, you viedazes, or dickens take ye, remember to drink
a health to me for the like favour again, and I will pledge you instantly,
Tout ares-metys.



Rabelais to the Reader.

Good friends, my Readers, who peruse this Book,
Be not offended, whilst on it you look:
Denude yourselves of all depraved affection,
For it contains no badness, nor infection:
'Tis true that it brings forth to you no birth
Of any value, but in point of mirth;
Thinking therefore how sorrow might your mind
Consume, I could no apter subject find;
One inch of joy surmounts of grief a span;
Because to laugh is proper to the man.



Chapter 1.I.

Of the Genealogy and Antiquity of Gargantua.

I must refer you to the great chronicle of Pantagruel for the knowledge of
that genealogy and antiquity of race by which Gargantua is come unto us.
In it you may understand more at large how the giants were born in this
world, and how from them by a direct line issued Gargantua, the father of
Pantagruel:  and do not take it ill, if for this time I pass by it,
although the subject be such, that the oftener it were remembered, the more
it would please your worshipful Seniorias; according to which you have the
authority of Plato in Philebo and Gorgias; and of Flaccus, who says that
there are some kinds of purposes (such as these are without doubt), which,
the frequentlier they be repeated, still prove the more delectable.

Would to God everyone had as certain knowledge of his genealogy since the
time of the ark of Noah until this age.  I think many are at this day
emperors, kings, dukes, princes, and popes on the earth, whose extraction
is from some porters and pardon-pedlars; as, on the contrary, many are now
poor wandering beggars, wretched and miserable, who are descended of the
blood and lineage of great kings and emperors, occasioned, as I conceive
it, by the transport and revolution of kingdoms and empires, from the
Assyrians to the Medes, from the Medes to the Persians, from the Persians
to the Macedonians, from the Macedonians to the Romans, from the Romans to
the Greeks, from the Greeks to the French.

And to give you some hint concerning myself, who speaks unto you, I cannot
think but I am come of the race of some rich king or prince in former
times; for never yet saw you any man that had a greater desire to be a
king, and to be rich, than I have, and that only that I may make good
cheer, do nothing, nor care for anything, and plentifully enrich my
friends, and all honest and learned men.  But herein do I comfort myself,
that in the other world I shall be so, yea and greater too than at this
present I dare wish.  As for you, with the same or a better conceit
consolate yourselves in your distresses, and drink fresh if you can come by
it.

To return to our wethers, I say that by the sovereign gift of heaven, the
antiquity and genealogy of Gargantua hath been reserved for our use more
full and perfect than any other except that of the Messias, whereof I mean
not to speak; for it belongs not unto my purpose, and the devils, that is
to say, the false accusers and dissembled gospellers, will therein oppose
me.  This genealogy was found by John Andrew in a meadow, which he had near
the pole-arch, under the olive-tree, as you go to Narsay:  where, as he was
making cast up some ditches, the diggers with their mattocks struck against
a great brazen tomb, and unmeasurably long, for they could never find the
end thereof, by reason that it entered too far within the sluices of
Vienne.  Opening this tomb in a certain place thereof, sealed on the top
with the mark of a goblet, about which was written in Etrurian letters Hic
Bibitur, they found nine flagons set in such order as they use to rank
their kyles in Gascony, of which that which was placed in the middle had
under it a big, fat, great, grey, pretty, small, mouldy, little pamphlet,
smelling stronger, but no better than roses.  In that book the said
genealogy was found written all at length, in a chancery hand, not in
paper, not in parchment, nor in wax, but in the bark of an elm-tree, yet so
worn with the long tract of time, that hardly could three letters together
be there perfectly discerned.

I (though unworthy) was sent for thither, and with much help of those
spectacles, whereby the art of reading dim writings, and letters that do
not clearly appear to the sight, is practised, as Aristotle teacheth it,
did translate the book as you may see in your Pantagruelizing, that is to
say, in drinking stiffly to your own heart's desire, and reading the
dreadful and horrific acts of Pantagruel.  At the end of the book there was
a little treatise entitled the Antidoted Fanfreluches, or a Galimatia of
extravagant conceits.  The rats and moths, or (that I may not lie) other
wicked beasts, had nibbled off the beginning:  the rest I have hereto
subjoined, for the reverence I bear to antiquity.



Chapter 1.II.

The Antidoted Fanfreluches:  or, a Galimatia of extravagant Conceits found
in an ancient Monument.

No sooner did the Cymbrians' overcomer
Pass through the air to shun the dew of summer,
But at his coming straight great tubs were fill'd,
With pure fresh butter down in showers distill'd:
Wherewith when water'd was his grandam, Hey,
Aloud he cried, Fish it, sir, I pray y';
Because his beard is almost all beray'd;
Or, that he would hold to 'm a scale, he pray'd.

To lick his slipper, some told was much better,
Than to gain pardons, and the merit greater.
In th' interim a crafty chuff approaches,
From the depth issued, where they fish for roaches;
Who said, Good sirs, some of them let us save,
The eel is here, and in this hollow cave
You'll find, if that our looks on it demur,
A great waste in the bottom of his fur.

To read this chapter when he did begin,
Nothing but a calf's horns were found therein;
I feel, quoth he, the mitre which doth hold
My head so chill, it makes my brains take cold.
Being with the perfume of a turnip warm'd,
To stay by chimney hearths himself he arm'd,
Provided that a new thill-horse they made
Of every person of a hair-brain'd head.

They talked of the bunghole of Saint Knowles,
Of Gilbathar and thousand other holes,
If they might be reduced t' a scarry stuff,
Such as might not be subject to the cough:
Since ev'ry man unseemly did it find,
To see them gaping thus at ev'ry wind:
For, if perhaps they handsomely were closed,
For pledges they to men might be exposed.

In this arrest by Hercules the raven
Was flayed at her (his) return from Lybia haven.
Why am not I, said Minos, there invited?
Unless it be myself, not one's omitted:
And then it is their mind, I do no more
Of frogs and oysters send them any store:
In case they spare my life and prove but civil,
I give their sale of distaffs to the devil.

To quell him comes Q.B., who limping frets
At the safe pass of tricksy crackarets:
The boulter, the grand Cyclops' cousin, those
Did massacre, whilst each one wiped his nose:
Few ingles in this fallow ground are bred,
But on a tanner's mill are winnowed.
Run thither all of you, th' alarms sound clear,
You shall have more than you had the last year.

Short while thereafter was the bird of Jove
Resolved to speak, though dismal it should prove;
Yet was afraid, when he saw them in ire,
They should o'erthrow quite flat down dead th' empire.
He rather choosed the fire from heaven to steal,
To boats where were red herrings put to sale;
Than to be calm 'gainst those, who strive to brave us,
And to the Massorets' fond words enslave us.

All this at last concluded gallantly,
In spite of Ate and her hern-like thigh,
Who, sitting, saw Penthesilea ta'en,
In her old age, for a cress-selling quean.
Each one cried out, Thou filthy collier toad,
Doth it become thee to be found abroad?
Thou hast the Roman standard filch'd away,
Which they in rags of parchment did display.

Juno was born, who, under the rainbow,
Was a-bird-catching with her duck below:
When her with such a grievous trick they plied
That she had almost been bethwacked by it.
The bargain was, that, of that throatful, she
Should of Proserpina have two eggs free;
And if that she thereafter should be found,
She to a hawthorn hill should be fast bound.

Seven months thereafter, lacking twenty-two,
He, that of old did Carthage town undo,
Did bravely midst them all himself advance,
Requiring of them his inheritance;
Although they justly made up the division,
According to the shoe-welt-law's decision,
By distributing store of brews and beef
To these poor fellows that did pen the brief.

But th' year will come, sign of a Turkish bow,
Five spindles yarn'd, and three pot-bottoms too,
Wherein of a discourteous king the dock
Shall pepper'd be under an hermit's frock.
Ah! that for one she hypocrite you must
Permit so many acres to be lost!
Cease, cease, this vizard may become another,
Withdraw yourselves unto the serpent's brother.

'Tis in times past, that he who is shall reign
With his good friends in peace now and again.
No rash nor heady prince shall then rule crave,
Each good will its arbitrement shall have;
And the joy, promised of old as doom
To the heaven's guests, shall in its beacon come.
Then shall the breeding mares, that benumb'd were,
Like royal palfreys ride triumphant there.

And this continue shall from time to time,
Till Mars be fetter'd for an unknown crime;
Then shall one come, who others will surpass,
Delightful, pleasing, matchless, full of grace.
Cheer up your hearts, approach to this repast,
All trusty friends of mine; for he's deceased,
Who would not for a world return again,
So highly shall time past be cried up then.

He who was made of wax shall lodge each member
Close by the hinges of a block of timber.
We then no more shall Master, master, whoot,
The swagger, who th' alarum bell holds out;
Could one seize on the dagger which he bears,
Heads would be free from tingling in the ears,
To baffle the whole storehouse of abuses.
The thus farewell Apollo and the Muses.



Chapter 1.III.

How Gargantua was carried eleven months in his mother's belly.

Grangousier was a good fellow in his time, and notable jester; he loved to
drink neat, as much as any man that then was in the world, and would
willingly eat salt meat.  To this intent he was ordinarily well furnished
with gammons of bacon, both of Westphalia, Mayence and Bayonne, with store
of dried neat's tongues, plenty of links, chitterlings and puddings in
their season; together with salt beef and mustard, a good deal of hard roes
of powdered mullet called botargos, great provision of sausages, not of
Bolonia (for he feared the Lombard Boccone), but of Bigorre, Longaulnay,
Brene, and Rouargue.  In the vigour of his age he married Gargamelle,
daughter to the King of the Parpaillons, a jolly pug, and well-mouthed
wench.  These two did oftentimes do the two-backed beast together, joyfully
rubbing and frotting their bacon 'gainst one another, in so far, that at
last she became great with child of a fair son, and went with him unto the
eleventh month; for so long, yea longer, may a woman carry her great belly,
especially when it is some masterpiece of nature, and a person
predestinated to the performance, in his due time, of great exploits.  As
Homer says, that the child, which Neptune begot upon the nymph, was born a
whole year after the conception, that is, in the twelfth month.  For, as
Aulus Gellius saith, lib. 3, this long time was suitable to the majesty of
Neptune, that in it the child might receive his perfect form.  For the like
reason Jupiter made the night, wherein he lay with Alcmena, last
forty-eight hours, a shorter time not being sufficient for the forging of
Hercules, who cleansed the world of the monsters and tyrants wherewith it
was suppressed.  My masters, the ancient Pantagruelists, have confirmed
that which I say, and withal declared it to be not only possible, but also
maintained the lawful birth and legitimation of the infant born of a woman
in the eleventh month after the decease of her husband.  Hypocrates, lib.
de alimento.  Plinius, lib. 7, cap. 5.  Plautus, in his Cistelleria.
Marcus Varro, in his satire inscribed The Testament, alleging to this
purpose the authority of Aristotle.  Censorinus, lib. de die natali.
Arist. lib. 7, cap. 3 & 4, de natura animalium.  Gellius, lib. 3, cap. 16.
Servius, in his exposition upon this verse of Virgil's eclogues, Matri
longa decem, &c., and a thousand other fools, whose number hath been
increased by the lawyers ff. de suis, et legit l. intestato. paragrapho.
fin. and in Auth. de restitut. et ea quae parit in xi mense.  Moreover upon
these grounds they have foisted in their Robidilardic, or Lapiturolive law.
Gallus ff. de lib. et posth. l. sept. ff. de stat. hom., and some other
laws, which at this time I dare not name.  By means whereof the honest
widows may without danger play at the close buttock game with might and
main, and as hard as they can, for the space of the first two months after
the decease of their husbands.  I pray you, my good lusty springal lads, if
you find any of these females, that are worth the pains of untying the
codpiece-point, get up, ride upon them, and bring them to me; for, if they
happen within the third month to conceive, the child should be heir to the
deceased, if, before he died, he had no other children, and the mother
shall pass for an honest woman.

When she is known to have conceived, thrust forward boldly, spare her not,
whatever betide you, seeing the paunch is full.  As Julia, the daughter of
the Emperor Octavian, never prostituted herself to her belly-bumpers, but
when she found herself with child, after the manner of ships, that receive
not their steersman till they have their ballast and lading.  And if any
blame them for this their rataconniculation, and reiterated lechery upon
their pregnancy and big-belliedness, seeing beasts, in the like exigent of
their fulness, will never suffer the male-masculant to encroach them, their
answer will be, that those are beasts, but they are women, very well
skilled in the pretty vales and small fees of the pleasant trade and
mysteries of superfetation:  as Populia heretofore answered, according to
the relation of Macrobius, lib. 2. Saturnal.  If the devil will not have
them to bag, he must wring hard the spigot, and stop the bung-hole.



Chapter 1.IV.

How Gargamelle, being great with Gargantua, did eat a huge deal of tripes.

The occasion and manner how Gargamelle was brought to bed, and delivered of
her child, was thus:  and, if you do not believe it, I wish your bum-gut
fall out and make an escapade.  Her bum-gut, indeed, or fundament escaped
her in an afternoon, on the third day of February, with having eaten at
dinner too many godebillios.  Godebillios are the fat tripes of coiros.
Coiros are beeves fattened at the cratch in ox-stalls, or in the fresh
guimo meadows.  Guimo meadows are those that for their fruitfulness may be
mowed twice a year.  Of those fat beeves they had killed three hundred
sixty-seven thousand and fourteen, to be salted at Shrovetide, that in the
entering of the spring they might have plenty of powdered beef, wherewith
to season their mouths at the beginning of their meals, and to taste their
wine the better.

They had abundance of tripes, as you have heard, and they were so
delicious, that everyone licked his fingers.  But the mischief was this,
that, for all men could do, there was no possibility to keep them long in
that relish; for in a very short while they would have stunk, which had
been an undecent thing.  It was therefore concluded, that they should be
all of them gulched up, without losing anything.  To this effect they
invited all the burghers of Sainais, of Suille, of the Roche-Clermaud, of
Vaugaudry, without omitting the Coudray, Monpensier, the Gue de Vede, and
other their neighbours, all stiff drinkers, brave fellows, and good players
at the kyles.  The good man Grangousier took great pleasure in their
company, and commanded there should be no want nor pinching for anything.
Nevertheless he bade his wife eat sparingly, because she was near her time,
and that these tripes were no very commendable meat.  They would fain, said
he, be at the chewing of ordure, that would eat the case wherein it was.
Notwithstanding these admonitions, she did eat sixteen quarters, two
bushels, three pecks and a pipkin full.  O the fair fecality wherewith she
swelled, by the ingrediency of such shitten stuff!

After dinner they all went out in a hurl to the grove of the willows,
where, on the green grass, to the sound of the merry flutes and pleasant
bagpipes, they danced so gallantly, that it was a sweet and heavenly sport
to see them so frolic.



Chapter 1.V.

The Discourse of the Drinkers.


[Illustration: All Stiff Drinkers--1-05-006]


Then did they fall upon the chat of victuals and some belly furniture to be
snatched at in the very same place.  Which purpose was no sooner mentioned,
but forthwith began flagons to go, gammons to trot, goblets to fly, great
bowls to ting, glasses to ring.  Draw, reach, fill, mix, give it me without
water.  So, my friend, so, whip me off this glass neatly, bring me hither
some claret, a full weeping glass till it run over.  A cessation and truce
with thirst.  Ha, thou false fever, wilt thou not be gone?  By my figgins,
godmother, I cannot as yet enter in the humour of being merry, nor drink so
currently as I would.  You have catched a cold, gammer?  Yea, forsooth,
sir.  By the belly of Sanct Buff, let us talk of our drink:  I never drink
but at my hours, like the Pope's mule.  And I never drink but in my
breviary, like a fair father guardian.  Which was first, thirst or
drinking?  Thirst, for who in the time of innocence would have drunk
without being athirst?  Nay, sir, it was drinking; for privatio
praesupponit habitum.  I am learned, you see:  Foecundi calices quem non
fecere disertum?  We poor innocents drink but too much without thirst.  Not
I truly, who am a sinner, for I never drink without thirst, either present
or future.  To prevent it, as you know, I drink for the thirst to come.  I
drink eternally.  This is to me an eternity of drinking, and drinking of
eternity.  Let us sing, let us drink, and tune up our roundelays.  Where is
my funnel?  What, it seems I do not drink but by an attorney?  Do you wet
yourselves to dry, or do you dry to wet you?  Pish, I understand not the
rhetoric (theoric, I should say), but I help myself somewhat by the
practice.  Baste! enough!  I sup, I wet, I humect, I moisten my gullet, I
drink, and all for fear of dying.  Drink always and you shall never die.
If I drink not, I am a-ground, dry, gravelled and spent.  I am stark dead
without drink, and my soul ready to fly into some marsh amongst frogs; the
soul never dwells in a dry place, drouth kills it.  O you butlers, creators
of new forms, make me of no drinker a drinker, a perennity and
everlastingness of sprinkling and bedewing me through these my parched and
sinewy bowels.  He drinks in vain that feels not the pleasure of it.  This
entereth into my veins,--the pissing tools and urinal vessels shall have
nothing of it.  I would willingly wash the tripes of the calf which I
apparelled this morning.  I have pretty well now ballasted my stomach and
stuffed my paunch.  If the papers of my bonds and bills could drink as well
as I do, my creditors would not want for wine when they come to see me, or
when they are to make any formal exhibition of their rights to what of me
they can demand.  This hand of yours spoils your nose.  O how many other
such will enter here before this go out!  What, drink so shallow?  It is
enough to break both girds and petrel.  This is called a cup of
dissimulation, or flagonal hypocrisy.

What difference is there between a bottle and a flagon.  Great difference;
for the bottle is stopped and shut up with a stopple, but the flagon with a
vice (La bouteille est fermee a bouchon, et le flaccon a vis.).  Bravely
and well played upon the words!  Our fathers drank lustily, and emptied
their cans.  Well cacked, well sung!  Come, let us drink:  will you send
nothing to the river?  Here is one going to wash the tripes.  I drink no
more than a sponge.  I drink like a Templar knight.  And I, tanquam
sponsus.  And I, sicut terra sine aqua.  Give me a synonymon for a gammon
of bacon.  It is the compulsory of drinkers:  it is a pulley.  By a
pulley-rope wine is let down into a cellar, and by a gammon into the
stomach. Hey! now, boys, hither, some drink, some drink.  There is no
trouble in it. Respice personam, pone pro duos, bus non est in usu.  If I
could get up as well as I can swallow down, I had been long ere now very
high in the air.

Thus became Tom Tosspot rich,--thus went in the tailor's stitch.  Thus did
Bacchus conquer th' Inde--thus Philosophy, Melinde.  A little rain allays a
great deal of wind:  long tippling breaks the thunder.  But if there came
such liquor from my ballock, would you not willingly thereafter suck the
udder whence it issued?  Here, page, fill!  I prithee, forget me not when
it comes to my turn, and I will enter the election I have made of thee into
the very register of my heart.  Sup, Guillot, and spare not, there is
somewhat in the pot.  I appeal from thirst, and disclaim its jurisdiction.
Page, sue out my appeal in form.  This remnant in the bottom of the glass
must follow its leader.  I was wont heretofore to drink out all, but now I
leave nothing.  Let us not make too much haste; it is requisite we carry
all along with us.  Heyday, here are tripes fit for our sport, and, in
earnest, excellent godebillios of the dun ox (you know) with the black
streak.  O, for God's sake, let us lash them soundly, yet thriftily.
Drink, or I will,--No, no, drink, I beseech you (Ou je vous, je vous
prie.).  Sparrows will not eat unless you bob them on the tail, nor can I
drink if I be not fairly spoke to.  The concavities of my body are like
another Hell for their capacity.  Lagonaedatera (lagon lateris cavitas:
aides orcus: and eteros alter.).  There is not a corner, nor coney-burrow in
all my body, where this wine doth not ferret out my thirst.  Ho, this will
bang it soundly.  But this shall banish it utterly.  Let us wind our horns
by the sound of flagons and bottles, and cry aloud, that whoever hath lost
his thirst come not hither to seek it.  Long clysters of drinking are to be
voided without doors.  The great God made the planets, and we make the
platters neat.  I have the word of the gospel in my mouth, Sitio.  The
stone called asbestos is not more unquenchable than the thirst of my
paternity.  Appetite comes with eating, says Angeston, but the thirst goes
away with drinking.  I have a remedy against thirst, quite contrary to that
which is good against the biting of a mad dog.  Keep running after a dog,
and he will never bite you; drink always before the thirst, and it will
never come upon you.  There I catch you, I awake you.  Argus had a hundred
eyes for his sight, a butler should have (like Briareus) a hundred hands
wherewith to fill us wine indefatigably.  Hey now, lads, let us moisten
ourselves, it will be time to dry hereafter.  White wine here, wine, boys!
Pour out all in the name of Lucifer, fill here, you, fill and fill
(peascods on you) till it be full.  My tongue peels.  Lans trinque; to
thee, countryman, I drink to thee, good fellow, comrade to thee, lusty,
lively!  Ha, la, la, that was drunk to some purpose, and bravely gulped
over.  O lachryma Christi, it is of the best grape!  I'faith, pure Greek,
Greek!  O the fine white wine! upon my conscience, it is a kind of taffetas
wine,--hin, hin, it is of one ear, well wrought, and of good wool.
Courage, comrade, up thy heart, billy!  We will not be beasted at this
bout, for I have got one trick.  Ex hoc in hoc.  There is no enchantment
nor charm there, every one of you hath seen it.  My 'prenticeship is out, I
am a free man at this trade.  I am prester mast (Prestre mace, maistre
passe.), Prish, Brum!  I should say, master past.  O the drinkers, those
that are a-dry, O poor thirsty souls!  Good page, my friend, fill me here
some, and crown the wine, I pray thee.  Like a cardinal!  Natura abhorret
vacuum.  Would you say that a fly could drink in this?  This is after the
fashion of Switzerland.  Clear off, neat, supernaculum!  Come, therefore,
blades, to this divine liquor and celestial juice, swill it over heartily,
and spare not!  It is a decoction of nectar and ambrosia.



Chapter 1.VI.

How Gargantua was born in a strange manner.

Whilst they were on this discourse and pleasant tattle of drinking,
Gargamelle began to be a little unwell in her lower parts; whereupon
Grangousier arose from off the grass, and fell to comfort her very honestly
and kindly, suspecting that she was in travail, and told her that it was
best for her to sit down upon the grass under the willows, because she was
like very shortly to see young feet, and that therefore it was convenient
she should pluck up her spirits, and take a good heart of new at the fresh
arrival of her baby; saying to her withal, that although the pain was
somewhat grievous to her, it would be but of short continuance, and that
the succeeding joy would quickly remove that sorrow, in such sort that she
should not so much as remember it.  On, with a sheep's courage! quoth he.
Despatch this boy, and we will speedily fall to work for the making of
another.  Ha! said she, so well as you speak at your own ease, you that are
men!  Well, then, in the name of God, I'll do my best, seeing that you will
have it so, but would to God that it were cut off from you!  What? said
Grangousier.  Ha, said she, you are a good man indeed, you understand it
well enough.  What, my member? said he.  By the goat's blood, if it please
you, that shall be done instantly; cause bring hither a knife.  Alas, said
she, the Lord forbid, and pray Jesus to forgive me!  I did not say it from
my heart, therefore let it alone, and do not do it neither more nor less
any kind of harm for my speaking so to you.  But I am like to have work
enough to do to-day and all for your member, yet God bless you and it.

Courage, courage, said he, take you no care of the matter, let the four
foremost oxen do the work.  I will yet go drink one whiff more, and if in
the mean time anything befall you that may require my presence, I will be
so near to you, that, at the first whistling in your fist, I shall be with
you forthwith.  A little while after she began to groan, lament and cry.
Then suddenly came the midwives from all quarters, who groping her below,
found some peloderies, which was a certain filthy stuff, and of a taste
truly bad enough.  This they thought had been the child, but it was her
fundament, that was slipped out with the mollification of her straight
entrail, which you call the bum-gut, and that merely by eating of too many
tripes, as we have showed you before.  Whereupon an old ugly trot in the
company, who had the repute of an expert she-physician, and was come from
Brisepaille, near to Saint Genou, three score years before, made her so
horrible a restrictive and binding medicine, and whereby all her larris,
arse-pipes, and conduits were so oppilated, stopped, obstructed, and
contracted, that you could hardly have opened and enlarged them with your
teeth, which is a terrible thing to think upon; seeing the Devil at the
mass at Saint Martin's was puzzled with the like task, when with his teeth
he had lengthened out the parchment whereon he wrote the tittle-tattle of
two young mangy whores.  By this inconvenient the cotyledons of her matrix
were presently loosed, through which the child sprang up and leaped, and
so, entering into the hollow vein, did climb by the diaphragm even above
her shoulders, where the vein divides itself into two, and from thence
taking his way towards the left side, issued forth at her left ear.  As
soon as he was born, he cried not as other babes use to do, Miez, miez,
miez, miez, but with a high, sturdy, and big voice shouted about, Some
drink, some drink, some drink, as inviting all the world to drink with him.
The noise hereof was so extremely great, that it was heard in both the
countries at once of Beauce and Bibarois.  I doubt me, that you do not
thoroughly believe the truth of this strange nativity.  Though you believe
it not, I care not much:  but an honest man, and of good judgment,
believeth still what is told him, and that which he finds written.

Is this beyond our law or our faith--against reason or the holy Scripture?
For my part, I find nothing in the sacred Bible that is against it.  But
tell me, if it had been the will of God, would you say that he could not do
it?  Ha, for favour sake, I beseech you, never emberlucock or inpulregafize
your spirits with these vain thoughts and idle conceits; for I tell you, it
is not impossible with God, and, if he pleased, all women henceforth should
bring forth their children at the ear.  Was not Bacchus engendered out of
the very thigh of Jupiter?  Did not Roquetaillade come out at his mother's
heel, and Crocmoush from the slipper of his nurse?  Was not Minerva born of
the brain, even through the ear of Jove?  Adonis, of the bark of a myrrh
tree; and Castor and Pollux of the doupe of that egg which was laid and
hatched by Leda?  But you would wonder more, and with far greater
amazement, if I should now present you with that chapter of Plinius,
wherein he treateth of strange births, and contrary to nature, and yet am
not I so impudent a liar as he was.  Read the seventh book of his Natural
History, chap.3, and trouble not my head any more about this.



Chapter 1.VII.

After what manner Gargantua had his name given him, and how he tippled,
bibbed, and curried the can.


[Illustration: One of the Girls Brought Him Wine--1-07-018]


The good man Grangousier, drinking and making merry with the rest, heard
the horrible noise which his son had made as he entered into the light of
this world, when he cried out, Some drink, some drink, some drink;
whereupon he said in French, Que grand tu as et souple le gousier! that is
to say, How great and nimble a throat thou hast.  Which the company
hearing, said that verily the child ought to be called Gargantua; because
it was the first word that after his birth his father had spoke, in
imitation, and at the example of the ancient Hebrews; whereunto he
condescended, and his mother was very well pleased therewith.  In the
meanwhile, to quiet the child, they gave him to drink a tirelaregot, that
is, till his throat was like to crack with it; then was he carried to the
font, and there baptized, according to the manner of good Christians.

Immediately thereafter were appointed for him seventeen thousand, nine
hundred, and thirteen cows of the towns of Pautille and Brehemond, to
furnish him with milk in ordinary, for it was impossible to find a nurse
sufficient for him in all the country, considering the great quantity of
milk that was requisite for his nourishment; although there were not
wanting some doctors of the opinion of Scotus, who affirmed that his own
mother gave him suck, and that she could draw out of her breasts one
thousand, four hundred, two pipes, and nine pails of milk at every time.

Which indeed is not probable, and this point hath been found duggishly
scandalous and offensive to tender ears, for that it savoured a little of
heresy.  Thus was he handled for one year and ten months; after which time,
by the advice of physicians, they began to carry him, and then was made for
him a fine little cart drawn with oxen, of the invention of Jan Denio,
wherein they led him hither and thither with great joy; and he was worth
the seeing, for he was a fine boy, had a burly physiognomy, and almost ten
chins.  He cried very little, but beshit himself every hour:  for, to speak
truly of him, he was wonderfully phlegmatic in his posteriors, both by
reason of his natural complexion and the accidental disposition which had
befallen him by his too much quaffing of the Septembral juice.  Yet without
a cause did not he sup one drop; for if he happened to be vexed, angry,
displeased, or sorry, if he did fret, if he did weep, if he did cry, and
what grievous quarter soever he kept, in bringing him some drink, he would
be instantly pacified, reseated in his own temper, in a good humour again,
and as still and quiet as ever.  One of his governesses told me (swearing
by her fig), how he was so accustomed to this kind of way, that, at the
sound of pints and flagons, he would on a sudden fall into an ecstasy, as
if he had then tasted of the joys of paradise; so that they, upon
consideration of this, his divine complexion, would every morning, to cheer
him up, play with a knife upon the glasses, on the bottles with their
stopples, and on the pottle-pots with their lids and covers, at the sound
whereof he became gay, did leap for joy, would loll and rock himself in the
cradle, then nod with his head, monochordizing with his fingers, and
barytonizing with his tail.



Chapter 1.VIII.

How they apparelled Gargantua.

Being of this age, his father ordained to have clothes made to him in his
own livery, which was white and blue.  To work then went the tailors, and
with great expedition were those clothes made, cut, and sewed, according to
the fashion that was then in request.  I find by the ancient records or
pancarts, to be seen in the chamber of accounts, or court of the exchequer
at Montsoreau, that he was accoutred in manner as followeth.  To make him
every shirt of his were taken up nine hundred ells of Chasteleraud linen,
and two hundred for the gussets, in manner of cushions, which they put
under his armpits.  His shirt was not gathered nor plaited, for the
plaiting of shirts was not found out till the seamstresses (when the point
of their needle (Besongner du cul, Englished The eye of the needle.) was
broken) began to work and occupy with the tail.  There were taken up for
his doublet, eight hundred and thirteen ells of white satin, and for his
points fifteen hundred and nine dogs' skins and a half.  Then was it that
men began to tie their breeches to their doublets, and not their doublets
to their breeches:  for it is against nature, as hath most amply been
showed by Ockham upon the exponibles of Master Haultechaussade.

For his breeches were taken up eleven hundred and five ells and a third of
white broadcloth.  They were cut in the form of pillars, chamfered,
channelled and pinked behind that they might not over-heat his reins:  and
were, within the panes, puffed out with the lining of as much blue damask
as was needful:  and remark, that he had very good leg-harness,
proportionable to the rest of his stature.

For his codpiece were used sixteen ells and a quarter of the same cloth,
and it was fashioned on the top like unto a triumphant arch, most gallantly
fastened with two enamelled clasps, in each of which was set a great
emerald, as big as an orange; for, as says Orpheus, lib. de lapidibus, and
Plinius, libro ultimo, it hath an erective virtue and comfortative of the
natural member.  The exiture, outjecting or outstanding, of his codpiece
was of the length of a yard, jagged and pinked, and withal bagging, and
strutting out with the blue damask lining, after the manner of his
breeches.  But had you seen the fair embroidery of the small needlework
purl, and the curiously interlaced knots, by the goldsmith's art set out
and trimmed with rich diamonds, precious rubies, fine turquoises, costly
emeralds, and Persian pearls, you would have compared it to a fair
cornucopia, or horn of abundance, such as you see in antiques, or as Rhea
gave to the two nymphs, Amalthea and Ida, the nurses of Jupiter.

And, like to that horn of abundance, it was still gallant, succulent,
droppy, sappy, pithy, lively, always flourishing, always fructifying, full
of juice, full of flower, full of fruit, and all manner of delight.  I avow
God, it would have done one good to have seen him, but I will tell you more
of him in the book which I have made of the dignity of codpieces.  One
thing I will tell you, that as it was both long and large, so was it well
furnished and victualled within, nothing like unto the hypocritical
codpieces of some fond wooers and wench-courtiers, which are stuffed only
with wind, to the great prejudice of the female sex.

For his shoes were taken up four hundred and six ells of blue
crimson-velvet, and were very neatly cut by parallel lines, joined in
uniform cylinders.  For the soling of them were made use of eleven hundred
hides of brown cows, shapen like the tail of a keeling.

For his coat were taken up eighteen hundred ells of blue velvet, dyed in
grain, embroidered in its borders with fair gilliflowers, in the middle
decked with silver purl, intermixed with plates of gold and store of
pearls, hereby showing that in his time he would prove an especial good
fellow and singular whipcan.

His girdle was made of three hundred ells and a half of silken serge, half
white and half blue, if I mistake it not.  His sword was not of Valentia,
nor his dagger of Saragossa, for his father could not endure these hidalgos
borrachos maranisados como diablos:  but he had a fair sword made of wood,
and the dagger of boiled leather, as well painted and gilded as any man
could wish.

His purse was made of the cod of an elephant, which was given him by Herr
Pracontal, proconsul of Lybia.

For his gown were employed nine thousand six hundred ells, wanting
two-thirds, of blue velvet, as before, all so diagonally purled, that by
true perspective issued thence an unnamed colour, like that you see in the
necks of turtle-doves or turkey-cocks, which wonderfully rejoiced the eyes
of the beholders.  For his bonnet or cap were taken up three hundred, two
ells and a quarter of white velvet, and the form thereof was wide and round,
of the bigness of his head; for his father said that the caps of the
Marrabaise fashion, made like the cover of a pasty, would one time or other
bring a mischief on those that wore them.  For his plume, he wore a fair
great blue feather, plucked from an onocrotal of the country of Hircania the
wild, very prettily hanging down over his right ear.  For the jewel or
brooch which in his cap he carried, he had in a cake of gold, weighing three
score and eight marks, a fair piece enamelled, wherein was portrayed a man's
body with two heads, looking towards one another, four arms, four feet, two
arses, such as Plato, in Symposio, says was the mystical beginning of man's
nature; and about it was written in Ionic letters, Agame ou zetei ta eautes,
or rather, Aner kai gune zugada anthrotos idiaitata, that is, Vir et mulier
junctim propriissime <DW25>.  To wear about his neck, he had a golden chain,
weighing twenty-five thousand and sixty-three marks of gold, the links
thereof being made after the manner of great berries, amongst which were set
in work green jaspers engraven and cut dragon-like, all environed with beams
and sparks, as king Nicepsos of old was wont to wear them:  and it reached
down to the very bust of the rising of his belly, whereby he reaped great
benefit all his life long, as the Greek physicians know well enough.  For
his gloves were put in work sixteen otters' skins, and three of the
loupgarous, or men-eating wolves, for the bordering of them:  and of this
stuff were they made, by the appointment of the Cabalists of Sanlouand.  As
for the rings which his father would have him to wear, to renew the ancient
mark of nobility, he had on the forefinger of his left hand a carbuncle as
big as an ostrich's egg, enchased very daintily in gold of the fineness of a
Turkey seraph.  Upon the middle finger of the same hand he had a ring made
of four metals together, of the strangest fashion that ever was seen; so
that the steel did not crash against the gold, nor the silver crush the
copper.  All this was made by Captain Chappuys, and Alcofribas his good
agent.  On the medical finger of his right hand he had a ring made
spire-wise, wherein was set a perfect Balas ruby, a pointed diamond, and
a Physon emerald, of an inestimable value.  For Hans Carvel, the king of
Melinda's jeweller, esteemed them at the rate of threescore nine millions,
eight hundred ninety-four thousand, and eighteen French crowns of Berry, and
at so much did the Foucres of Augsburg prize them.



Chapter 1.IX.

The colours and liveries of Gargantua.

Gargantua's colours were white and blue, as I have showed you before, by
which his father would give us to understand that his son to him was a
heavenly joy; for the white did signify gladness, pleasure, delight, and
rejoicing, and the blue, celestial things.  I know well enough that, in
reading this, you laugh at the old drinker, and hold this exposition of
colours to be very extravagant, and utterly disagreeable to reason, because
white is said to signify faith, and blue constancy.  But without moving,
vexing, heating, or putting you in a chafe (for the weather is dangerous),
answer me, if it please you; for no other compulsory way of arguing will I
use towards you, or any else; only now and then I will mention a word or
two of my bottle.  What is it that induceth you, what stirs you up to
believe, or who told you that white signifieth faith, and blue constancy?
An old paltry book, say you, sold by the hawking pedlars and balladmongers,
entitled The Blason of Colours.  Who made it?  Whoever it was, he was wise
in that he did not set his name to it.  But, besides, I know not what I
should rather admire in him, his presumption or his sottishness.  His
presumption and overweening, for that he should without reason, without
cause, or without any appearance of truth, have dared to prescribe, by his
private authority, what things should be denotated and signified by the
colour:  which is the custom of tyrants, who will have their will to bear
sway in stead of equity, and not of the wise and learned, who with the
evidence of reason satisfy their readers.  His sottishness and want of
spirit, in that he thought that, without any other demonstration or
sufficient argument, the world would be pleased to make his blockish and
ridiculous impositions the rule of their devices.  In effect, according to
the proverb, To a shitten tail fails never ordure, he hath found, it seems,
some simple ninny in those rude times of old, when the wearing of high
round bonnets was in fashion, who gave some trust to his writings,
according to which they carved and engraved their apophthegms and mottoes,
trapped and caparisoned their mules and sumpter-horses, apparelled their
pages, quartered their breeches, bordered their gloves, fringed the
curtains and valances of their beds, painted their ensigns, composed songs,
and, which is worse, placed many deceitful jugglings and unworthy base
tricks undiscoveredly amongst the very chastest matrons and most reverend
sciences.  In the like darkness and mist of ignorance are wrapped up these
vain-glorious courtiers and name-transposers, who, going about in their
impresas to signify esperance (that is, hope), have portrayed a sphere--and
birds' pennes for pains--l'ancholie (which is the flower colombine) for
melancholy--a waning moon or crescent, to show the increasing or rising of
one's fortune--a bench rotten and broken, to signify bankrupt--non and a
corslet for non dur habit (otherwise non durabit, it shall not last), un
lit sans ciel, that is, a bed without a tester, for un licencie, a
graduated person, as bachelor in divinity or utter barrister-at-law; which
are equivocals so absurd and witless, so barbarous and clownish, that a
fox's tail should be fastened to the neck-piece of, and a vizard made of a
cowsherd given to everyone that henceforth should offer, after the
restitution of learning, to make use of any such fopperies in France.

By the same reasons (if reasons I should call them, and not ravings rather,
and idle triflings about words), might I cause paint a pannier, to signify
that I am in pain--a mustard-pot, that my heart tarries much for't--one
pissing upwards for a bishop--the bottom of a pair of breeches for a vessel
full of fart-hings--a codpiece for the office of the clerks of the
sentences, decrees, or judgments, or rather, as the English bears it, for
the tail of a codfish--and a dog's turd for the dainty turret wherein lies
the love of my sweetheart.  Far otherwise did heretofore the sages of
Egypt, when they wrote by letters, which they called hieroglyphics, which
none understood who were not skilled in the virtue, property, and nature of
the things represented by them.  Of which Orus Apollon hath in Greek
composed two books, and Polyphilus, in his Dream of Love, set down more.
In France you have a taste of them in the device or impresa of my Lord
Admiral, which was carried before that time by Octavian Augustus.  But my
little skiff alongst these unpleasant gulfs and shoals will sail no
further, therefore must I return to the port from whence I came.  Yet do I
hope one day to write more at large of these things, and to show both by
philosophical arguments and authorities, received and approved of by and
from all antiquity, what, and how many colours there are in nature, and
what may be signified by every one of them, if God save the mould of my
cap, which is my best wine-pot, as my grandam said.



Chapter 1.X.

Of that which is signified by the colours white and blue.

The white therefore signifieth joy, solace, and gladness, and that not at
random, but upon just and very good grounds:  which you may perceive to be
true, if laying aside all prejudicate affections, you will but give ear to
what presently I shall expound unto you.

Aristotle saith that, supposing two things contrary in their kind, as good
and evil, virtue and vice, heat and cold, white and black, pleasure and
pain, joy and grief,--and so of others,--if you couple them in such manner
that the contrary of one kind may agree in reason with the contrary of the
other, it must follow by consequence that the other contrary must answer to
the remanent opposite to that wherewith it is conferred.  As, for example,
virtue and vice are contrary in one kind, so are good and evil.  If one of
the contraries of the first kind be consonant to one of those of the
second, as virtue and goodness, for it is clear that virtue is good, so
shall the other two contraries, which are evil and vice, have the same
connection, for vice is evil.

This logical rule being understood, take these two contraries, joy and
sadness; then these other two, white and black, for they are physically
contrary.  If so be, then, that black do signify grief, by good reason then
should white import joy.  Nor is this signification instituted by human
imposition, but by the universal consent of the world received, which
philosophers call Jus Gentium, the Law of Nations, or an uncontrollable
right of force in all countries whatsoever.  For you know well enough that
all people, and all languages and nations, except the ancient Syracusans
and certain Argives, who had cross and thwarting souls, when they mean
outwardly to give evidence of their sorrow, go in black; and all mourning
is done with black.  Which general consent is not without some argument and
reason in nature, the which every man may by himself very suddenly
comprehend, without the instruction of any--and this we call the law of
nature.  By virtue of the same natural instinct we know that by white all
the world hath understood joy, gladness, mirth, pleasure, and delight.  In
former times the Thracians and Cretans did mark their good, propitious, and
fortunate days with white stones, and their sad, dismal, and unfortunate
ones with black.  Is not the night mournful, sad, and melancholic?  It is
black and dark by the privation of light.  Doth not the light comfort all
the world?  And it is more white than anything else.  Which to prove, I
could direct you to the book of Laurentius Valla against Bartolus; but an
evangelical testimony I hope will content you.  Matth. 17 it is said that,
at the transfiguration of our Lord, Vestimenta ejus facta sunt alba sicut
lux, his apparel was made white like the light.  By which lightsome
whiteness he gave his three apostles to understand the idea and figure of
the eternal joys; for by the light are all men comforted, according to the
word of the old woman, who, although she had never a tooth in her head, was
wont to say, Bona lux.  And Tobit, chap.5, after he had lost his sight,
when Raphael saluted him, answered, What joy can I have, that do not see
the light of Heaven?  In that colour did the angels testify the joy of the
whole world at the resurrection of our Saviour, John 20, and at his
ascension, Acts 1.  With the like colour of vesture did St. John the
Evangelist, Apoc. 4.7, see the faithful clothed in the heavenly and blessed
Jerusalem.

Read the ancient, both Greek and Latin histories, and you shall find that
the town of Alba (the first pattern of Rome) was founded and so named by
reason of a white sow that was seen there.  You shall likewise find in
those stories, that when any man, after he had vanquished his enemies, was
by decree of the senate to enter into Rome triumphantly, he usually rode in
a chariot drawn by white horses:  which in the ovation triumph was also the
custom; for by no sign or colour would they so significantly express the
joy of their coming as by the white.  You shall there also find, how
Pericles, the general of the Athenians, would needs have that part of his
army unto whose lot befell the white beans, to spend the whole day in
mirth, pleasure, and ease, whilst the rest were a-fighting.  A thousand
other examples and places could I allege to this purpose, but that it is
not here where I should do it.

By understanding hereof, you may resolve one problem, which Alexander
Aphrodiseus hath accounted unanswerable:  why the lion, who with his only
cry and roaring affrights all beasts, dreads and feareth only a white cock?
For, as Proclus saith, Libro de Sacrificio et Magia, it is because the
presence of the virtue of the sun, which is the organ and promptuary of all
terrestrial and sidereal light, doth more symbolize and agree with a white
cock, as well in regard of that colour, as of his property and specifical
quality, than with a lion.  He saith, furthermore, that devils have been
often seen in the shape of lions, which at the sight of a white cock have
presently vanished.  This is the cause why Galli or Gallices (so are the
Frenchmen called, because they are naturally white as milk, which the
Greeks call Gala,) do willingly wear in their caps white feathers, for by
nature they are of a candid disposition, merry, kind, gracious, and
well-beloved, and for their cognizance and arms have the whitest flower
of any, the Flower de luce or Lily.

If you demand how, by white, nature would have us understand joy and
gladness, I answer, that the analogy and uniformity is thus.  For, as the
white doth outwardly disperse and scatter the rays of the sight, whereby
the optic spirits are manifestly dissolved, according to the opinion of
Aristotle in his problems and perspective treatises; as you may likewise
perceive by experience, when you pass over mountains covered with snow, how
you will complain that you cannot see well; as Xenophon writes to have
happened to his men, and as Galen very largely declareth, lib. 10, de usu
partium:  just so the heart with excessive joy is inwardly dilated, and
suffereth a manifest resolution of the vital spirits, which may go so far
on that it may thereby be deprived of its nourishment, and by consequence
of life itself, by this perichary or extremity of gladness, as Galen saith,
lib. 12, method, lib. 5, de locis affectis, and lib. 2, de symptomatum
causis.  And as it hath come to pass in former times, witness Marcus
Tullius, lib. 1, Quaest. Tuscul., Verrius, Aristotle, Titus Livius, in his
relation of the battle of Cannae, Plinius, lib. 7, cap. 32 and 34, A.
Gellius, lib. 3, c. 15, and many other writers,--to Diagoras the Rhodian,
Chilon, Sophocles, Dionysius the tyrant of Sicily, Philippides, Philemon,
Polycrates, Philistion, M. Juventi, and others who died with joy.  And as
Avicen speaketh, in 2 canon et lib. de virib. cordis, of the saffron, that
it doth so rejoice the heart that, if you take of it excessively, it will
by a superfluous resolution and dilation deprive it altogether of life.
Here peruse Alex. Aphrodiseus, lib. 1, Probl., cap. 19, and that for a
cause.  But what?  It seems I am entered further into this point than I
intended at the first.  Here, therefore, will I strike sail, referring the
rest to that book of mine which handleth this matter to the full.
Meanwhile, in a word I will tell you, that blue doth certainly signify
heaven and heavenly things, by the same very tokens and symbols that white
signifieth joy and pleasure.



Chapter 1.XI.

Of the youthful age of Gargantua.


[Illustration: On the Road to the Castle--1-11-026]


Gargantua, from three years upwards unto five, was brought up and
instructed in all convenient discipline by the commandment of his father;
and spent that time like the other little children of the country, that is,
in drinking, eating, and sleeping:  in eating, sleeping, and drinking:  and
in sleeping, drinking, and eating.  Still he wallowed and rolled up and
down himself in the mire and dirt--he blurred and sullied his nose with
filth--he blotted and smutched his face with any kind of scurvy stuff--he
trod down his shoes in the heel--at the flies he did oftentimes yawn, and
ran very heartily after the butterflies, the empire whereof belonged to his
father.  He pissed in his shoes, shit in his shirt, and wiped his nose on
his sleeve--he did let his snot and snivel fall in his pottage, and
dabbled, paddled, and slobbered everywhere--he would drink in his slipper,
and ordinarily rub his belly against a pannier.  He sharpened his teeth
with a top, washed his hands with his broth, and combed his head with a
bowl.  He would sit down betwixt two stools, and his arse to the ground
--would cover himself with a wet sack, and drink in eating of his soup.  He
did eat his cake sometimes without bread, would bite in laughing, and laugh
in biting.  Oftentimes did he spit in the basin, and fart for fatness, piss
against the sun, and hide himself in the water for fear of rain.  He would
strike out of the cold iron, be often in the dumps, and frig and wriggle
it.  He would flay the fox, say the ape's paternoster, return to his sheep,
and turn the hogs to the hay.  He would beat the dogs before the lion, put
the plough before the oxen, and claw where it did not itch.  He would pump
one to draw somewhat out of him, by griping all would hold fast nothing,
and always eat his white bread first.  He shoed the geese, kept a
self-tickling to make himself laugh, and was very steadable in the kitchen:
made a mock at the gods, would cause sing Magnificat at matins, and found
it very convenient so to do.  He would eat cabbage, and shite beets,--knew
flies in a dish of milk, and would make them lose their feet.  He would
scrape paper, blur parchment, then run away as hard as he could.  He would
pull at the kid's leather, or vomit up his dinner, then reckon without his
host.  He would beat the bushes without catching the birds, thought the
moon was made of green cheese, and that bladders are lanterns.  Out of one
sack he would take two moultures or fees for grinding; would act the ass's
part to get some bran, and of his fist would make a mallet.  He took the
cranes at the first leap, and would have the mail-coats to be made link
after link.  He always looked a given horse in the mouth, leaped from the
cock to the ass, and put one ripe between two green.  By robbing Peter he
paid Paul, he kept the moon from the wolves, and hoped to catch larks if
ever the heavens should fall.  He did make of necessity virtue, of such
bread such pottage, and cared as little for the peeled as for the shaven.
Every morning he did cast up his gorge, and his father's little dogs eat
out of the dish with him, and he with them.  He would bite their ears, and
they would scratch his nose--he would blow in their arses, and they would
lick his chaps.

But hearken, good fellows, the spigot ill betake you, and whirl round your
brains, if you do not give ear!  This little lecher was always groping his
nurses and governesses, upside down, arsiversy, topsyturvy, harri
bourriquet, with a Yacco haick, hyck gio! handling them very rudely in
jumbling and tumbling them to keep them going; for he had already begun to
exercise the tools, and put his codpiece in practice.  Which codpiece, or
braguette, his governesses did every day deck up and adorn with fair
nosegays, curious rubies, sweet flowers, and fine silken tufts, and very
pleasantly would pass their time in taking you know what between their
fingers, and dandling it, till it did revive and creep up to the bulk and
stiffness of a suppository, or street magdaleon, which is a hard rolled-up
salve spread upon leather.  Then did they burst out in laughing, when they
saw it lift up its ears, as if the sport had liked them.  One of them would
call it her little dille, her staff of love, her quillety, her faucetin,
her dandilolly.  Another, her peen, her jolly kyle, her bableret, her
membretoon, her quickset imp:  another again, her branch of coral, her
female adamant, her placket-racket, her Cyprian sceptre, her jewel for
ladies.  And some of the other women would give it these names,--my
bunguetee, my stopple too, my bush-rusher, my gallant wimble, my pretty
borer, my coney-burrow-ferret, my little piercer, my augretine, my dangling
hangers, down right to it, stiff and stout, in and to, my pusher, dresser,
pouting stick, my honey pipe, my pretty pillicock, linky pinky, futilletie,
my lusty andouille, and crimson chitterling, my little couille bredouille,
my pretty rogue, and so forth.  It belongs to me, said one.  It is mine,
said the other.  What, quoth a third, shall I have no share in it?  By my
faith, I will cut it then.  Ha, to cut it, said the other, would hurt him.
Madam, do you cut little children's things?  Were his cut off, he would be
then Monsieur sans queue, the curtailed master.  And that he might play and
sport himself after the manner of the other little children of the country,
they made him a fair weather whirl-jack of the wings of the windmill of
Myrebalais.



Chapter 1.XII.

Of Gargantua's wooden horses.


[Illustration: Led Them up the Great Staircase--1-12-028]


Afterwards, that he might be all his lifetime a good rider, they made to
him a fair great horse of wood, which he did make leap, curvet, jerk out
behind, and skip forward, all at a time:  to pace, trot, rack, gallop,
amble, to play the hobby, the hackney-gelding:  go the gait of the camel,
and of the wild ass.  He made him also change his colour of hair, as the
monks of Coultibo (according to the variety of their holidays) use to do
their clothes, from bay brown, to sorrel, dapple-grey, mouse-dun,
deer-colour, roan, cow-colour, gingioline, skewed colour, piebald, and the
colour of the savage elk.

Himself of a huge big post made a hunting nag, and another for daily
service of the beam of a vinepress:  and of a great oak made up a mule,
with a footcloth, for his chamber.  Besides this, he had ten or twelve
spare horses, and seven horses for post; and all these were lodged in his
own chamber, close by his bedside.  One day the Lord of Breadinbag
(Painensac.) came to visit his father in great bravery, and with a gallant
train:  and, at the same time, to see him came likewise the Duke of
Freemeal (Francrepas.) and the Earl of Wetgullet (Mouillevent.).  The house
truly for so many guests at once was somewhat narrow, but especially the
stables; whereupon the steward and harbinger of the said Lord Breadinbag,
to know if there were any other empty stable in the house, came to
Gargantua, a little young lad, and secretly asked him where the stables of
the great horses were, thinking that children would be ready to tell all.
Then he led them up along the stairs of the castle, passing by the second
hall unto a broad great gallery, by which they entered into a large tower,
and as they were going up at another pair of stairs, said the harbinger to
the steward, This child deceives us, for the stables are never on the top
of the house.  You may be mistaken, said the steward, for I know some
places at Lyons, at the Basmette, at Chaisnon, and elsewhere, which have
their stables at the very tops of the houses:  so it may be that behind the
house there is a way to come to this ascent.  But I will question with him
further.  Then said he to Gargantua, My pretty little boy, whither do you
lead us?  To the stable, said he, of my great horses.  We are almost come
to it; we have but these stairs to go up at.  Then leading them alongst
another great hall, he brought them into his chamber, and, opening the
door, said unto them, This is the stable you ask for; this is my jennet;
this is my gelding; this is my courser, and this is my hackney, and laid on
them with a great lever.  I will bestow upon you, said he, this Friesland
horse; I had him from Frankfort, yet will I give him you; for he is a
pretty little nag, and will go very well, with a tessel of goshawks, half a
dozen of spaniels, and a brace of greyhounds:  thus are you king of the
hares and partridges for all this winter.  By St. John, said they, now we
are paid, he hath gleeked us to some purpose, bobbed we are now for ever.
I deny it, said he,--he was not here above three days.  Judge you now,
whether they had most cause, either to hide their heads for shame, or to
laugh at the jest.  As they were going down again thus amazed, he asked
them, Will you have a whimwham (Aubeliere.)?  What is that, said they?  It
is, said he, five turds to make you a muzzle.  To-day, said the steward,
though we happen to be roasted, we shall not be burnt, for we are pretty
well quipped and larded, in my opinion.  O my jolly dapper boy, thou hast
given us a gudgeon; I hope to see thee Pope before I die.  I think so, said
he, myself; and then shall you be a puppy, and this gentle popinjay a
perfect papelard, that is, dissembler.  Well, well, said the harbinger.
But, said Gargantua, guess how many stitches there are in my mother's
smock.  Sixteen, quoth the harbinger.  You do not speak gospel, said
Gargantua, for there is cent before, and cent behind, and you did not
reckon them ill, considering the two under holes.  When? said the
harbinger.  Even then, said Gargantua, when they made a shovel of your nose
to take up a quarter of dirt, and of your throat a funnel, wherewith to put
it into another vessel, because the bottom of the old one was out.
Cocksbod, said the steward, we have met with a prater.  Farewell, master
tattler, God keep you, so goodly are the words which you come out with, and
so fresh in your mouth, that it had need to be salted.

Thus going down in great haste, under the arch of the stairs they let fall
the great lever, which he had put upon their backs; whereupon Gargantua
said, What a devil! you are, it seems, but bad horsemen, that suffer your
bilder to fail you when you need him most.  If you were to go from hence to
Cahusac, whether had you rather, ride on a gosling or lead a sow in a
leash?  I had rather drink, said the harbinger.  With this they entered
into the lower hall, where the company was, and relating to them this new
story, they made them laugh like a swarm of flies.



Chapter 1.XIII.

How Gargantua's wonderful understanding became known to his father
Grangousier, by the invention of a torchecul or wipebreech.

About the end of the fifth year, Grangousier returning from the conquest of
the Canarians, went by the way to see his son Gargantua.  There was he
filled with joy, as such a father might be at the sight of such a child of
his:  and whilst he kissed and embraced him, he asked many childish
questions of him about divers matters, and drank very freely with him and
with his governesses, of whom in great earnest he asked, amongst other
things, whether they had been careful to keep him clean and sweet.  To this
Gargantua answered, that he had taken such a course for that himself, that
in all the country there was not to be found a cleanlier boy than he.  How
is that? said Grangousier.  I have, answered Gargantua, by a long and
curious experience, found out a means to wipe my bum, the most lordly, the
most excellent, and the most convenient that ever was seen.  What is that?
said Grangousier, how is it?  I will tell you by-and-by, said Gargantua.
Once I did wipe me with a gentle-woman's velvet mask, and found it to be
good; for the softness of the silk was very voluptuous and pleasant to my
fundament.  Another time with one of their hoods, and in like manner that
was comfortable.  At another time with a lady's neckerchief, and after that
I wiped me with some ear-pieces of hers made of crimson satin, but there
was such a number of golden spangles in them (turdy round things, a pox
take them) that they fetched away all the skin of my tail with a vengeance.
Now I wish St. Antony's fire burn the bum-gut of the goldsmith that made
them, and of her that wore them!  This hurt I cured by wiping myself with a
page's cap, garnished with a feather after the Switzers' fashion.

Afterwards, in dunging behind a bush, I found a March-cat, and with it I
wiped my breech, but her claws were so sharp that they scratched and
exulcerated all my perinee.  Of this I recovered the next morning
thereafter, by wiping myself with my mother's gloves, of a most excellent
perfume and scent of the Arabian Benin.  After that I wiped me with sage,
with fennel, with anet, with marjoram, with roses, with gourd-leaves, with
beets, with colewort, with leaves of the vine-tree, with mallows,
wool-blade, which is a tail-scarlet, with lettuce, and with spinach leaves.
All this did very great good to my leg.  Then with mercury, with parsley,
with nettles, with comfrey, but that gave me the bloody flux of Lombardy,
which I healed by wiping me with my braguette.  Then I wiped my tail in the
sheets, in the coverlet, in the curtains, with a cushion, with arras
hangings, with a green carpet, with a table-cloth, with a napkin, with a
handkerchief, with a combing-cloth; in all which I found more pleasure than
do the mangy dogs when you rub them.  Yea, but, said Grangousier, which
torchecul did you find to be the best?  I was coming to it, said Gargantua,
and by-and-by shall you hear the tu autem, and know the whole mystery and
knot of the matter.  I wiped myself with hay, with straw, with
thatch-rushes, with flax, with wool, with paper, but,

  Who his foul tail with paper wipes,
  Shall at his ballocks leave some chips.

What, said Grangousier, my little rogue, hast thou been at the pot, that
thou dost rhyme already?  Yes, yes, my lord the king, answered Gargantua, I
can rhyme gallantly, and rhyme till I become hoarse with rheum.  Hark, what
our privy says to the skiters:


Shittard,
Squirtard,
Crackard,
   Turdous,
Thy bung
Hath flung
Some dung
   On us:
Filthard,
Cackard,
Stinkard,
   St. Antony's fire seize on thy toane (bone?),
If thy
Dirty
Dounby
   Thou do not wipe, ere thou be gone.

Will you have any more of it?  Yes, yes, answered Grangousier.  Then, said
Gargantua,

A Roundelay.

In shitting yes'day I did know
The sess I to my arse did owe:
The smell was such came from that slunk,
That I was with it all bestunk:
O had but then some brave Signor
Brought her to me I waited for,
   In shitting!

I would have cleft her watergap,
And join'd it close to my flipflap,
Whilst she had with her fingers guarded
My foul nockandrow, all bemerded
   In shitting.

Now say that I can do nothing!  By the Merdi, they are not of my making,
but I heard them of this good old grandam, that you see here, and ever
since have retained them in the budget of my memory.

Let us return to our purpose, said Grangousier.  What, said Gargantua, to
skite?  No, said Grangousier, but to wipe our tail.  But, said Gargantua,
will not you be content to pay a puncheon of Breton wine, if I do not blank
and gravel you in this matter, and put you to a non-plus?  Yes, truly, said
Grangousier.

There is no need of wiping one's tail, said Gargantua, but when it is foul;
foul it cannot be, unless one have been a-skiting; skite then we must
before we wipe our tails.  O my pretty little waggish boy, said
Grangousier, what an excellent wit thou hast?  I will make thee very
shortly proceed doctor in the jovial quirks of gay learning, and that, by
G--, for thou hast more wit than age.  Now, I prithee, go on in this
torcheculative, or wipe-bummatory discourse, and by my beard I swear, for
one puncheon, thou shalt have threescore pipes, I mean of the good Breton
wine, not that which grows in Britain, but in the good country of Verron.
Afterwards I wiped my bum, said Gargantua, with a kerchief, with a pillow,
with a pantoufle, with a pouch, with a pannier, but that was a wicked and
unpleasant torchecul; then with a hat.  Of hats, note that some are shorn,
and others shaggy, some velveted, others covered with taffeties, and others
with satin.  The best of all these is the shaggy hat, for it makes a very
neat abstersion of the fecal matter.

Afterwards I wiped my tail with a hen, with a cock, with a pullet, with a
calf's skin, with a hare, with a pigeon, with a cormorant, with an
attorney's bag, with a montero, with a coif, with a falconer's lure.  But,
to conclude, I say and maintain, that of all torcheculs, arsewisps,
bumfodders, tail-napkins, bunghole cleansers, and wipe-breeches, there is
none in the world comparable to the neck of a goose, that is well downed,
if you hold her head betwixt your legs.  And believe me therein upon mine
honour, for you will thereby feel in your nockhole a most wonderful
pleasure, both in regard of the softness of the said down and of the
temporate heat of the goose, which is easily communicated to the bum-gut
and the rest of the inwards, in so far as to come even to the regions of
the heart and brains.  And think not that the felicity of the heroes and
demigods in the Elysian fields consisteth either in their asphodel,
ambrosia, or nectar, as our old women here used to say; but in this,
according to my judgment, that they wipe their tails with the neck of a
goose, holding her head betwixt their legs, and such is the opinion of
Master John of Scotland, alias Scotus.



Chapter 1.XIV.

How Gargantua was taught Latin by a Sophister.

The good man Grangousier having heard this discourse, was ravished with
admiration, considering the high reach and marvellous understanding of his
son Gargantua, and said to his governesses, Philip, king of Macedon, knew
the great wit of his son Alexander by his skilful managing of a horse; for
his horse Bucephalus was so fierce and unruly that none durst adventure
to ride him, after that he had given to his riders such devilish falls,
breaking the neck of this man, the other man's leg, braining one, and
putting another out of his jawbone.  This by Alexander being considered,
one day in the hippodrome (which was a place appointed for the breaking and
managing of great horses), he perceived that the fury of the horse
proceeded merely from the fear he had of his own shadow, whereupon getting
on his back, he run him against the sun, so that the shadow fell behind,
and by that means tamed the horse and brought him to his hand.  Whereby his
father, knowing the divine judgment that was in him, caused him most
carefully to be instructed by Aristotle, who at that time was highly
renowned above all the philosophers of Greece.  After the same manner I
tell you, that by this only discourse, which now I have here had before you
with my son Gargantua, I know that his understanding doth participate of
some divinity, and that, if he be well taught, and have that education
which is fitting, he will attain to a supreme degree of wisdom.  Therefore
will I commit him to some learned man, to have him indoctrinated according
to his capacity, and will spare no cost.  Presently they appointed him a
great sophister-doctor, called Master Tubal Holofernes, who taught him his
ABC so well, that he could say it by heart backwards; and about this he was
five years and three months.  Then read he to him Donat, Le Facet,
Theodolet, and Alanus in parabolis.  About this he was thirteen years, six
months, and two weeks.  But you must remark that in the mean time he did
learn to write in Gothic characters, and that he wrote all his books--for
the art of printing was not then in use--and did ordinarily carry a great
pen and inkhorn, weighing about seven thousand quintals (that is, 700,000
pound weight), the penner whereof was as big and as long as the great
pillars of Enay, and the horn was hanging to it in great iron chains, it
being of the wideness of a tun of merchant ware.  After that he read unto
him the book de modis significandi, with the commentaries of Hurtbise, of
Fasquin, of Tropdieux, of Gualhaut, of John Calf, of Billonio, of
Berlinguandus, and a rabble of others; and herein he spent more than
eighteen years and eleven months, and was so well versed in it that, to try
masteries in school disputes with his condisciples, he would recite it by
heart backwards, and did sometimes prove on his finger-ends to his mother,
quod de modis significandi non erat scientia.  Then did he read to him the
compost for knowing the age of the moon, the seasons of the year, and tides
of the sea, on which he spent sixteen years and two months, and that justly
at the time that his said preceptor died of the French pox, which was in
the year one thousand four hundred and twenty.  Afterwards he got an old
coughing fellow to teach him, named Master Jobelin Bride, or muzzled dolt,
who read unto him Hugutio, Hebrard('s) Grecism, the Doctrinal, the Parts,
the Quid est, the Supplementum, Marmotretus, De moribus in mensa servandis,
Seneca de quatuor virtutibus cardinalibus, Passavantus cum commento, and
Dormi secure for the holidays, and some other of such like mealy stuff, by
reading whereof he became as wise as any we ever since baked in an oven.



Chapter 1.XV.

How Gargantua was put under other schoolmasters.

At the last his father perceived that indeed he studied hard, and that,
although he spent all his time in it, he did nevertheless profit nothing,
but which is worse, grew thereby foolish, simple, doted, and blockish,
whereof making a heavy regret to Don Philip of Marays, Viceroy or Depute
King of Papeligosse, he found that it were better for him to learn nothing
at all, than to be taught such-like books, under such schoolmasters;
because their knowledge was nothing but brutishness, and their wisdom but
blunt foppish toys, serving only to bastardize good and noble spirits, and
to corrupt all the flower of youth.  That it is so, take, said he, any
young boy of this time who hath only studied two years,--if he have not a
better judgment, a better discourse, and that expressed in better terms
than your son, with a completer carriage and civility to all manner of
persons, account me for ever hereafter a very clounch and bacon-slicer of
Brene.  This pleased Grangousier very well, and he commanded that it should
be done.  At night at supper, the said Des Marays brought in a young page
of his, of Ville-gouges, called Eudemon, so neat, so trim, so handsome in
his apparel, so spruce, with his hair in so good order, and so sweet and
comely in his behaviour, that he had the resemblance of a little angel more
than of a human creature.  Then he said to Grangousier, Do you see this
young boy?  He is not as yet full twelve years old.  Let us try, if it
please you, what difference there is betwixt the knowledge of the doting
Mateologians of old time and the young lads that are now.  The trial
pleased Grangousier, and he commanded the page to begin.  Then Eudemon,
asking leave of the vice-king his master so to do, with his cap in his
hand, a clear and open countenance, beautiful and ruddy lips, his eyes
steady, and his looks fixed upon Gargantua with a youthful modesty,
standing up straight on his feet, began very gracefully to commend him;
first, for his virtue and good manners; secondly, for his knowledge,
thirdly, for his nobility; fourthly, for his bodily accomplishments; and,
in the fifth place, most sweetly exhorted him to reverence his father with
all due observancy, who was so careful to have him well brought up.  In the
end he prayed him, that he would vouchsafe to admit of him amongst the
least of his servants; for other favour at that time desired he none of
heaven, but that he might do him some grateful and acceptable service.  All
this was by him delivered with such proper gestures, such distinct
pronunciation, so pleasant a delivery, in such exquisite fine terms, and so
good Latin, that he seemed rather a Gracchus, a Cicero, an Aemilius of the
time past, than a youth of this age.  But all the countenance that
Gargantua kept was, that he fell to crying like a cow, and cast down his
face, hiding it with his cap, nor could they possibly draw one word from
him, no more than a fart from a dead ass.  Whereat his father was so
grievously vexed that he would have killed Master Jobelin, but the said Des
Marays withheld him from it by fair persuasions, so that at length he
pacified his wrath.  Then Grangousier commanded he should be paid his
wages, that they should whittle him up soundly, like a sophister, with good
drink, and then give him leave to go to all the devils in hell.  At least,
said he, today shall it not cost his host much if by chance he should die
as drunk as a Switzer.  Master Jobelin being gone out of the house,
Grangousier consulted with the Viceroy what schoolmaster they should choose
for him, and it was betwixt them resolved that Ponocrates, the tutor of
Eudemon, should have the charge, and that they should go altogether to
Paris, to know what was the study of the young men of France at that time.



Chapter 1.XVI.

How Gargantua was sent to Paris, and of the huge great mare that he rode
on; how she destroyed the oxflies of the Beauce.


[Illustration: He Went to See the City--1-16-036]


In the same season Fayoles, the fourth King of Numidia, sent out of the
country of Africa to Grangousier the most hideously great mare that ever
was seen, and of the strangest form, for you know well enough how it is
said that Africa always is productive of some new thing.  She was as big as
six elephants, and had her feet cloven into fingers, like Julius Caesar's
horse, with slouch-hanging ears, like the goats in Languedoc, and a little
horn on her buttock.  She was of a burnt sorrel hue, with a little mixture
of dapple-grey spots, but above all she had a horrible tail; for it was
little more or less than every whit as great as the steeple-pillar of St.
Mark beside Langes:  and squared as that is, with tuffs and ennicroches or
hair-plaits wrought within one another, no otherwise than as the beards are
upon the ears of corn.

If you wonder at this, wonder rather at the tails of the Scythian rams,
which weighed above thirty pounds each; and of the Surian sheep, who need,
if Tenaud say true, a little cart at their heels to bear up their tail, it
is so long and heavy.  You female lechers in the plain countries have no
such tails.  And she was brought by sea in three carricks and a brigantine
unto the harbour of Olone in Thalmondois.  When Grangousier saw her, Here
is, said he, what is fit to carry my son to Paris.  So now, in the name of
God, all will be well.  He will in times coming be a great scholar.  If it
were not, my masters, for the beasts, we should live like clerks.  The next
morning--after they had drunk, you must understand--they took their
journey; Gargantua, his pedagogue Ponocrates, and his train, and with them
Eudemon, the young page.  And because the weather was fair and temperate,
his father caused to be made for him a pair of dun boots,--Babin calls them
buskins.  Thus did they merrily pass their time in travelling on their high
way, always making good cheer, and were very pleasant till they came a
little above Orleans, in which place there was a forest of five-and-thirty
leagues long, and seventeen in breadth, or thereabouts.  This forest was
most horribly fertile and copious in dorflies, hornets, and wasps, so that
it was a very purgatory for the poor mares, asses, and horses.  But
Gargantua's mare did avenge herself handsomely of all the outrages therein
committed upon beasts of her kind, and that by a trick whereof they had no
suspicion.  For as soon as ever they were entered into the said forest, and
that the wasps had given the assault, she drew out and unsheathed her tail,
and therewith skirmishing, did so sweep them that she overthrew all the
wood alongst and athwart, here and there, this way and that way, longwise
and sidewise, over and under, and felled everywhere the wood with as much
ease as a mower doth the grass, in such sort that never since hath there
been there neither wood nor dorflies:  for all the country was thereby
reduced to a plain champaign field.  Which Gargantua took great pleasure to
behold, and said to his company no more but this:  Je trouve beau ce (I
find this pretty); whereupon that country hath been ever since that time
called Beauce.  But all the breakfast the mare got that day was but a
little yawning and gaping, in memory whereof the gentlemen of Beauce do as
yet to this day break their fast with gaping, which they find to be very
good, and do spit the better for it.  At last they came to Paris, where
Gargantua refreshed himself two or three days, making very merry with his
folks, and inquiring what men of learning there were then in the city, and
what wine they drunk there.



Chapter 1.XVII.

How Gargantua paid his welcome to the Parisians, and how he took away the
great bells of Our Lady's Church.


[Illustration: Gargantua Visiting the Shops--1-17-038]


Some few days after that they had refreshed themselves, he went to see the
city, and was beheld of everybody there with great admiration; for the
people of Paris are so sottish, so badot, so foolish and fond by nature,
that a juggler, a carrier of indulgences, a sumpter-horse, or mule with
cymbals or tinkling bells, a blind fiddler in the middle of a cross lane,
shall draw a greater confluence of people together than an evangelical
preacher.  And they pressed so hard upon him that he was constrained to
rest himself upon the towers of Our Lady's Church.  At which place, seeing
so many about him, he said with a loud voice, I believe that these buzzards
will have me to pay them here my welcome hither, and my Proficiat.  It is
but good reason.  I will now give them their wine, but it shall be only in
sport.  Then smiling, he untied his fair braguette, and drawing out his
mentul into the open air, he so bitterly all-to-bepissed them, that he
drowned two hundred and sixty thousand, four hundred and eighteen, besides
the women and little children.  Some, nevertheless, of the company escaped
this piss-flood by mere speed of foot, who, when they were at the higher
end of the university, sweating, coughing, spitting, and out of breath,
they began to swear and curse, some in good hot earnest, and others in
jest.  Carimari, carimara:  golynoly, golynolo.  By my sweet Sanctess, we
are washed in sport, a sport truly to laugh at;--in French, Par ris, for
which that city hath been ever since called Paris; whose name formerly was
Leucotia, as Strabo testifieth, lib. quarto, from the Greek word leukotes,
whiteness,--because of the white thighs of the ladies of that place.  And
forasmuch as, at this imposition of a new name, all the people that were
there swore everyone by the Sancts of his parish, the Parisians, which are
patched up of all nations and all pieces of countries, are by nature both
good jurors and good jurists, and somewhat overweening; whereupon Joanninus
de Barrauco, libro de copiositate reverentiarum, thinks that they are
called Parisians from the Greek word parresia, which signifies boldness and
liberty in speech.  This done, he considered the great bells, which were in
the said towers, and made them sound very harmoniously.  Which whilst he
was doing, it came into his mind that they would serve very well for
tingling tantans and ringing campanels to hang about his mare's neck when
she should be sent back to his father, as he intended to do, loaded with
Brie cheese and fresh herring.  And indeed he forthwith carried them to his
lodging.  In the meanwhile there came a master beggar of the friars of St.
Anthony to demand in his canting way the usual benevolence of some hoggish
stuff, who, that he might be heard afar off, and to make the bacon he was
in quest of shake in the very chimneys, made account to filch them away
privily.  Nevertheless, he left them behind very honestly, not for that
they were too hot, but that they were somewhat too heavy for his carriage.
This was not he of Bourg, for he was too good a friend of mine.  All the
city was risen up in sedition, they being, as you know, upon any slight
occasion, so ready to uproars and insurrections, that foreign nations
wonder at the patience of the kings of France, who do not by good justice
restrain them from such tumultuous courses, seeing the manifold
inconveniences which thence arise from day to day.  Would to God I knew the
shop wherein are forged these divisions and factious combinations, that I
might bring them to light in the confraternities of my parish!  Believe for
a truth, that the place wherein the people gathered together, were thus
sulphured, hopurymated, moiled, and bepissed, was called Nesle, where then
was, but now is no more, the oracle of Leucotia.  There was the case
proposed, and the inconvenience showed of the transporting of the bells.
After they had well ergoted pro and con, they concluded in baralipton, that
they should send the oldest and most sufficient of the faculty unto
Gargantua, to signify unto him the great and horrible prejudice they
sustain by the want of those bells.  And notwithstanding the good reasons
given in by some of the university why this charge was fitter for an orator
than a sophister, there was chosen for this purpose our Master Janotus de
Bragmardo.



Chapter 1.XVIII.

How Janotus de Bragmardo was sent to Gargantua to recover the great bells.

Master Janotus, with his hair cut round like a dish a la Caesarine, in his
most antique accoutrement liripipionated with a graduate's hood, and having
sufficiently antidoted his stomach with oven-marmalades, that is, bread and
holy water of the cellar, transported himself to the lodging of Gargantua,
driving before him three red-muzzled beadles, and dragging after him five
or six artless masters, all thoroughly bedaggled with the mire of the
streets.  At their entry Ponocrates met them, who was afraid, seeing them
so disguised, and thought they had been some masquers out of their wits,
which moved him to inquire of one of the said artless masters of the
company what this mummery meant.  It was answered him, that they desired to
have their bells restored to them.  As soon as Ponocrates heard that, he
ran in all haste to carry the news unto Gargantua, that he might be ready
to answer them, and speedily resolve what was to be done.  Gargantua being
advertised hereof, called apart his schoolmaster Ponocrates, Philotimus,
steward of his house, Gymnastes, his esquire, and Eudemon, and very
summarily conferred with them, both of what he should do and what answer he
should give.  They were all of opinion that they should bring them unto the
goblet-office, which is the buttery, and there make them drink like
roysters and line their jackets soundly.  And that this cougher might not
be puffed up with vain-glory by thinking the bells were restored at his
request, they sent, whilst he was chopining and plying the pot, for the
mayor of the city, the rector of the faculty, and the vicar of the church,
unto whom they resolved to deliver the bells before the sophister had
propounded his commission.  After that, in their hearing, he should
pronounce his gallant oration, which was done; and they being come, the
sophister was brought in full hall, and began as followeth, in coughing.



Chapter 1.XIX.

The oration of Master Janotus de Bragmardo for recovery of the bells.

Hem, hem, gud-day, sirs, gud-day.  Et vobis, my masters.  It were but
reason that you should restore to us our bells; for we have great need of
them.  Hem, hem, aihfuhash.  We have oftentimes heretofore refused good
money for them of those of London in Cahors, yea and those of Bourdeaux in
Brie, who would have bought them for the substantific quality of the
elementary complexion, which is intronificated in the terrestreity of their
quidditative nature, to extraneize the blasting mists and whirlwinds upon
our vines, indeed not ours, but these round about us.  For if we lose the
piot and liquor of the grape, we lose all, both sense and law.  If you
restore them unto us at my request, I shall gain by it six basketfuls of
sausages and a fine pair of breeches, which will do my legs a great deal of
good, or else they will not keep their promise to me.  Ho by gob, Domine, a
pair of breeches is good, et vir sapiens non abhorrebit eam.  Ha, ha, a
pair of breeches is not so easily got; I have experience of it myself.
Consider, Domine, I have been these eighteen days in matagrabolizing this
brave speech.  Reddite quae sunt Caesaris, Caesari, et quae sunt Dei, Deo.
Ibi jacet lepus.  By my faith, Domine, if you will sup with me in cameris,
by cox body, charitatis, nos faciemus bonum cherubin.  Ego occiditunum
porcum, et ego habet bonum vino:  but of good wine we cannot make bad
Latin.  Well, de parte Dei date nobis bellas nostras.  Hold, I give you in
the name of the faculty a Sermones de Utino, that utinam you would give us
our bells.  Vultis etiam pardonos?  Per diem vos habebitis, et nihil
payabitis.  O, sir, Domine, bellagivaminor nobis; verily, est bonum vobis.
They are useful to everybody.  If they fit your mare well, so do they do
our faculty; quae comparata est jumentis insipientibus, et similis facta
est eis, Psalmo nescio quo.  Yet did I quote it in my note-book, et est
unum bonum Achilles, a good defending argument.  Hem, hem, hem, haikhash!
For I prove unto you, that you should give me them.  Ego sic argumentor.
Omnis bella bellabilis in bellerio bellando, bellans, bellativo, bellare
facit, bellabiliter bellantes.  Parisius habet bellas.  Ergo gluc, Ha, ha,
ha.  This is spoken to some purpose.  It is in tertio primae, in Darii, or
elsewhere.  By my soul, I have seen the time that I could play the devil in
arguing, but now I am much failed, and henceforward want nothing but a cup
of good wine, a good bed, my back to the fire, my belly to the table, and a
good deep dish.  Hei, Domine, I beseech you, in nomine Patris, Filii, et
Spiritus sancti, Amen, to restore unto us our bells:  and God keep you from
evil, and our Lady from health, qui vivit et regnat per omnia secula
seculorum, Amen.  Hem, hashchehhawksash, qzrchremhemhash.

Verum enim vero, quandoquidem, dubio procul.  Edepol, quoniam, ita certe,
medius fidius; a town without bells is like a blind man without a staff, an
ass without a crupper, and a cow without cymbals.  Therefore be assured,
until you have restored them unto us, we will never leave crying after you,
like a blind man that hath lost his staff, braying like an ass without a
crupper, and making a noise like a cow without cymbals.  A certain
latinisator, dwelling near the hospital, said since, producing the
authority of one Taponnus,--I lie, it was one Pontanus the secular poet,
--who wished those bells had been made of feathers, and the clapper of a
foxtail, to the end they might have begot a chronicle in the bowels of his
brain, when he was about the composing of his carminiformal lines.  But nac
petetin petetac, tic, torche lorgne, or rot kipipur kipipot put pantse
malf, he was declared an heretic.  We make them as of wax.  And no more
saith the deponent.  Valete et plaudite.  Calepinus recensui.



Chapter 1.XX.

How the Sophister carried away his cloth, and how he had a suit in law
against the other masters.

The sophister had no sooner ended, but Ponocrates and Eudemon burst out in
a laughing so heartily, that they had almost split with it, and given up
the ghost, in rendering their souls to God:  even just as Crassus did,
seeing a lubberly ass eat thistles; and as Philemon, who, for seeing an ass
eat those figs which were provided for his own dinner, died with force of
laughing.  Together with them Master Janotus fell a-laughing too as fast as
he could, in which mood of laughing they continued so long, that their eyes
did water by the vehement concussion of the substance of the brain, by
which these lachrymal humidities, being pressed out, glided through the
optic nerves, and so to the full represented Democritus Heraclitizing and
Heraclitus Democritizing.

When they had done laughing, Gargantua consulted with the prime of his
retinue what should be done.  There Ponocrates was of opinion that they
should make this fair orator drink again; and seeing he had showed them
more pastime, and made them laugh more than a natural soul could have done,
that they should give him ten baskets full of sausages, mentioned in his
pleasant speech, with a pair of hose, three hundred great billets of
logwood, five-and-twenty hogsheads of wine, a good large down-bed, and a
deep capacious dish, which he said were necessary for his old age.  All
this was done as they did appoint:  only Gargantua, doubting that they
could not quickly find out breeches fit for his wearing, because he knew
not what fashion would best become the said orator, whether the martingale
fashion of breeches, wherein is a spunghole with a drawbridge for the more
easy caguing:  or the fashion of the mariners, for the greater solace and
comfort of his kidneys:  or that of the Switzers, which keeps warm the
bedondaine or belly-tabret:  or round breeches with straight cannions,
having in the seat a piece like a cod's tail, for fear of over-heating his
reins:--all which considered, he caused to be given him seven ells of white
cloth for the linings.  The wood was carried by the porters, the masters of
arts carried the sausages and the dishes, and Master Janotus himself would
carry the cloth.  One of the said masters, called Jousse Bandouille, showed
him that it was not seemly nor decent for one of his condition to do so,
and that therefore he should deliver it to one of them.  Ha, said Janotus,
baudet, baudet, or blockhead, blockhead, thou dost not conclude in modo et
figura.  For lo, to this end serve the suppositions and parva logicalia.
Pannus, pro quo supponit?  Confuse, said Bandouille, et distributive.  I do
not ask thee, said Janotus, blockhead, quomodo supponit, but pro quo?  It
is, blockhead, pro tibiis meis, and therefore I will carry it, Egomet,
sicut suppositum portat appositum.  So did he carry it away very close and
covertly, as Patelin the buffoon did his cloth.  The best was, that when
this cougher, in a full act or assembly held at the Mathurins, had with
great confidence required his breeches and sausages, and that they were
flatly denied him, because he had them of Gargantua, according to the
informations thereupon made, he showed them that this was gratis, and out
of his liberality, by which they were not in any sort quit of their
promises.  Notwithstanding this, it was answered him that he should be
content with reason, without expectation of any other bribe there.  Reason?
said Janotus.  We use none of it here.  Unlucky traitors, you are not worth
the hanging.  The earth beareth not more arrant villains than you are.  I
know it well enough; halt not before the lame.  I have practised wickedness
with you.  By God's rattle, I will inform the king of the enormous abuses
that are forged here and carried underhand by you, and let me be a leper,
if he do not burn you alive like sodomites, traitors, heretics and
seducers, enemies to God and virtue.

Upon these words they framed articles against him:  he on the other side
warned them to appear.  In sum, the process was retained by the court, and
is there as yet.  Hereupon the magisters made a vow never to decrott
themselves in rubbing off the dirt of either their shoes or clothes:
Master Janotus with his adherents vowed never to blow or snuff their noses,
until judgment were given by a definitive sentence.

By these vows do they continue unto this time both dirty and snotty; for
the court hath not garbled, sifted, and fully looked into all the pieces as
yet.  The judgment or decree shall be given out and pronounced at the next
Greek kalends, that is, never.  As you know that they do more than nature,
and contrary to their own articles.  The articles of Paris maintain that to
God alone belongs infinity, and nature produceth nothing that is immortal;
for she putteth an end and period to all things by her engendered,
according to the saying, Omnia orta cadunt, &c.  But these thick
mist-swallowers make the suits in law depending before them both infinite
and immortal.  In doing whereof, they have given occasion to, and verified
the saying of Chilo the Lacedaemonian, consecrated to the oracle at Delphos,
that misery is the inseparable companion of law-debates; and that pleaders
are miserable; for sooner shall they attain to the end of their lives, than
to the final decision of their pretended rights.



Chapter 1.XXI.

The study of Gargantua, according to the discipline of his schoolmasters
the Sophisters.

The first day being thus spent, and the bells put up again in their own
place, the citizens of Paris, in acknowledgment of this courtesy, offered
to maintain and feed his mare as long as he pleased, which Gargantua took
in good part, and they sent her to graze in the forest of Biere.  I think
she is not there now.  This done, he with all his heart submitted his study
to the discretion of Ponocrates; who for the beginning appointed that he
should do as he was accustomed, to the end he might understand by what
means, in so long time, his old masters had made him so sottish and
ignorant.  He disposed therefore of his time in such fashion, that
ordinarily he did awake betwixt eight and nine o'clock, whether it was day
or not, for so had his ancient governors ordained, alleging that which
David saith, Vanum est vobis ante lucem surgere.  Then did he tumble and
toss, wag his legs, and wallow in the bed some time, the better to stir up
and rouse his vital spirits, and apparelled himself according to the
season:  but willingly he would wear a great long gown of thick frieze,
furred with fox-skins.  Afterwards he combed his head with an Almain comb,
which is the four fingers and the thumb.  For his preceptor said that to
comb himself otherwise, to wash and make himself neat, was to lose time in
this world.  Then he dunged, pissed, spewed, belched, cracked, yawned,
spitted, coughed, yexed, sneezed and snotted himself like an archdeacon,
and, to suppress the dew and bad air, went to breakfast, having some good
fried tripes, fair rashers on the coals, excellent gammons of bacon, store
of fine minced meat, and a great deal of sippet brewis, made up of the fat
of the beef-pot, laid upon bread, cheese, and chopped parsley strewed
together.  Ponocrates showed him that he ought not to eat so soon after
rising out of his bed, unless he had performed some exercise beforehand.
Gargantua answered, What! have not I sufficiently well exercised myself?  I
have wallowed and rolled myself six or seven turns in my bed before I rose.
Is not that enough?  Pope Alexander did so, by the advice of a Jew his
physician, and lived till his dying day in despite of his enemies.  My
first masters have used me to it, saying that to breakfast made a good
memory, and therefore they drank first.  I am very well after it, and dine
but the better.  And Master Tubal, who was the first licenciate at Paris,
told me that it was not enough to run apace, but to set forth betimes:  so
doth not the total welfare of our humanity depend upon perpetual drinking
in a ribble rabble, like ducks, but on drinking early in the morning; unde
versus,

  To rise betimes is no good hour,
  To drink betimes is better sure.

After that he had thoroughly broke his fast, he went to church, and they
carried to him, in a great basket, a huge impantoufled or thick-covered
breviary, weighing, what in grease, clasps, parchment and cover, little
more or less than eleven hundred and six pounds.  There he heard
six-and-twenty or thirty masses.  This while, to the same place came his
orison-mutterer impaletocked, or lapped up about the chin like a tufted
whoop, and his breath pretty well antidoted with store of the
vine-tree-syrup.  With him he mumbled all his kiriels and dunsical
breborions, which he so curiously thumbed and fingered, that there fell not
so much as one grain to the ground.  As he went from the church, they
brought him, upon a dray drawn with oxen, a confused heap of paternosters
and aves of St. Claude, every one of them being of the bigness of a
hat-block; and thus walking through the cloisters, galleries, or garden, he
said more in turning them over than sixteen hermits would have done.  Then
did he study some paltry half-hour with his eyes fixed upon his book; but,
as the comic saith, his mind was in the kitchen.  Pissing then a full
urinal, he sat down at table; and because he was naturally phlegmatic, he
began his meal with some dozens of gammons, dried neat's tongues, hard roes
of mullet, called botargos, andouilles or sausages, and such other
forerunners of wine. In the meanwhile, four of his folks did cast into his
mouth one after another continually mustard by whole shovelfuls.
Immediately after that, he drank a horrible draught of white wine for the
ease of his kidneys.  When that was done, he ate according to the season
meat agreeable to his appetite, and then left off eating when his belly
began to strout, and was like to crack for fulness.  As for his drinking, he
had in that neither end nor rule.  For he was wont to say, That the limits
and bounds of drinking were, when the cork of the shoes of him that drinketh
swelleth up half a foot high.



Chapter 1.XXII.

The games of Gargantua.

Then blockishly mumbling with a set on countenance a piece of scurvy grace,
he washed his hands in fresh wine, picked his teeth with the foot of a hog,
and talked jovially with his attendants.  Then the carpet being spread,
they brought plenty of cards, many dice, with great store and abundance of
chequers and chessboards.

There he played.
At flush.                            At love.
At primero.                          At the chess.
At the beast.                        At Reynard the fox.
At the rifle.                        At the squares.
At trump.                            At the cows.
At the prick and spare not.          At the lottery.
At the hundred.                      At the chance or mumchance.
At the peeny.                        At three dice or maniest bleaks.
At the unfortunate woman.            At the tables.
At the fib.                          At nivinivinack.
At the pass ten.                     At the lurch.
At one-and-thirty.                   At doublets or queen's game.
At post and pair, or even and        At the faily.
  sequence.                          At the French trictrac.
At three hundred.                    At the long tables or ferkeering.
At the unlucky man.                  At feldown.
At the last couple in hell.          At tod's body.
At the hock.                         At needs must.
At the surly.                        At the dames or draughts.
At the lansquenet.                   At bob and mow.
At the cuckoo.                       At primus secundus.
At puff, or let him speak that       At mark-knife.
  hath it.                           At the keys.
At take nothing and throw out.       At span-counter.
At the marriage.                     At even or odd.
At the frolic or jackdaw.            At cross or pile.
At the opinion.                      At ball and huckle-bones.
At who doth the one, doth the        At ivory balls.
  other.                             At the billiards.
At the sequences.                    At bob and hit.
At the ivory bundles.                At the owl.
At the tarots.                       At the charming of the hare.
At losing load him.                  At pull yet a little.
At he's gulled and esto.             At trudgepig.
At the torture.                      At the magatapies.
At the handruff.                     At the horn.
At the click.                        At the flowered or Shrovetide ox.
At honours.                          At the madge-owlet.
At pinch without laughing.           At tilt at weeky.
At prickle me tickle me.             At ninepins.
At the unshoeing of the ass.         At the cock quintin.
At the cocksess.                     At tip and hurl.
At hari hohi.                        At the flat bowls.
At I set me down.                    At the veer and turn.
At earl beardy.                      At rogue and ruffian.
At the old mode.                     At bumbatch touch.
At draw the spit.                    At the mysterious trough.
At put out.                          At the short bowls.
At gossip lend me your sack.         At the dapple-grey.
At the ramcod ball.                  At cock and crank it.
At thrust out the harlot.            At break-pot.
At Marseilles figs.                  At my desire.
At nicknamry.                        At twirly whirlytrill.
At stick and hole.                   At the rush bundles.
At boke or him, or flaying the fox.  At the short staff.
At the branching it.                 At the whirling gig.
At trill madam, or grapple my lady.  At hide and seek, or are you all
At the cat selling.                    hid?
At blow the coal.                    At the picket.
At the re-wedding.                   At the blank.
At the quick and dead judge.         At the pilferers.
At unoven the iron.                  At the caveson.
At the false clown.                  At prison bars.
At the flints, or at the nine stones.At have at the nuts.
At to the crutch hulch back.         At cherry-pit.
At the Sanct is found.               At rub and rice.
At hinch, pinch and laugh not.       At whiptop.
At the leek.                         At the casting top.
At bumdockdousse.                    At the hobgoblins.
At the loose gig.                    At the O wonderful.
At the hoop.                         At the soily smutchy.
At the sow.                          At fast and loose.
At belly to belly.                   At scutchbreech.
At the dales or straths.             At the broom-besom.
At the twigs.                        At St. Cosme, I come to adore
At the quoits.                         thee.
At I'm for that.                     At the lusty brown boy.
At I take you napping.               At greedy glutton.
At fair and softly passeth Lent.     At the morris dance.
At the forked oak.                   At feeby.
At truss.                            At the whole frisk and gambol.
At the wolf's tail.                  At battabum, or riding of the
At bum to buss, or nose in breech.     wild mare.
At Geordie, give me my lance.        At Hind the ploughman.
At swaggy, waggy or shoggyshou.      At the good mawkin.
At stook and rook, shear and         At the dead beast.
  threave.                           At climb the ladder, Billy.
At the birch.                        At the dying hog.
At the muss.                         At the salt doup.
At the dilly dilly darling.          At the pretty pigeon.
At ox moudy.                         At barley break.
At purpose in purpose.               At the bavine.
At nine less.                        At the bush leap.
At blind-man-buff.                   At crossing.
At the fallen bridges.               At bo-peep.
At bridled nick.                     At the hardit arsepursy.
At the white at butts.               At the harrower's nest.
At thwack swinge him.                At forward hey.
At apple, pear, plum.                At the fig.
At mumgi.                            At gunshot crack.
At the toad.                         At mustard peel.
At cricket.                          At the gome.
At the pounding stick.               At the relapse.
At jack and the box.                 At jog breech, or prick him
At the queens.                         forward.
At the trades.                       At knockpate.
At heads and points.                 At the Cornish c(h)ough.
At the vine-tree hug.                At the crane-dance.
At black be thy fall.                At slash and cut.
At ho the distaff.                   At bobbing, or flirt on the
At Joan Thomson.                       nose.
At the bolting cloth.                At the larks.
At the oat's seed.                   At fillipping.

After he had thus well played, revelled, past and spent his time, it was
thought fit to drink a little, and that was eleven glassfuls the man, and,
immediately after making good cheer again, he would stretch himself upon a
fair bench, or a good large bed, and there sleep two or three hours
together, without thinking or speaking any hurt.  After he was awakened he
would shake his ears a little.  In the mean time they brought him fresh
wine.  There he drank better than ever.  Ponocrates showed him that it was
an ill diet to drink so after sleeping.  It is, answered Gargantua, the
very life of the patriarchs and holy fathers; for naturally I sleep salt,
and my sleep hath been to me in stead of so many gammons of bacon.  Then
began he to study a little, and out came the paternosters or rosary of
beads, which the better and more formally to despatch, he got upon an old
mule, which had served nine kings, and so mumbling with his mouth, nodding
and doddling his head, would go see a coney ferreted or caught in a gin.
At his return he went into the kitchen to know what roast meat was on the
spit, and what otherwise was to be dressed for supper.  And supped very
well, upon my conscience, and commonly did invite some of his neighbours
that were good drinkers, with whom carousing and drinking merrily, they
told stories of all sorts from the old to the new.  Amongst others he had
for domestics the Lords of Fou, of Gourville, of Griniot, and of Marigny.
After supper were brought in upon the place the fair wooden gospels and the
books of the four kings, that is to say, many pairs of tables and cards--or
the fair flush, one, two, three--or at all, to make short work; or else
they went to see the wenches thereabouts, with little small banquets,
intermixed with collations and rear-suppers.  Then did he sleep, without
unbridling, until eight o'clock in the next morning.



Chapter 1.XXIII.

How Gargantua was instructed by Ponocrates, and in such sort disciplinated,
that he lost not one hour of the day.


[Illustration: He did Swim in Deep Waters--1-23-048]


When Ponocrates knew Gargantua's vicious manner of living, he resolved to
bring him up in another kind; but for a while he bore with him, considering
that nature cannot endure a sudden change, without great violence.
Therefore, to begin his work the better, he requested a learned physician
of that time, called Master Theodorus, seriously to perpend, if it were
possible, how to bring Gargantua into a better course.  The said physician
purged him canonically with Anticyrian hellebore, by which medicine he
cleansed all the alteration and perverse habitude of his brain.  By this
means also Ponocrates made him forget all that he had learned under his
ancient preceptors, as Timotheus did to his disciples, who had been
instructed under other musicians.  To do this the better, they brought him
into the company of learned men, which were there, in whose imitation he
had a great desire and affection to study otherwise, and to improve his
parts.  Afterwards he put himself into such a road and way of studying,
that he lost not any one hour in the day, but employed all his time in
learning and honest knowledge.  Gargantua awaked, then, about four o'clock
in the morning.  Whilst they were in rubbing of him, there was read unto
him some chapter of the holy Scripture aloud and clearly, with a
pronunciation fit for the matter, and hereunto was appointed a young page
born in Basche, named Anagnostes.  According to the purpose and argument of
that lesson, he oftentimes gave himself to worship, adore, pray, and send
up his supplications to that good God, whose Word did show his majesty and
marvellous judgment.  Then went he unto the secret places to make excretion
of his natural digestions.  There his master repeated what had been read,
expounding unto him the most obscure and difficult points.  In returning,
they considered the face of the sky, if it was such as they had observed it
the night before, and into what signs the sun was entering, as also the
moon for that day.  This done, he was apparelled, combed, curled, trimmed,
and perfumed, during which time they repeated to him the lessons of the day
before.  He himself said them by heart, and upon them would ground some
practical cases concerning the estate of man, which he would prosecute
sometimes two or three hours, but ordinarily they ceased as soon as he was
fully clothed.  Then for three good hours he had a lecture read unto him.
This done they went forth, still conferring of the substance of the
lecture, either unto a field near the university called the Brack, or unto
the meadows, where they played at the ball, the long-tennis, and at the
piletrigone (which is a play wherein we throw a triangular piece of iron at
a ring, to pass it), most gallantly exercising their bodies, as formerly
they had done their minds.  All their play was but in liberty, for they
left off when they pleased, and that was commonly when they did sweat over
all their body, or were otherwise weary.  Then were they very well wiped
and rubbed, shifted their shirts, and, walking soberly, went to see if
dinner was ready.  Whilst they stayed for that, they did clearly and
eloquently pronounce some sentences that they had retained of the lecture.
In the meantime Master Appetite came, and then very orderly sat they down
at table.  At the beginning of the meal there was read some pleasant
history of the warlike actions of former times, until he had taken a glass
of wine.  Then, if they thought good, they continued reading, or began to
discourse merrily together; speaking first of the virtue, propriety,
efficacy, and nature of all that was served in at the table; of bread, of
wine, of water, of salt, of fleshes, fishes, fruits, herbs, roots, and of
their dressing.  By means whereof he learned in a little time all the
passages competent for this that were to be found in Pliny, Athenaeus,
Dioscorides, Julius Pollux, Galen, Porphyry, Oppian, Polybius, Heliodore,
Aristotle, Aelian, and others.  Whilst they talked of these things, many
times, to be the more certain, they caused the very books to be brought to
the table, and so well and perfectly did he in his memory retain the things
above said, that in that time there was not a physician that knew half so
much as he did.  Afterwards they conferred of the lessons read in the
morning, and, ending their repast with some conserve or marmalade of
quinces, he picked his teeth with mastic tooth-pickers, washed his hands
and eyes with fair fresh water, and gave thanks unto God in some fine
cantiques, made in praise of the divine bounty and munificence.  This done,
they brought in cards, not to play, but to learn a thousand pretty tricks
and new inventions, which were all grounded upon arithmetic.  By this means
he fell in love with that numerical science, and every day after dinner and
supper he passed his time in it as pleasantly as he was wont to do at cards
and dice; so that at last he understood so well both the theory and
practical part thereof, that Tunstall the Englishman, who had written very
largely of that purpose, confessed that verily in comparison of him he had
no skill at all.  And not only in that, but in the other mathematical
sciences, as geometry, astronomy, music, &c.  For in waiting on the
concoction and attending the digestion of his food, they made a thousand
pretty instruments and geometrical figures, and did in some measure
practise the astronomical canons.

After this they recreated themselves with singing musically, in four or
five parts, or upon a set theme or ground at random, as it best pleased
them.  In matter of musical instruments, he learned to play upon the lute,
the virginals, the harp, the Almain flute with nine holes, the viol, and
the sackbut.  This hour thus spent, and digestion finished, he did purge
his body of natural excrements, then betook himself to his principal study
for three hours together, or more, as well to repeat his matutinal lectures
as to proceed in the book wherein he was, as also to write handsomely, to
draw and form the antique and Roman letters.  This being done, they went
out of their house, and with them a young gentleman of Touraine, named the
Esquire Gymnast, who taught him the art of riding.  Changing then his
clothes, he rode a Naples courser, a Dutch roussin, a Spanish jennet, a
barded or trapped steed, then a light fleet horse, unto whom he gave a
hundred carieres, made him go the high saults, bounding in the air, free
the ditch with a skip, leap over a stile or pale, turn short in a ring both
to the right and left hand.  There he broke not his lance; for it is the
greatest foolery in the world to say, I have broken ten lances at tilts or
in fight.  A carpenter can do even as much.  But it is a glorious and
praise-worthy action with one lance to break and overthrow ten enemies.
Therefore, with a sharp, stiff, strong, and well-steeled lance would he
usually force up a door, pierce a harness, beat down a tree, carry away the
ring, lift up a cuirassier saddle, with the mail-coat and gauntlet.  All
this he did in complete arms from head to foot.  As for the prancing
flourishes and smacking popisms for the better cherishing of the horse,
commonly used in riding, none did them better than he.  The cavallerize of
Ferrara was but as an ape compared to him.  He was singularly skilful in
leaping nimbly from one horse to another without putting foot to ground,
and these horses were called desultories.  He could likewise from either
side, with a lance in his hand, leap on horseback without stirrups, and
rule the horse at his pleasure without a bridle, for such things are useful
in military engagements.  Another day he exercised the battle-axe, which he
so dexterously wielded, both in the nimble, strong, and smooth management
of that weapon, and that in all the feats practicable by it, that he passed
knight of arms in the field, and at all essays.

Then tossed he the pike, played with the two-handed sword, with the
backsword, with the Spanish tuck, the dagger, poniard, armed, unarmed, with
a buckler, with a cloak, with a target.  Then would he hunt the hart, the
roebuck, the bear, the fallow deer, the wild boar, the hare, the pheasant,
the partridge, and the bustard.  He played at the balloon, and made it
bound in the air, both with fist and foot.  He wrestled, ran, jumped--not
at three steps and a leap, called the hops, nor at clochepied, called the
hare's leap, nor yet at the Almains; for, said Gymnast, these jumps are for
the wars altogether unprofitable, and of no use--but at one leap he would
skip over a ditch, spring over a hedge, mount six paces upon a wall, ramp
and grapple after this fashion up against a window of the full height of a
lance.  He did swim in deep waters on his belly, on his back, sideways,
with all his body, with his feet only, with one hand in the air, wherein he
held a book, crossing thus the breadth of the river of Seine without
wetting it, and dragged along his cloak with his teeth, as did Julius
Caesar; then with the help of one hand he entered forcibly into a boat,
from whence he cast himself again headlong into the water, sounded the
depths, hollowed the rocks, and plunged into the pits and gulfs.  Then
turned he the boat about, governed it, led it swiftly or slowly with the
stream and against the stream, stopped it in his course, guided it with one
hand, and with the other laid hard about him with a huge great oar, hoisted
the sail, hied up along the mast by the shrouds, ran upon the edge of the
decks, set the compass in order, tackled the bowlines, and steered the
helm.  Coming out of the water, he ran furiously up against a hill, and
with the same alacrity and swiftness ran down again.  He climbed up at
trees like a cat, and leaped from the one to the other like a squirrel.  He
did pull down the great boughs and branches like another Milo; then with
two sharp well-steeled daggers and two tried bodkins would he run up by the
wall to the very top of a house like a rat; then suddenly came down from
the top to the bottom, with such an even composition of members that by the
fall he would catch no harm.

He did cast the dart, throw the bar, put the stone, practise the javelin,
the boar-spear or partisan, and the halbert.  He broke the strongest bows
in drawing, bended against his breast the greatest crossbows of steel, took
his aim by the eye with the hand-gun, and shot well, traversed and planted
the cannon, shot at butt-marks, at the papgay from below upwards, or to a
height from above downwards, or to a descent; then before him, sideways,
and behind him, like the Parthians.  They tied a cable-rope to the top of a
high tower, by one end whereof hanging near the ground he wrought himself
with his hands to the very top; then upon the same track came down so
sturdily and firm that you could not on a plain meadow have run with more
assurance.  They set up a great pole fixed upon two trees.  There would he
hang by his hands, and with them alone, his feet touching at nothing, would
go back and fore along the foresaid rope with so great swiftness that
hardly could one overtake him with running; and then, to exercise his
breast and lungs, he would shout like all the devils in hell.  I heard him
once call Eudemon from St. Victor's gate to Montmartre.  Stentor had never
such a voice at the siege of Troy.  Then for the strengthening of his
nerves or sinews they made him two great sows of lead, each of them
weighing eight thousand and seven hundred quintals, which they called
alteres.  Those he took up from the ground, in each hand one, then lifted
them up over his head, and held them so without stirring three quarters of
an hour and more, which was an inimitable force.  He fought at barriers
with the stoutest and most vigorous champions; and when it came to the
cope, he stood so sturdily on his feet that he abandoned himself unto the
strongest, in case they could remove him from his place, as Milo was wont
to do of old.  In whose imitation, likewise, he held a pomegranate in his
hand, to give it unto him that could take it from him.  The time being thus
bestowed, and himself rubbed, cleansed, wiped, and refreshed with other
clothes, he returned fair and softly; and passing through certain meadows,
or other grassy places, beheld the trees and plants, comparing them with
what is written of them in the books of the ancients, such as Theophrast,
Dioscorides, Marinus, Pliny, Nicander, Macer, and Galen, and carried home
to the house great handfuls of them, whereof a young page called Rizotomos
had charge; together with little mattocks, pickaxes, grubbing-hooks,
cabbies, pruning-knives, and other instruments requisite for herborizing.
Being come to their lodging, whilst supper was making ready, they repeated
certain passages of that which hath been read, and sat down to table.  Here
remark, that his dinner was sober and thrifty, for he did then eat only to
prevent the gnawings of his stomach, but his supper was copious and large,
for he took then as much as was fit to maintain and nourish him; which,
indeed, is the true diet prescribed by the art of good and sound physic,
although a rabble of loggerheaded physicians, nuzzeled in the brabbling
shop of sophisters, counsel the contrary.  During that repast was continued
the lesson read at dinner as long as they thought good; the rest was spent
in good discourse, learned and profitable.  After that they had given
thanks, he set himself to sing vocally, and play upon harmonious
instruments, or otherwise passed his time at some pretty sports, made with
cards or dice, or in practising the feats of legerdemain with cups and
balls.  There they stayed some nights in frolicking thus, and making
themselves merry till it was time to go to bed; and on other nights they
would go make visits unto learned men, or to such as had been travellers in
strange and remote countries.  When it was full night before they retired
themselves, they went unto the most open place of the house to see the face
of the sky, and there beheld the comets, if any were, as likewise the
figures, situations, aspects, oppositions, and conjunctions of both the
fixed stars and planets.

Then with his master did he briefly recapitulate, after the manner of the
Pythagoreans, that which he had read, seen, learned, done, and understood
in the whole course of that day.

Then prayed they unto God the Creator, in falling down before him, and
strengthening their faith towards him, and glorifying him for his boundless
bounty; and, giving thanks unto him for the time that was past, they
recommended themselves to his divine clemency for the future.  Which being
done, they went to bed, and betook themselves to their repose and rest.



Chapter 1.XXIV.

How Gargantua spent his time in rainy weather.

If it happened that the weather were anything cloudy, foul, and rainy, all
the forenoon was employed, as before specified, according to custom, with
this difference only, that they had a good clear fire lighted to correct
the distempers of the air.  But after dinner, instead of their wonted
exercitations, they did abide within, and, by way of apotherapy (that is, a
making the body healthful by exercise), did recreate themselves in bottling
up of hay, in cleaving and sawing of wood, and in threshing sheaves of corn
at the barn.  Then they studied the art of painting or carving; or brought
into use the antique play of tables, as Leonicus hath written of it, and as
our good friend Lascaris playeth at it.  In playing they examined the
passages of ancient authors wherein the said play is mentioned or any
metaphor drawn from it.  They went likewise to see the drawing of metals,
or the casting of great ordnance; how the lapidaries did work; as also the
goldsmiths and cutters of precious stones.  Nor did they omit to visit the
alchemists, money-coiners, upholsterers, weavers, velvet-workers,
watchmakers, looking-glass framers, printers, organists, and other such
kind of artificers, and, everywhere giving them somewhat to drink, did
learn and consider the industry and invention of the trades.  They went
also to hear the public lectures, the solemn commencements, the
repetitions, the acclamations, the pleadings of the gentle lawyers, and
sermons of evangelical preachers.  He went through the halls and places
appointed for fencing, and there played against the masters themselves at
all weapons, and showed them by experience that he knew as much in it as,
yea, more than, they.  And, instead of herborizing, they visited the shops
of druggists, herbalists, and apothecaries, and diligently considered the
fruits, roots, leaves, gums, seeds, the grease and ointments of some
foreign parts, as also how they did adulterate them.  He went to see the
jugglers, tumblers, mountebanks, and quacksalvers, and considered their
cunning, their shifts, their somersaults and smooth tongue, especially of
those of Chauny in Picardy, who are naturally great praters, and brave
givers of fibs, in matter of green apes.

At their return they did eat more soberly at supper than at other times,
and meats more desiccative and extenuating; to the end that the intemperate
moisture of the air, communicated to the body by a necessary confinitive,
might by this means be corrected, and that they might not receive any
prejudice for want of their ordinary bodily exercise.  Thus was Gargantua
governed, and kept on in this course of education, from day to day
profiting, as you may understand such a young man of his age may, of a
pregnant judgment, with good discipline well continued.  Which, although at
the beginning it seemed difficult, became a little after so sweet, so easy,
and so delightful, that it seemed rather the recreation of a king than the
study of a scholar.  Nevertheless Ponocrates, to divert him from this
vehement intension of the spirits, thought fit, once in a month, upon some
fair and clear day, to go out of the city betimes in the morning, either
towards Gentilly, or Boulogne, or to Montrouge, or Charanton bridge, or to
Vanves, or St. Clou, and there spend all the day long in making the
greatest cheer that could be devised, sporting, making merry, drinking
healths, playing, singing, dancing, tumbling in some fair meadow,
unnestling of sparrows, taking of quails, and fishing for frogs and crabs.
But although that day was passed without books or lecture, yet was it not
spent without profit; for in the said meadows they usually repeated certain
pleasant verses of Virgil's agriculture, of Hesiod and of Politian's
husbandry, would set a-broach some witty Latin epigrams, then immediately
turned them into roundelays and songs for dancing in the French language.
In their feasting they would sometimes separate the water from the wine
that was therewith mixed, as Cato teacheth, De re rustica, and Pliny with
an ivy cup would wash the wine in a basinful of water, then take it out
again with a funnel as pure as ever.  They made the water go from one glass
to another, and contrived a thousand little automatory engines, that is to
say, moving of themselves.



Chapter 1.XXV.

How there was great strife and debate raised betwixt the cake-bakers of
Lerne, and those of Gargantua's country, whereupon were waged great wars.

At that time, which was the season of vintage, in the beginning of harvest,
when the country shepherds were set to keep the vines, and hinder the
starlings from eating up the grapes, as some cake-bakers of Lerne happened
to pass along in the broad highway, driving into the city ten or twelve
horses loaded with cakes, the said shepherds courteously entreated them to
give them some for their money, as the price then ruled in the market.  For
here it is to be remarked, that it is a celestial food to eat for breakfast
hot fresh cakes with grapes, especially the frail clusters, the great red
grapes, the muscadine, the verjuice grape, and the laskard, for those that
are costive in their belly, because it will make them gush out, and squirt
the length of a hunter's staff, like the very tap of a barrel; and
oftentimes, thinking to let a squib, they did all-to-besquatter and
conskite themselves, whereupon they are commonly called the vintage
thinkers.  The bun-sellers or cake-makers were in nothing inclinable to
their request; but, which was worse, did injure them most outrageously,
calling them prattling gabblers, lickorous gluttons, freckled bittors, mangy
rascals, shite-a-bed scoundrels, drunken roysters, sly knaves, drowsy
loiterers, slapsauce fellows, slabberdegullion druggels, lubberly louts,
cozening foxes, ruffian rogues, paltry customers, sycophant-varlets,
drawlatch hoydens, flouting milksops, jeering companions, staring clowns,
forlorn snakes, ninny lobcocks, scurvy sneaksbies, fondling <DW2>s, base
loons, saucy coxcombs, idle lusks, scoffing braggarts, noddy meacocks,
blockish grutnols, doddipol-joltheads, jobbernol goosecaps, foolish
loggerheads, flutch calf-lollies, grouthead gnat-snappers, lob-dotterels,
gaping changelings, codshead loobies, woodcock slangams, ninny-hammer
flycatchers, noddypeak simpletons, turdy gut, shitten shepherds, and other
suchlike defamatory epithets; saying further, that it was not for them to
eat of these dainty cakes, but might very well content themselves with the
coarse unranged bread, or to eat of the great brown household loaf.  To
which provoking words, one amongst them, called Forgier, an honest fellow
of his person and a notable springal, made answer very calmly thus:  How
long is it since you have got horns, that you are become so proud?  Indeed
formerly you were wont to give us some freely, and will you not now let us
have any for our money?  This is not the part of good neighbours, neither
do we serve you thus when you come hither to buy our good corn, whereof you
make your cakes and buns.  Besides that, we would have given you to the
bargain some of our grapes, but, by his zounds, you may chance to repent
it, and possibly have need of us at another time, when we shall use you
after the like manner, and therefore remember it.  Then Marquet, a prime
man in the confraternity of the cake-bakers, said unto him, Yea, sir, thou
art pretty well crest-risen this morning, thou didst eat yesternight too
much millet and bolymong.  Come hither, sirrah, come hither, I will give
thee some cakes.  Whereupon Forgier, dreading no harm, in all simplicity
went towards him, and drew a sixpence out of his leather satchel, thinking
that Marquet would have sold him some of his cakes.  But, instead of cakes,
he gave him with his whip such a rude lash overthwart the legs, that the
marks of the whipcord knots were apparent in them, then would have fled
away; but Forgier cried out as loud as he could, O, murder, murder, help,
help, help! and in the meantime threw a great cudgel after him, which he
carried under his arm, wherewith he hit him in the coronal joint of his
head, upon the crotaphic artery of the right side thereof, so forcibly,
that Marquet fell down from his mare more like a dead than living man.
Meanwhile the farmers and country swains, that were watching their walnuts
near to that place, came running with their great poles and long staves,
and laid such load on these cake-bakers, as if they had been to thresh upon
green rye.  The other shepherds and shepherdesses, hearing the lamentable
shout of Forgier, came with their slings and slackies following them, and
throwing great stones at them, as thick as if it had been hail.  At last
they overtook them, and took from them about four or five dozen of their
cakes.  Nevertheless they paid for them the ordinary price, and gave them
over and above one hundred eggs and three baskets full of mulberries.  Then
did the cake-bakers help to get up to his mare Marquet, who was most
shrewdly wounded, and forthwith returned to Lerne, changing the resolution
they had to go to Pareille, threatening very sharp and boisterously the
cowherds, shepherds, and farmers of Seville and Sinays.  This done, the
shepherds and shepherdesses made merry with these cakes and fine grapes,
and sported themselves together at the sound of the pretty small pipe,
scoffing and laughing at those vainglorious cake-bakers, who had that day
met with a mischief for want of crossing themselves with a good hand in the
morning.  Nor did they forget to apply to Forgier's leg some fair great red
medicinal grapes, and so handsomely dressed it and bound it up that he was
quickly cured.



Chapter 1.XXVI.

How the inhabitants of Lerne, by the commandment of Picrochole their king,
assaulted the shepherds of Gargantua unexpectedly and on a sudden.

The cake-bakers, being returned to Lerne, went presently, before they did
either eat or drink, to the Capitol, and there before their king, called
Picrochole, the third of that name, made their complaint, showing their
panniers broken, their caps all crumpled, their coats torn, their cakes
taken away, but, above all, Marquet most enormously wounded, saying that
all that mischief was done by the shepherds and herdsmen of Grangousier,
near the broad highway beyond Seville.  Picrochole incontinent grew angry
and furious; and, without asking any further what, how, why, or wherefore,
commanded the ban and arriere ban to be sounded throughout all his country,
that all his vassals of what condition soever should, upon pain of the
halter, come, in the best arms they could, unto the great place before the
castle, at the hour of noon, and, the better to strengthen his design, he
caused the drum to be beat about the town.  Himself, whilst his dinner was
making ready, went to see his artillery mounted upon the carriage, to
display his colours, and set up the great royal standard, and loaded wains
with store of ammunition both for the field and the belly, arms and
victuals.  At dinner he despatched his commissions, and by his express
edict my Lord Shagrag was appointed to command the vanguard, wherein were
numbered sixteen thousand and fourteen arquebusiers or firelocks, together
with thirty thousand and eleven volunteer adventurers.  The great
Touquedillon, master of the horse, had the charge of the ordnance, wherein
were reckoned nine hundred and fourteen brazen pieces, in cannons, double
cannons, basilisks, serpentines, culverins, bombards or murderers, falcons,
bases or passevolins, spirols, and other sorts of great guns.  The
rearguard was committed to the Duke of Scrapegood.  In the main battle was
the king and the princes of his kingdom.  Thus being hastily furnished,
before they would set forward, they sent three hundred light horsemen,
under the conduct of Captain Swillwind, to discover the country, clear the
avenues, and see whether there was any ambush laid for them.  But, after
they had made diligent search, they found all the land round about in peace
and quiet, without any meeting or convention at all; which Picrochole
understanding, commanded that everyone should march speedily under his
colours.  Then immediately in all disorder, without keeping either rank or
file, they took the fields one amongst another, wasting, spoiling,
destroying, and making havoc of all wherever they went, not sparing poor
nor rich, privileged or unprivileged places, church nor laity, drove away
oxen and cows, bulls, calves, heifers, wethers, ewes, lambs, goats, kids,
hens, capons, chickens, geese, ganders, goslings, hogs, swine, pigs, and
such like; beating down the walnuts, plucking the grapes, tearing the
hedges, shaking the fruit-trees, and committing such incomparable abuses,
that the like abomination was never heard of.  Nevertheless, they met with
none to resist them, for everyone submitted to their mercy, beseeching them
that they might be dealt with courteously in regard that they had always
carried themselves as became good and loving neighbours, and that they had
never been guilty of any wrong or outrage done upon them, to be thus
suddenly surprised, troubled, and disquieted, and that, if they would not
desist, God would punish them very shortly.  To which expostulations and
remonstrances no other answer was made, but that they would teach them to
eat cakes.



Chapter 1.XXVII.

How a monk of Seville saved the close of the abbey from being ransacked by
the enemy.


[Illustration: The Monks Knew Not--1-27-060]


So much they did, and so far they went pillaging and stealing, that at last
they came to Seville, where they robbed both men and women, and took all
they could catch:  nothing was either too hot or too heavy for them.
Although the plague was there in the most part of all the houses, they
nevertheless entered everywhere, then plundered and carried away all that
was within, and yet for all this not one of them took any hurt, which is a
most wonderful case.  For the curates, vicars, preachers, physicians,
chirurgeons, and apothecaries, who went to visit, to dress, to cure, to
heal, to preach unto and admonish those that were sick, were all dead of
the infection, and these devilish robbers and murderers caught never any
harm at all.  Whence comes this to pass, my masters?  I beseech you think
upon it.  The town being thus pillaged, they went unto the abbey with a
horrible noise and tumult, but they found it shut and made fast against
them.  Whereupon the body of the army marched forward towards a pass or
ford called the Gue de Vede, except seven companies of foot and two hundred
lancers, who, staying there, broke down the walls of the close, to waste,
spoil, and make havoc of all the vines and vintage within that place.  The
monks (poor devils) knew not in that extremity to which of all their sancts
they should vow themselves.  Nevertheless, at all adventures they rang the
bells ad capitulum capitulantes.  There it was decreed that they should
make a fair procession, stuffed with good lectures, prayers, and litanies
contra hostium insidias, and jolly responses pro pace.

There was then in the abbey a claustral monk, called Friar John of the
funnels and gobbets, in French des entoumeures, young, gallant, frisk,
lusty, nimble, quick, active, bold, adventurous, resolute, tall, lean,
wide-mouthed, long-nosed, a fair despatcher of morning prayers, unbridler
of masses, and runner over of vigils; and, to conclude summarily in a word,
a right monk, if ever there was any, since the monking world monked a
monkery:  for the rest, a clerk even to the teeth in matter of breviary.
This monk, hearing the noise that the enemy made within the enclosure of
the vineyard, went out to see what they were doing; and perceiving that
they were cutting and gathering  the grapes, whereon was grounded the
foundation of all their next year's wine, returned unto the choir of the
church where the other monks were, all amazed and astonished like so many
bell-melters.  Whom when he heard sing, im, nim, pe, ne, ne, ne, ne, nene,
tum, ne, num, num, ini, i mi, co, o, no, o, o, neno, ne, no, no, no, rum,
nenum, num:  It is well shit, well sung, said he.  By the virtue of God,
why do not you sing, Panniers, farewell, vintage is done?  The devil snatch
me, if they be not already within the middle of our close, and cut so well
both vines and grapes, that, by Cod's body, there will not be found for
these four years to come so much as a gleaning in it.  By the belly of
Sanct James, what shall we poor devils drink the while?  Lord God! da mihi
potum.  Then said the prior of the convent:  What should this drunken
fellow do here? let him be carried to prison for troubling the divine
service.  Nay, said the monk, the wine service, let us behave ourselves so
that it be not troubled; for you yourself, my lord prior, love to drink of
the best, and so doth every honest man.  Never yet did a man of worth
dislike good wine, it is a monastical apophthegm.  But these responses that
you chant here, by G--, are not in season.  Wherefore is it, that our
devotions were instituted to be short in the time of harvest and vintage,
and long in the advent, and all the winter?  The late friar, Massepelosse,
of good memory, a true zealous man, or else I give myself to the devil, of
our religion, told me, and I remember it well, how the reason was, that in
this season we might press and make the wine, and in winter whiff it up.
Hark you, my masters, you that love the wine, Cop's body, follow me; for
Sanct Anthony burn me as freely as a <DW19>, if they get leave to taste one
drop of the liquor that will not now come and fight for relief of the vine.
Hog's belly, the goods of the church!  Ha, no, no.  What the devil, Sanct
Thomas of England was well content to die for them; if I died in the same
cause, should not I be a sanct likewise?  Yes.  Yet shall not I die there
for all this, for it is I that must do it to others and send them
a-packing.

As he spake this he threw off his great monk's habit, and laid hold upon
the staff of the cross, which was made of the heart of a sorbapple-tree, it
being of the length of a lance, round, of a full grip, and a little
powdered with lilies called flower de luce, the workmanship whereof was
almost all defaced and worn out.  Thus went he out in a fair long-skirted
jacket, putting his frock scarfwise athwart his breast, and in this
equipage, with his staff, shaft or truncheon of the cross, laid on so
lustily, brisk, and fiercely upon his enemies, who, without any order, or
ensign, or trumpet, or drum, were busied in gathering the grapes of the
vineyard.  For the cornets, guidons, and ensign-bearers had laid down their
standards, banners, and colours by the wall sides:  the drummers had
knocked out the heads of their drums on one end to fill them with grapes:
the trumpeters were loaded with great bundles of bunches and huge knots of
clusters:  in sum, everyone of them was out of array, and all in disorder.
He hurried, therefore, upon them so rudely, without crying gare or beware,
that he overthrew them like hogs, tumbled them over like swine, striking
athwart and alongst, and by one means or other laid so about him, after the
old fashion of fencing, that to some he beat out their brains, to others he
crushed their arms, battered their legs, and bethwacked their sides till
their ribs cracked with it.  To others again he unjointed the spondyles or
knuckles of the neck, disfigured their chaps, gashed their faces, made
their cheeks hang flapping on their chin, and so swinged and balammed them
that they fell down before him like hay before a mower.  To some others he
spoiled the frame of their kidneys, marred their backs, broke their
thigh-bones, pashed in their noses, poached out their eyes, cleft their
mandibles, tore their jaws, dung in their teeth into their throat, shook
asunder their omoplates or shoulder-blades, sphacelated their shins,
mortified their shanks, inflamed their ankles, heaved off of the hinges
their ishies, their sciatica or hip-gout, dislocated the joints of their
knees, squattered into pieces the boughts or pestles of their thighs, and
so thumped, mauled and belaboured them everywhere, that never was corn so
thick and threefold threshed upon by ploughmen's flails as were the
pitifully disjointed members of their mangled bodies under the merciless
baton of the cross.  If any offered to hide himself amongst the thickest of
the vines, he laid him squat as a flounder, bruised the ridge of his back,
and dashed his reins like a dog.  If any thought by flight to escape, he
made his head to fly in pieces by the lamboidal commissure, which is a seam
in the hinder part of the skull.  If anyone did scramble up into a tree,
thinking there to be safe, he rent up his perinee, and impaled him in at
the fundament.  If any of his old acquaintance happened to cry out, Ha,
Friar John, my friend Friar John, quarter, quarter, I yield myself to you,
to you I render myself!  So thou shalt, said he, and must, whether thou
wouldst or no, and withal render and yield up thy soul to all the devils in
hell; then suddenly gave them dronos, that is, so many knocks, thumps,
raps, dints, thwacks, and bangs, as sufficed to warn Pluto of their coming
and despatch them a-going.  If any was so rash and full of temerity as to
resist him to his face, then was it he did show the strength of his
muscles, for without more ado he did transpierce him, by running him in at
the breast, through the mediastine and the heart.  Others, again, he so
quashed and bebumped, that, with a sound bounce under the hollow of their
short ribs, he overturned their stomachs so that they died immediately.  To
some, with a smart souse on the epigaster, he would make their midriff
swag, then, redoubling the blow, gave them such a homepush on the navel
that he made their puddings to gush out.  To others through their ballocks
he pierced their bumgut, and left not bowel, tripe, nor entrail in their
body that had not felt the impetuosity, fierceness, and fury of his
violence.  Believe, that it was the most horrible spectacle that ever one
saw.  Some cried unto Sanct Barbe, others to St. George.  O the holy Lady
Nytouch, said one, the good Sanctess; O our Lady of Succours, said another,
help, help!  Others cried, Our Lady of Cunaut, of Loretto, of Good Tidings,
on the other side of the water St. Mary Over.  Some vowed a pilgrimage to
St. James, and others to the holy handkerchief at Chamberry, which three
months after that burnt so well in the fire that they could not get one
thread of it saved.  Others sent up their vows to St. Cadouin, others to
St. John d'Angely, and to St. Eutropius of Xaintes.  Others again invoked
St. Mesmes of Chinon, St. Martin of Candes, St. Clouaud of Sinays, the holy
relics of Laurezay, with a thousand other jolly little sancts and santrels.
Some died without speaking, others spoke without dying; some died in
speaking, others spoke in dying.  Others shouted as loud as they could
Confession, Confession, Confiteor, Miserere, In manus!  So great was the
cry of the wounded, that the prior of the abbey with all his monks came
forth, who, when they saw these poor wretches so slain amongst the vines,
and wounded to death, confessed some of them.  But whilst the priests were
busied in confessing them, the little monkies ran all to the place where
Friar John was, and asked him wherein he would be pleased to require their
assistance.  To which he answered that they should cut the throats of those
he had thrown down upon the ground.  They presently, leaving their outer
habits and cowls upon the rails, began to throttle and make an end of those
whom he had already crushed.  Can you tell with what instruments they did
it?  With fair gullies, which are little hulchbacked demi-knives, the iron
tool whereof is two inches long, and the wooden handle one inch thick, and
three inches in length, wherewith the little boys in our country cut ripe
walnuts in two while they are yet in the shell, and pick out the kernel,
and they found them very fit for the expediting of that weasand-slitting
exploit.  In the meantime Friar John, with his formidable baton of the
cross, got to the breach which the enemies had made, and there stood to
snatch up those that endeavoured to escape.  Some of the monkitos carried
the standards, banners, ensigns, guidons, and colours into their cells and
chambers to make garters of them.  But when those that had been shriven
would have gone out at the gap of the said breach, the sturdy monk quashed
and felled them down with blows, saying, These men have had confession and
are penitent souls; they have got their absolution and gained the pardons;
they go into paradise as straight as a sickle, or as the way is to Faye
(like Crooked-Lane at Eastcheap).  Thus by his prowess and valour were
discomfited all those of the army that entered into the close of the abbey,
unto the number of thirteen thousand, six hundred, twenty and two, besides
the women and little children, which is always to be understood.  Never did
Maugis the Hermit bear himself more valiantly with his bourdon or pilgrim's
staff against the Saracens, of whom is written in the Acts of the four sons
of Aymon, than did this monk against his enemies with the staff of the
cross.



Chapter 1.XXVIII.

How Picrochole stormed and took by assault the rock Clermond, and of
Grangousier's unwillingness and aversion from the undertaking of war.

Whilst the monk did thus skirmish, as we have said, against those which
were entered within the close, Picrochole in great haste passed the ford of
Vede--a very especial pass--with all his soldiers, and set upon the rock
Clermond, where there was made him no resistance at all; and, because it
was already night, he resolved to quarter himself and his army in that
town, and to refresh himself of his pugnative choler.  In the morning he
stormed and took the bulwarks and castle, which afterwards he fortified
with rampiers, and furnished with all ammunition requisite, intending to
make his retreat there, if he should happen to be otherwise worsted; for it
was a strong place, both by art and nature, in regard of the stance and
situation of it.  But let us leave them there, and return to our good
Gargantua, who is at Paris very assiduous and earnest at the study of good
letters and athletical exercitations, and to the good old man Grangousier
his father, who after supper warmeth his ballocks by a good, clear, great
fire, and, waiting upon the broiling of some chestnuts, is very serious in
drawing scratches on the hearth, with a stick burnt at the one end,
wherewith they did stir up the fire, telling to his wife and the rest of
the family pleasant old stories and tales of former times.

Whilst he was thus employed, one of the shepherds which did keep the vines,
named Pillot, came towards him, and to the full related the enormous abuses
which were committed, and the excessive spoil that was made by Picrochole,
King of Lerne, upon his lands and territories, and how he had pillaged,
wasted, and ransacked all the country, except the enclosure at Seville,
which Friar John des Entoumeures to his great honour had preserved; and
that at the same present time the said king was in the rock Clermond, and
there, with great industry and circumspection, was strengthening himself
and his whole army.  Halas, halas, alas! said Grangousier, what is this,
good people?  Do I dream, or is it true that they tell me?  Picrochole, my
ancient friend of old time, of my own kindred and alliance, comes he to
invade me?  What moves him?  What provokes him?  What sets him on?  What
drives him to it?  Who hath given him this counsel?  Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, my
God, my Saviour, help me, inspire me, and advise me what I shall do!  I
protest, I swear before thee, so be thou favourable to me, if ever I did
him or his subjects any damage or displeasure, or committed any the least
robbery in his country; but, on the contrary, I have succoured and supplied
him with men, money, friendship, and counsel, upon any occasion wherein I
could be steadable for the improvement of his good.  That he hath therefore
at this nick of time so outraged and wronged me, it cannot be but by the
malevolent and wicked spirit.  Good God, thou knowest my courage, for
nothing can be hidden from thee.  If perhaps he be grown mad, and that thou
hast sent him hither to me for the better recovery and re-establishment of
his brain, grant me power and wisdom to bring him to the yoke of thy holy
will by good discipline.  Ho, ho, ho, ho, my good people, my friends and my
faithful servants, must I hinder you from helping me?  Alas, my old age
required hence-forward nothing else but rest, and all the days of my life I
have laboured for nothing so much as peace; but now I must, I see it well,
load with arms my poor, weary, and feeble shoulders, and take in my
trembling hand the lance and horseman's mace, to succour and protect my
honest subjects.  Reason will have it so; for by their labour am I
entertained, and with their sweat am I nourished, I, my children and my
family.  This notwithstanding, I will not undertake war, until I have first
tried all the ways and means of peace:  that I resolve upon.

Then assembled he his council, and proposed the matter as it was indeed.
Whereupon it was concluded that they should send some discreet man unto
Picrochole, to know wherefore he had thus suddenly broken the peace and
invaded those lands unto which he had no right nor title.  Furthermore,
that they should send for Gargantua, and those under his command, for the
preservation of the country, and defence thereof now at need.  All this
pleased Grangousier very well, and he commanded that so it should be done.
Presently therefore he sent the Basque his lackey to fetch Gargantua with
all diligence, and wrote him as followeth.



Chapter 1.XXIX.

The tenour of the letter which Grangousier wrote to his son Gargantua.

The fervency of thy studies did require that I should not in a long time
recall thee from that philosophical rest thou now enjoyest, if the
confidence reposed in our friends and ancient confederates had not at this
present disappointed the assurance of my old age.  But seeing such is my
fatal destiny, that I should be now disquieted by those in whom I trusted
most, I am forced to call thee back to help the people and goods which by
the right of nature belong unto thee.  For even as arms are weak abroad, if
there be not counsel at home, so is that study vain and counsel
unprofitable which in a due and convenient time is not by virtue executed
and put in effect.  My deliberation is not to provoke, but to appease--not
to assault, but to defend--not to conquer, but to preserve my faithful
subjects and hereditary dominions, into which Picrochole is entered in a
hostile manner without any ground or cause, and from day to day pursueth
his furious enterprise with that height of insolence that is intolerable to
freeborn spirits.  I have endeavoured to moderate his tyrannical choler,
offering him all that which I thought might give him satisfaction; and
oftentimes have I sent lovingly unto him to understand wherein, by whom,
and how he found himself to be wronged.  But of him could I obtain no other
answer but a mere defiance, and that in my lands he did pretend only to the
right of a civil correspondency and good behaviour, whereby I knew that the
eternal God hath left him to the disposure of his own free will and sensual
appetite--which cannot choose but be wicked, if by divine grace it be not
continually guided--and to contain him within his duty, and bring him to
know himself, hath sent him hither to me by a grievous token.  Therefore,
my beloved son, as soon as thou canst, upon sight of these letters, repair
hither with all diligence, to succour not me so much, which nevertheless by
natural piety thou oughtest to do, as thine own people, which by reason
thou mayest save and preserve.  The exploit shall be done with as little
effusion of blood as may be.  And, if possible, by means far more
expedient, such as military policy, devices, and stratagems of war, we
shall save all the souls, and send them home as merry as crickets unto
their own houses.  My dearest son, the peace of Jesus Christ our Redeemer
be with thee.  Salute from me Ponocrates, Gymnastes, and Eudemon.  The
twentieth of September.
Thy Father Grangousier.



Chapter 1.XXX.

How Ulric Gallet was sent unto Picrochole.

The letters being dictated, signed, and sealed, Grangousier ordained that
Ulric Gallet, master of the requests, a very wise and discreet man, of
whose prudence and sound judgment he had made trial in several difficult
and debateful matters, (should) go unto Picrochole, to show what had been
decreed amongst them.  At the same hour departed the good man Gallet, and
having passed the ford, asked at the miller that dwelt there in what
condition Picrochole was:  who answered him that his soldiers had left him
neither cock nor hen, that they were retired and shut up into the rock
Clermond, and that he would not advise him to go any further for fear of
the scouts, because they were enormously furious.  Which he easily
believed, and therefore lodged that night with the miller.

The next morning he went with a trumpeter to the gate of the castle, and
required the guards he might be admitted to speak with the king of somewhat
that concerned him.  These words being told unto the king, he would by no
means consent that they should open the gate; but, getting upon the top of
the bulwark, said unto the ambassador, What is the news, what have you to
say?  Then the ambassador began to speak as followeth.



Chapter 1.XXXI.

The speech made by Gallet to Picrochole.

There cannot arise amongst men a juster cause of grief than when they
receive hurt and damage where they may justly expect for favour and good
will; and not without cause, though without reason, have many, after they
had fallen into such a calamitous accident, esteemed this indignity less
supportable than the loss of their own lives, in such sort that, if they
have not been able by force of arms nor any other means, by reach of wit or
subtlety, to stop them in their course and restrain their fury, they have
fallen into desperation, and utterly deprived themselves of this light.  It
is therefore no wonder if King Grangousier, my master, be full of high
displeasure and much disquieted in mind upon thy outrageous and hostile
coming; but truly it would be a marvel if he were not sensible of and moved
with the incomparable abuses and injuries perpetrated by thee and thine
upon those of his country, towards whom there hath been no example of
inhumanity omitted.  Which in itself is to him so grievous, for the cordial
affection wherewith he hath always cherished his subjects, that more it
cannot be to any mortal man; yet in this, above human apprehension, is it
to him the more grievous that these wrongs and sad offences have been
committed by thee and thine, who, time out of mind, from all antiquity,
thou and thy predecessors have been in a continual league and amity with
him and all his ancestors; which, even until this time, you have as sacred
together inviolably preserved, kept, and entertained, so well, that not he
and his only, but the very barbarous nations of the Poictevins, Bretons,
Manceaux, and those that dwell beyond the isles of the Canaries, and that
of Isabella, have thought it as easy to pull down the firmament, and to set
up the depths above the clouds, as to make a breach in your alliance; and
have been so afraid of it in their enterprises that they have never dared
to provoke, incense, or endamage the one for fear of the other.  Nay, which
is more, this sacred league hath so filled the world, that there are few
nations at this day inhabiting throughout all the continent and isles of
the ocean, who have not ambitiously aspired to be received into it, upon
your own covenants and conditions, holding your joint confederacy in as
high esteem as their own territories and dominions, in such sort, that from
the memory of man there hath not been either prince or league so wild and
proud that durst have offered to invade, I say not your countries, but not
so much as those of your confederates.  And if, by rash and heady counsel,
they have attempted any new design against them, as soon as they heard the
name and title of your alliance, they have suddenly desisted from their
enterprises.  What rage and madness, therefore, doth now incite thee, all
old alliance infringed, all amity trod under foot, and all right violated,
thus in a hostile manner to invade his country, without having been by him
or his in anything prejudiced, wronged, or provoked?  Where is faith?
Where is law?  Where is reason?  Where is humanity?  Where is the fear of
God?  Dost thou think that these atrocious abuses are hidden from the
eternal spirit and the supreme God who is the just rewarder of all our
undertakings?  If thou so think, thou deceivest thyself; for all things
shall come to pass as in his incomprehensible judgment he hath appointed.
Is it thy fatal destiny, or influences of the stars, that would put an end
to thy so long enjoyed ease and rest?  For that all things have their end
and period, so as that, when they are come to the superlative point of
their greatest height, they are in a trice tumbled down again, as not being
able to abide long in that state.  This is the conclusion and end of those
who cannot by reason and temperance moderate their fortunes and
prosperities.  But if it be predestinated that thy happiness and ease must
now come to an end, must it needs be by wronging my king,--him by whom thou
wert established?  If thy house must come to ruin, should it therefore in
its fall crush the heels of him that set it up?  The matter is so
unreasonable, and so dissonant from common sense, that hardly can it be
conceived by human understanding, and altogether incredible unto strangers,
till by the certain and undoubted effects thereof it be made apparent that
nothing is either sacred or holy to those who, having emancipated
themselves from God and reason, do merely follow the perverse affections of
their own depraved nature.  If any wrong had been done by us to thy
subjects and dominions--if we had favoured thy ill-willers--if we had not
assisted thee in thy need--if thy name and reputation had been wounded by
us--or, to speak more truly, if the calumniating spirit, tempting to induce
thee to evil, had, by false illusions and deceitful fantasies, put into thy
conceit the impression of a thought that we had done unto thee anything
unworthy of our ancient correspondence and friendship, thou oughtest first
to have inquired out the truth, and afterwards by a seasonable warning to
admonish us thereof; and we should have so satisfied thee, according to
thine own heart's desire, that thou shouldst have had occasion to be
contented.  But, O eternal God, what is thy enterprise?  Wouldst thou, like
a perfidious tyrant, thus spoil and lay waste my master's kingdom?  Hast
thou found him so silly and blockish, that he would not--or so destitute of
men and money, of counsel and skill in military discipline, that he cannot
withstand thy unjust invasion?  March hence presently, and to-morrow, some
time of the day, retreat unto thine own country, without doing any kind of
violence or disorderly act by the way; and pay withal a thousand besans of
gold (which, in English money, amounteth to five thousand pounds), for
reparation of the damages thou hast done in this country.  Half thou shalt
pay to-morrow, and the other half at the ides of May next coming, leaving
with us in the mean time, for hostages, the Dukes of Turnbank, Lowbuttock,
and Smalltrash, together with the Prince of Itches and Viscount of
Snatchbit (Tournemoule, Bas-de-fesses, Menuail, Gratelles, Morpiaille.).



Chapter 1.XXXII.

How Grangousier, to buy peace, caused the cakes to be restored.

With that the good man Gallet held his peace, but Picrochole to all his
discourse answered nothing but Come and fetch them, come and fetch them,
--they have ballocks fair and soft,--they will knead and provide some cakes
for you.  Then returned he to Grangousier, whom he found upon his knees
bareheaded, crouching in a little corner of his cabinet, and humbly praying
unto God that he would vouchsafe to assuage the choler of Picrochole, and
bring him to the rule of reason without proceeding by force.  When the good
man came back, he asked him, Ha, my friend, what news do you bring me?
There is neither hope nor remedy, said Gallet; the man is quite out of his
wits, and forsaken of God.  Yea, but, said Grangousier, my friend, what
cause doth he pretend for his outrages?  He did not show me any cause at
all, said Gallet, only that in a great anger he spoke some words of cakes.
I cannot tell if they have done any wrong to his cake-bakers.  I will know,
said Grangousier, the matter thoroughly, before I resolve any more upon
what is to be done.  Then sent he to learn concerning that business, and
found by true information that his men had taken violently some cakes from
Picrochole's people, and that Marquet's head was broken with a slacky or
short cudgel; that, nevertheless, all was well paid, and that the said
Marquet had first hurt Forgier with a stroke of his whip athwart the legs.
And it seemed good to his whole council, that he should defend himself with
all his might.  Notwithstanding all this, said Grangousier, seeing the
question is but about a few cakes, I will labour to content him; for I am
very unwilling to wage war against him.  He inquired then what quantity of
cakes they had taken away, and understanding that it was but some four or
five dozen, he commanded five cartloads of them to be baked that same
night; and that there should be one full of cakes made with fine butter,
fine yolks of eggs, fine saffron, and fine spice, to be bestowed upon
Marquet, unto whom likewise he directed to be given seven hundred thousand
and three Philips (that is, at three shillings the piece, one hundred five
thousand pounds and nine shillings of English money), for reparation of his
losses and hindrances, and for satisfaction of the chirurgeon that had
dressed his wound; and furthermore settled upon him and his for ever in
freehold the apple-orchard called La Pomardiere.  For the conveyance and
passing of all which was sent Gallet, who by the way as they went made them
gather near the willow-trees great store of boughs, canes, and reeds,
wherewith all the carriers were enjoined to garnish and deck their carts,
and each of them to carry one in his hand, as himself likewise did, thereby
to give all men to understand that they demanded but peace, and that they
came to buy it.

Being come to the gate, they required to speak with Picrochole from
Grangousier.  Picrochole would not so much as let them in, nor go to speak
with them, but sent them word that he was busy, and that they should
deliver their mind to Captain Touquedillon, who was then planting a piece
of ordnance upon the wall.  Then said the good man unto him, My lord, to
ease you of all this labour, and to take away all excuses why you may not
return unto our former alliance, we do here presently restore unto you the
cakes upon which the quarrel arose.  Five dozen did our people take away:
they were well paid for:  we love peace so well that we restore unto you
five cartloads, of which this cart shall be for Marquet, who doth most
complain.  Besides, to content him entirely, here are seven hundred
thousand and three Philips, which I deliver to him, and, for the losses he
may pretend to have sustained, I resign for ever the farm of the
Pomardiere, to be possessed in fee-simple by him and his for ever, without
the payment of any duty, or acknowledgement of homage, fealty, fine, or
service whatsoever, and here is the tenour of the deed.  And, for God's
sake, let us live henceforward in peace, and withdraw yourselves merrily
into your own country from within this place, unto which you have no right
at all, as yourselves must needs confess, and let us be good friends as
before.  Touquedillon related all this to Picrochole, and more and more
exasperated his courage, saying to him, These clowns are afraid to some
purpose.  By G--, Grangousier conskites himself for fear, the poor drinker.
He is not skilled in warfare, nor hath he any stomach for it.  He knows
better how to empty the flagons,--that is his art.  I am of opinion that it
is fit we send back the carts and the money, and, for the rest, that very
speedily we fortify ourselves here, then prosecute our fortune.  But what!
Do they think to have to do with a ninnywhoop, to feed you thus with cakes?
You may see what it is.  The good usage and great familiarity which you
have had with them heretofore hath made you contemptible in their eyes.
Anoint a villain, he will prick you:  prick a villain, and he will anoint
you (Ungentem pungit, pungentem rusticus ungit.).

Sa, sa, sa, said Picrochole, by St. James you have given a true character
of them.  One thing I will advise you, said Touquedillon.  We are here but
badly victualled, and furnished with mouth-harness very slenderly.  If
Grangousier should come to besiege us, I would go presently, and pluck out
of all your soldiers' heads and mine own all the teeth, except three to
each of us, and with them alone we should make an end of our provision but
too soon.  We shall have, said Picrochole, but too much sustenance and
feeding-stuff.  Came we hither to eat or to fight?  To fight, indeed, said
Touquedillon; yet from the paunch comes the dance, and where famine rules
force is exiled.  Leave off your prating, said Picrochole, and forthwith
seize upon what they have brought.  Then took they money and cakes, oxen
and carts, and sent them away without speaking one word, only that they
would come no more so near, for a reason that they would give them the
morrow after.  Thus, without doing anything, returned they to Grangousier,
and related the whole matter unto him, subjoining that there was no hope
left to draw them to peace but by sharp and fierce wars.



Chapter 1.XXXIII.

How some statesmen of Picrochole, by hairbrained counsel, put him in
extreme danger.

The carts being unloaded, and the money and cakes secured, there came
before Picrochole the Duke of Smalltrash, the Earl Swashbuckler, and
Captain Dirt-tail (Menuail, Spadassin, Merdaille.), who said unto him, Sir,
this day we make you the happiest, the most warlike and chivalrous prince
that ever was since the death of Alexander of Macedonia.  Be covered, be
covered, said Picrochole.  Gramercy, said they, we do but our duty.  The
manner is thus.  You shall leave some captain here to have the charge of
this garrison, with a party competent for keeping of the place, which,
besides its natural strength, is made stronger by the rampiers and
fortresses of your devising.  Your army you are to divide into two parts,
as you know very well how to do.  One part thereof shall fall upon
Grangousier and his forces.  By it shall he be easily at the very first
shock routed, and then shall you get money by heaps, for the clown hath
store of ready coin.  Clown we call him, because a noble and generous
prince hath never a penny, and that to hoard up treasure is but a clownish
trick.  The other part of the army, in the meantime, shall draw towards
Onys, Xaintonge, Angomois, and Gascony.  Then march to Perigot, Medoc, and
Elanes, taking wherever you come, without resistance, towns, castles, and
forts; afterwards to Bayonne, St. John de Luc, to Fontarabia, where you
shall seize upon all the ships, and coasting along Galicia and Portugal,
shall pillage all the maritime places, even unto Lisbon, where you shall be
supplied with all necessaries befitting a conqueror.  By copsody, Spain
will yield, for they are but a race of loobies.  Then are you to pass by
the Straits of Gibraltar, where you shall erect two pillars more stately
than those of Hercules, to the perpetual memory of your name, and the
narrow entrance there shall be called the Picrocholinal sea.

Having passed the Picrocholinal sea, behold, Barbarossa yields himself your
slave.  I will, said Picrochole, give him fair quarter and spare his life.
Yea, said they, so that he be content to be christened.  And you shall
conquer the kingdoms of Tunis, of Hippo, Argier, Bomine (Bona), Corone,
yea, all Barbary.  Furthermore, you shall take into your hands Majorca,
Minorca, Sardinia, Corsica, with the other islands of the Ligustic and
Balearian seas.  Going alongst on the left hand, you shall rule all Gallia
Narbonensis, Provence, the Allobrogians, Genoa, Florence, Lucca, and then
God b'w'ye, Rome.  (Our poor Monsieur the Pope dies now for fear.)  By my
faith, said Picrochole, I will not then kiss his pantoufle.

Italy being thus taken, behold Naples, Calabria, Apulia, and Sicily, all
ransacked, and Malta too.  I wish the pleasant Knights of the Rhodes
heretofore would but come to resist you, that we might see their urine.  I
would, said Picrochole, very willingly go to Loretto.  No, no, said they,
that shall be at our return.  From thence we will sail eastwards, and take
Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, and the Cyclade Islands, and set upon (the) Morea.
It is ours, by St. Trenian.  The Lord preserve Jerusalem; for the great
Soldan is not comparable to you in power.  I will then, said he, cause
Solomon's temple to be built.  No, said they, not yet, have a little
patience, stay awhile, be never too sudden in your enterprises.  Can you
tell what Octavian Augustus said?  Festina lente.  It is requisite that you
first have the Lesser Asia, Caria, Lycia, Pamphilia, Cilicia, Lydia,
Phrygia, Mysia, Bithynia, Carazia, Satalia, Samagaria, Castamena, Luga,
Savasta, even unto Euphrates.  Shall we see, said Picrochole, Babylon and
Mount Sinai?  There is no need, said they, at this time.  Have we not
hurried up and down, travelled and toiled enough, in having transfretted
and passed over the Hircanian sea, marched alongst the two Armenias and the
three Arabias?  Ay, by my faith, said he, we have played the fools, and are
undone.  Ha, poor souls!  What's the matter? said they.  What shall we
have, said he, to drink in these deserts?  For Julian Augustus with his
whole army died there for thirst, as they say.  We have already, said they,
given order for that.  In the Syriac sea you have nine thousand and
fourteen great ships laden with the best wines in the world.  They arrived
at Port Joppa.  There they found two-and-twenty thousand camels and sixteen
hundred elephants, which you shall have taken at one hunting about
Sigelmes, when you entered into Lybia; and, besides this, you had all the
Mecca caravan.  Did not they furnish you sufficiently with wine?  Yes, but,
said he, we did not drink it fresh.  By the virtue, said they, not of a
fish, a valiant man, a conqueror, who pretends and aspires to the monarchy
of the world, cannot always have his ease.  God be thanked that you and
your men are come safe and sound unto the banks of the river Tigris.  But,
said he, what doth that part of our army in the meantime which overthrows
that unworthy swillpot Grangousier?  They are not idle, said they.  We
shall meet with them by-and-by.  They shall have won you Brittany,
Normandy, Flanders, Hainault, Brabant, Artois, Holland, Zealand; they have
passed the Rhine over the bellies of the Switzers and lansquenets, and a
party of these hath subdued Luxembourg, Lorraine, Champagne, and Savoy,
even to Lyons, in which place they have met with your forces returning from
the naval conquests of the Mediterranean sea; and have rallied again in
Bohemia, after they had plundered and sacked Suevia, Wittemberg, Bavaria,
Austria, Moravia, and Styria.  Then they set fiercely together upon Lubeck,
Norway, Swedeland, Rie, Denmark, Gitland, Greenland, the Sterlins, even
unto the frozen sea.  This done, they conquered the Isles of Orkney and
subdued Scotland, England, and Ireland.  From thence sailing through the
sandy sea and by the Sarmates, they have vanquished and overcome Prussia,
Poland, Lithuania, Russia, Wallachia, Transylvania, Hungary, Bulgaria,
Turkeyland, and are now at Constantinople.  Come, said Picrochole, let us
go join with them quickly, for I will be Emperor of Trebizond also.  Shall
we not kill all these dogs, Turks and Mahometans?  What a devil should we
do else? said they.  And you shall give their goods and lands to such as
shall have served you honestly.  Reason, said he, will have it so, that is
but just.  I give unto you the Caramania, Suria, and all the Palestine.
Ha, sir, said they, it is out of your goodness; gramercy, we thank you.
God grant you may always prosper.  There was there present at that time an
old gentleman well experienced in the wars, a stern soldier, and who had
been in many great hazards, named Echephron, who, hearing this discourse,
said, I do greatly doubt that all this enterprise will be like the tale or
interlude of the pitcher full of milk wherewith a shoemaker made himself
rich in conceit; but, when the pitcher was broken, he had not whereupon to
dine.  What do you pretend by these large conquests?  What shall be the end
of so many labours and crosses?  Thus it shall be, said Picrochole, that
when we are returned we shall sit down, rest, and be merry.  But, said
Echephron, if by chance you should never come back, for the voyage is long
and dangerous, were it not better for us to take our rest now, than
unnecessarily to expose ourselves to so many dangers?  O, said
Swashbuckler, by G--, here is a good dotard; come, let us go hide ourselves
in the corner of a chimney, and there spend the whole time of our life
amongst ladies, in threading of pearls, or spinning, like Sardanapalus.  He
that nothing ventures hath neither horse nor mule, says Solomon.  He who
adventureth too much, said Echephron, loseth both horse and mule, answered
Malchon.  Enough, said Picrochole, go forward.  I fear nothing but that
these devilish legions of Grangousier, whilst we are in Mesopotamia, will
come on our backs and charge up our rear.  What course shall we then take?
What shall be our remedy?  A very good one, said Dirt-tail; a pretty little
commission, which you must send unto the Muscovites, shall bring you into
the field in an instant four hundred and fifty thousand choice men of war.
Oh that you would but make me your lieutenant-general, I should for the
lightest faults of any inflict great punishments.  I fret, I charge, I
strike, I take, I kill, I slay, I play the devil.  On, on, said Picrochole,
make haste, my lads, and let him that loves me follow me.



Chapter 1.XXXIV.

How Gargantua left the city of Paris to succour his country, and how
Gymnast encountered with the enemy.

In this same very hour Gargantua, who was gone out of Paris as soon as he
had read his father's letters, coming upon his great mare, had already
passed the Nunnery-bridge, himself, Ponocrates, Gymnast, and Eudemon, who
all three, the better to enable them to go along with him, took
post-horses.  The rest of his train came after him by even journeys at a
slower pace, bringing with them all his books and philosophical instruments.
As soon as he had alighted at Parille, he was informed by a farmer of
Gouguet how Picrochole had fortified himself within the rock Clermond, and
had sent Captain Tripet with a great army to set upon the wood of Vede and
Vaugaudry, and that they had already plundered the whole country, not
leaving cock nor hen, even as far as to the winepress of Billard.  These
strange and almost incredible news of the enormous abuses thus committed
over all the land, so affrighted Gargantua that he knew not what to say nor
do.  But Ponocrates counselled him to go unto the Lord of Vauguyon, who at
all times had been their friend and confederate, and that by him they should
be better advised in their business.  Which they did incontinently, and
found him very willing and fully resolved to assist them, and therefore was
of opinion that they should send some one of his company to scout along and
discover the country, to learn in what condition and posture the enemy was,
that they might take counsel, and proceed according to the present occasion.
Gymnast offered himself to go.  Whereupon it was concluded, that for his
safety and the better expedition, he should have with him someone that knew
the ways, avenues, turnings, windings, and rivers thereabout. Then away went
he and Prelingot, the equerry or gentleman of Vauguyon's horse, who scouted
and espied as narrowly as they could upon all quarters without any fear.  In
the meantime Gargantua took a little refreshment, ate somewhat himself, the
like did those who were with him, and caused to give to his mare a picotine
of oats, that is, three score and fourteen quarters and three bushels.
Gymnast and his comrade rode so long, that at last they met with the enemy's
forces, all scattered and out of order, plundering, stealing, robbing, and
pillaging all they could lay their hands on.  And, as far off as they could
perceive him, they ran thronging upon the back of one another in all haste
towards him, to unload him of his money, and untruss his portmantles.  Then
cried he out unto them, My masters, I am a poor devil, I desire you to spare
me.  I have yet one crown left.  Come, we must drink it, for it is aurum
potabile, and this horse here shall be sold to pay my welcome.  Afterwards
take me for one of your own, for never yet was there any man that knew
better how to take, lard, roast, and dress, yea, by G--, to tear asunder and
devour a hen, than I that am here:  and for my proficiat I drink to all good
fellows.  With that he unscrewed his borracho (which was a great Dutch
leathern bottle), and without putting in his nose drank very honestly.  The
maroufle rogues looked upon him, opening their throats a foot wide, and
putting out their tongues like greyhounds, in hopes to drink after him; but
Captain Tripet, in the very nick of that their expectation, came running to
him to see who it was.  To him Gymnast offered his bottle, saying, Hold,
captain, drink boldly and spare not; I have been thy taster, it is wine of
La Faye Monjau.  What! said Tripet, this fellow gibes and flouts us?  Who
art thou? said Tripet.  I am, said Gymnast, a poor devil (pauvre diable).
Ha, said Tripet, seeing thou art a poor devil, it is reason that thou
shouldst be permitted to go whithersoever thou wilt, for all poor devils
pass everywhere without toll or tax.  But it is not the custom of poor
devils to be so well mounted; therefore, sir devil, come down, and let me
have your horse, and if he do not carry me well, you, master devil, must do
it:  for I love a life that such a devil as you should carry me away.



Chapter 1.XXXV.

How Gymnast very souply and cunningly killed Captain Tripet and others of
Picrochole's men.

When they heard these words, some amongst them began to be afraid, and
blessed themselves with both hands, thinking indeed that he had been a
devil disguised, insomuch that one of them, named Good John, captain of the
trained bands of the country bumpkins, took his psalter out of his
codpiece, and cried out aloud, Hagios ho theos.  If thou be of God, speak;
if thou be of the other spirit, avoid hence, and get thee going.  Yet he
went not away.  Which words being heard by all the soldiers that were
there, divers of them being a little inwardly terrified, departed from the
place.  All this did Gymnast very well remark and consider, and therefore
making as if he would have alighted from off his horse, as he was poising
himself on the mounting side, he most nimbly, with his short sword by his
thigh, shifting his foot in the stirrup, performed the stirrup-leather
feat, whereby, after the inclining of his body downwards, he forthwith
launched himself aloft in the air, and placed both his feet together on the
saddle, standing upright with his back turned towards the horse's head.
Now, said he, my case goes backward.  Then suddenly in the same very
posture wherein he was, he fetched a gambol upon one foot, and, turning to
the left hand, failed not to carry his body perfectly round, just into its
former stance, without missing one jot.  Ha, said Tripet, I will not do
that at this time, and not without cause.  Well, said Gymnast, I have
failed, I will undo this leap.  Then with a marvellous strength and
agility, turning towards the right hand, he fetched another frisking gambol
as before, which done, he set his right-hand thumb upon the hind-bow of the
saddle, raised himself up, and sprung in the air, poising and upholding his
whole body upon the muscle and nerve of the said thumb, and so turned and
whirled himself about three times.  At the fourth, reversing his body, and
overturning it upside down, and foreside back, without touching anything,
he brought himself betwixt the horse's two ears, springing with all his
body into the air, upon the thumb of his left hand, and in that posture,
turning like a windmill, did most actively do that trick which is called
the miller's pass.  After this, clapping his right hand flat upon the
middle of the saddle, he gave himself such a jerking swing that he thereby
seated himself upon the crupper, after the manner of gentlewomen sitting on
horseback.  This done, he easily passed his right leg over the saddle, and
placed himself like one that rides in croup.  But, said he, it were better
for me to get into the saddle; then putting the thumbs of both hands upon
the crupper before him, and thereupon leaning himself, as upon the only
supporters of his body, he incontinently turned heels over head in the air,
and straight found himself betwixt the bow of the saddle in a good
settlement.  Then with a somersault springing into the air again, he fell
to stand with both his feet close together upon the saddle, and there made
above a hundred frisks, turns, and demipommads, with his arms held out
across, and in so doing cried out aloud, I rage, I rage, devils, I am stark
mad, devils, I am mad, hold me, devils, hold me, hold, devils, hold, hold!

Whilst he was thus vaulting, the rogues in great astonishment said to one
another, By cock's death, he is a goblin or a devil thus disguised.  Ab
hoste maligno libera nos, Domine, and ran away in a full flight, as if they
had been routed, looking now and then behind them, like a dog that carrieth
away a goose-wing in his mouth.  Then Gymnast, spying his advantage,
alighted from his horse, drew his sword, and laid on great blows upon the
thickset and highest crested among them, and overthrew them in great heaps,
hurt, wounded, and bruised, being resisted by nobody, they thinking he had
been a starved devil, as well in regard of his wonderful feats in vaulting,
which they had seen, as for the talk Tripet had with him, calling him poor
devil.  Only Tripet would have traitorously cleft his head with his
horseman's sword, or lance-knight falchion; but he was well armed, and felt
nothing of the blow but the weight of the stroke.  Whereupon, turning
suddenly about, he gave Tripet a home-thrust, and upon the back of that,
whilst he was about to ward his head from a slash, he ran him in at the
breast with a hit, which at once cut his stomach, the fifth gut called the
colon, and the half of his liver, wherewith he fell to the ground, and in
falling gushed forth above four pottles of pottage, and his soul mingled
with the pottage.

This done, Gymnast withdrew himself, very wisely considering that a case of
great adventure and hazard should not be pursued unto its utmost period,
and that it becomes all cavaliers modestly to use their good fortune,
without troubling or stretching it too far.  Wherefore, getting to horse,
he gave him the spur, taking the right way unto Vauguyon, and Prelinguand
with him.



Chapter 1.XXXVI.

How Gargantua demolished the castle at the ford of Vede, and how they
passed the ford.


[Illustration: How Gargantua Passed the Ford--1-36-076]


As soon as he came, he related the estate and condition wherein they had
found the enemy, and the stratagem which he alone had used against all
their multitude, affirming that they were but rascally rogues, plunderers,
thieves, and robbers, ignorant of all military discipline, and that they
might boldly set forward unto the field; it being an easy matter to fell
and strike them down like beasts.  Then Gargantua mounted his great mare,
accompanied as we have said before, and finding in his way a high and great
tree, which commonly was called by the name of St. Martin's tree, because
heretofore St. Martin planted a pilgrim's staff there, which in tract of
time grew to that height and greatness, said, This is that which I lacked;
this tree shall serve me both for a staff and lance.  With that he pulled
it up easily, plucked off the boughs, and trimmed it at his pleasure.  In
the meantime his mare pissed to ease her belly, but it was in such
abundance that it did overflow the country seven leagues, and all the piss
of that urinal flood ran glib away towards the ford of Vede, wherewith the
water was so swollen that all the forces the enemy had there were with
great horror drowned, except some who had taken the way on the left hand
towards the hills.  Gargantua, being come to the place of the wood of Vede,
was informed by Eudemon that there was some remainder of the enemy within
the castle, which to know, Gargantua cried out as loud as he was able, Are
you there, or are you not there?  If you be there, be there no more; and if
you are not there, I have no more to say.  But a ruffian gunner, whose
charge was to attend the portcullis over the gate, let fly a cannon-ball at
him, and hit him with that shot most furiously on the right temple of his
head, yet did him no more hurt than if he had but cast a prune or kernel of
a wine-grape at him.  What is this? said Gargantua; do you throw at us
grape-kernels here?  The vintage shall cost you dear; thinking indeed that
the bullet had been the kernel of a grape, or raisin-kernel.

Those who were within the castle, being till then busy at the pillage, when
they heard this noise ran to the towers and fortresses, from whence they
shot at him above nine thousand and five-and-twenty falconshot and
arquebusades, aiming all at his head, and so thick did they shoot at him
that he cried out, Ponocrates, my friend, these flies here are like to put
out mine eyes; give me a branch of those willow-trees to drive them away,
thinking that the bullets and stones shot out of the great ordnance had
been but dunflies.  Ponocrates looked and saw that there were no other
flies but great shot which they had shot from the castle.  Then was it that
he rushed with his great tree against the castle, and with mighty blows
overthrew both towers and fortresses, and laid all level with the ground,
by which means all that were within were slain and broken in pieces.  Going
from thence, they came to the bridge at the mill, where they found all the
ford covered with dead bodies, so thick that they had choked up the mill
and stopped the current of its water, and these were those that were
destroyed in the urinal deluge of the mare.  There they were at a stand,
consulting how they might pass without hindrance by these dead carcasses.
But Gymnast said, If the devils have passed there, I will pass well enough.
The devils have passed there, said Eudemon, to carry away the damned souls.
By St. Treignan! said Ponocrates, then by necessary consequence he shall
pass there.  Yes, yes, said Gymnastes, or I shall stick in the way.  Then
setting spurs to his horse, he passed through freely, his horse not fearing
nor being anything affrighted at the sight of the dead bodies; for he had
accustomed him, according to the doctrine of Aelian, not to fear armour,
nor the carcasses of dead men; and that not by killing men as Diomedes did
the Thracians, or as Ulysses did in throwing the corpses of his enemies at
his horse's feet, as Homer saith, but by putting a Jack-a-lent amongst his
hay, and making him go over it ordinarily when he gave him his oats.  The
other three followed him very close, except Eudemon only, whose horse's
fore-right or far forefoot sank up to the knee in the paunch of a great fat
chuff who lay there upon his back drowned, and could not get it out.  There
was he pestered, until Gargantua, with the end of his staff, thrust down
the rest of the villain's tripes into the water whilst the horse pulled out
his foot; and, which is a wonderful thing in hippiatry, the said horse was
thoroughly cured of a ringbone which he had in that foot by this touch of
the burst guts of that great looby.



Chapter 1.XXXVII.

How Gargantua, in combing his head, made the great cannon-balls fall out of
his hair.

Being come out of the river of Vede, they came very shortly after to
Grangousier's castle, who waited for them with great longing.  At their
coming they were entertained with many congees, and cherished with
embraces.  Never was seen a more joyful company, for Supplementum
Supplementi Chronicorum saith that Gargamelle died there with joy; for my
part, truly I cannot tell, neither do I care very much for her, nor for
anybody else.  The truth was, that Gargantua, in shifting his clothes, and
combing his head with a comb, which was nine hundred foot long of the
Jewish cane measure, and whereof the teeth were great tusks of elephants,
whole and entire, he made fall at every rake above seven balls of bullets,
at a dozen the ball, that stuck in his hair at the razing of the castle of
the wood of Vede.  Which his father Grangousier seeing, thought they had
been lice, and said unto him, What, my dear son, hast thou brought us this
far some short-winged hawks of the college of Montague?  I did not mean
that thou shouldst reside there.  Then answered Ponocrates, My sovereign
lord, think not that I have placed him in that lousy college which they
call Montague; I had rather have put him amongst the grave-diggers of Sanct
Innocent, so enormous is the cruelty and villainy that I have known there:
for the galley-slaves are far better used amongst the Moors and Tartars,
the murderers in the criminal dungeons, yea, the very dogs in your house,
than are the poor wretched students in the aforesaid college.  And if I
were King of Paris, the devil take me if I would not set it on fire, and
burn both principal and regents, for suffering this inhumanity to be
exercised before their eyes.  Then, taking up one of these bullets, he
said, These are cannon-shot, which your son Gargantua hath lately received
by the treachery of your enemies, as he was passing before the wood of
Vede.

But they have been so rewarded, that they are all destroyed in the ruin of
the castle, as were the Philistines by the policy of Samson, and those whom
the tower of Silohim slew, as it is written in the thirteenth of Luke.  My
opinion is, that we pursue them whilst the luck is on our side; for
occasion hath all her hair on her forehead; when she is passed, you may not
recall her,--she hath no tuft whereby you can lay hold on her, for she is
bald in the hind-part of her head, and never returneth again.  Truly, said
Grangousier, it shall not be at this time; for I will make you a feast
this night, and bid you welcome.

This said, they made ready supper, and, of extraordinary besides his daily
fare, were roasted sixteen oxen, three heifers, two and thirty calves,
three score and three fat kids, four score and fifteen wethers, three
hundred farrow pigs or sheats soused in sweet wine or must, eleven score
partridges, seven hundred snipes and woodcocks, four hundred Loudun and
Cornwall capons, six thousand pullets, and as many pigeons, six hundred
crammed hens, fourteen hundred leverets, or young hares and rabbits, three
hundred and three buzzards, and one thousand and seven hundred cockerels.
For venison, they could not so suddenly come by it, only eleven wild boars,
which the Abbot of Turpenay sent, and eighteen fallow deer which the Lord
of Gramount bestowed; together with seven score pheasants, which were sent
by the Lord of Essars; and some dozens of queests, coushats, ringdoves, and
woodculvers; river-fowl, teals and awteals, bitterns, courtes, plovers,
francolins, briganders, tyrasons, young lapwings, tame ducks, shovellers,
woodlanders, herons, moorhens, criels, storks, canepetiers, oranges,
flamans, which are phaenicopters, or crimson-winged sea-fowls, terrigoles,
turkeys, arbens, coots, solan-geese, curlews, termagants, and
water-wagtails, with a great deal of cream, curds, and fresh cheese, and
store of soup, pottages, and brewis with great variety.  Without doubt there
was meat enough, and it was handsomely dressed by Snapsauce, Hotchpot, and
Brayverjuice, Grangousier's cooks.  Jenkin Trudgeapace and Cleanglass were
very careful to fill them drink.



Chapter 1.XXXVIII.

How Gargantua did eat up six pilgrims in a salad.

The story requireth that we relate that which happened unto six pilgrims
who came from Sebastian near to Nantes, and who for shelter that night,
being afraid of the enemy, had hid themselves in the garden upon the
chichling peas, among the cabbages and lettuces.  Gargantua finding himself
somewhat dry, asked whether they could get any lettuce to make him a salad;
and hearing that there were the greatest and fairest in the country, for
they were as great as plum-trees or as walnut-trees, he would go thither
himself, and brought thence in his hand what he thought good, and withal
carried away the six pilgrims, who were in so great fear that they did not
dare to speak nor cough.

Washing them, therefore, first at the fountain, the pilgrims said one to
another softly, What shall we do?  We are almost drowned here amongst these
lettuce, shall we speak?  But if we speak, he will kill us for spies.  And,
as they were thus deliberating what to do, Gargantua put them with the
lettuce into a platter of the house, as large as the huge tun of the White
Friars of the Cistercian order; which done, with oil, vinegar, and salt, he
ate them up, to refresh himself a little before supper, and had already
swallowed up five of the pilgrims, the sixth being in the platter, totally
hid under a lettuce, except his bourdon or staff that appeared, and nothing
else.  Which Grangousier seeing, said to Gargantua, I think that is the
horn of a shell-snail, do not eat it.  Why not? said Gargantua, they are
good all this month:  which he no sooner said, but, drawing up the staff,
and therewith taking up the pilgrim, he ate him very well, then drank a
terrible draught of excellent white wine.  The pilgrims, thus devoured,
made shift to save themselves as well as they could, by withdrawing their
bodies out of the reach of the grinders of his teeth, but could not escape
from thinking they had been put in the lowest dungeon of a prison.  And
when Gargantua whiffed the great draught, they thought to have been drowned
in his mouth, and the flood of wine had almost carried them away into the
gulf of his stomach.  Nevertheless, skipping with their bourdons, as St.
Michael's palmers use to do, they sheltered themselves from the danger of
that inundation under the banks of his teeth.  But one of them by chance,
groping or sounding the country with his staff, to try whether they were in
safety or no, struck hard against the cleft of a hollow tooth, and hit the
mandibulary sinew or nerve of the jaw, which put Gargantua to very great
pain, so that he began to cry for the rage that he felt.  To ease himself
therefore of his smarting ache, he called for his toothpicker, and rubbing
towards a young walnut-tree, where they lay skulking, unnestled you my
gentlemen pilgrims.

For he caught one by the legs, another by the scrip, another by the pocket,
another by the scarf, another by the band of the breeches, and the poor
fellow that had hurt him with the bourdon, him he hooked to him by the
codpiece, which snatch nevertheless did him a great deal of good, for it
pierced unto him a pocky botch he had in the groin, which grievously
tormented him ever since they were past Ancenis.  The pilgrims, thus
dislodged, ran away athwart the plain a pretty fast pace, and the pain
ceased, even just at the time when by Eudemon he was called to supper, for
all was ready.  I will go then, said he, and piss away my misfortune; which
he did do in such a copious measure, that the urine taking away the feet
from the pilgrims, they were carried along with the stream unto the bank of
a tuft of trees.  Upon which, as soon as they had taken footing, and that
for their self-preservation they had run a little out of the road, they on
a sudden fell all six, except Fourniller, into a trap that had been made to
take wolves by a train, out of which, nevertheless, they escaped by the
industry of the said Fourniller, who broke all the snares and ropes.  Being
gone from thence, they lay all the rest of that night in a lodge near unto
Coudray, where they were comforted in their miseries by the gracious words
of one of their company, called Sweer-to-go, who showed them that this
adventure had been foretold by the prophet David, Psalm.  Quum exsurgerent
homines in nos, forte vivos deglutissent nos; when we were eaten in the
salad, with salt, oil, and vinegar.  Quum irasceretur furor eorum in nos,
forsitan aqua absorbuisset nos; when he drank the great draught.  Torrentem
pertransivit anima nostra; when the stream of his water carried us to the
thicket.  Forsitan pertransisset anima nostra aquam intolerabilem; that is,
the water of his urine, the flood whereof, cutting our way, took our feet
from us.  Benedictus Dominus qui non dedit nos in captionem dentibus eorum.
Anima nostra sicut passer erepta est de laqueo venantium; when we fell in
the trap.  Laqueus contritus est, by Fourniller, et nos liberati sumus.
Adjutorium nostrum, &c.



Chapter 1.XXXIX.

How the Monk was feasted by Gargantua, and of the jovial discourse they had
at supper.

When Gargantua was set down at table, after all of them had somewhat stayed
their stomachs by a snatch or two of the first bits eaten heartily,
Grangousier began to relate the source and cause of the war raised between
him and Picrochole; and came to tell how Friar John of the Funnels had
triumphed at the defence of the close of the abbey, and extolled him for
his valour above Camillus, Scipio, Pompey, Caesar, and Themistocles.  Then
Gargantua desired that he might be presently sent for, to the end that with
him they might consult of what was to be done.  Whereupon, by a joint
consent, his steward went for him, and brought him along merrily, with his
staff of the cross, upon Grangousier's mule.  When he was come, a thousand
huggings, a thousand embracements, a thousand good days were given.  Ha,
Friar John, my friend Friar John, my brave cousin Friar John from the
devil!  Let me clip thee, my heart, about the neck; to me an armful.  I
must grip thee, my ballock, till thy back crack with it.  Come, my cod, let
me coll thee till I kill thee.  And Friar John, the gladdest man in the
world, never was man made welcomer, never was any more courteously and
graciously received than Friar John.  Come, come, said Gargantua, a stool
here close by me at this end.  I am content, said the monk, seeing you will
have it so.  Some water, page; fill, my boy, fill; it is to refresh my
liver.  Give me some, child, to gargle my throat withal.  Deposita cappa,
said Gymnast, let us pull off this frock.  Ho, by G--, gentlemen, said the
monk, there is a chapter in Statutis Ordinis which opposeth my laying of it
down.  Pish! said Gymnast, a fig for your chapter!  This frock breaks both
your shoulders, put it off.  My friend, said the monk, let me alone with
it; for, by G--, I'll drink the better that it is on.  It makes all my body
jocund.  If I should lay it aside, the waggish pages would cut to
themselves garters out of it, as I was once served at Coulaines.  And,
which is worse, I shall lose my appetite.  But if in this habit I sit down
at table, I will drink, by G--, both to thee and to thy horse, and so
courage, frolic, God save the company!  I have already supped, yet will I
eat never a whit the less for that; for I have a paved stomach, as hollow
as a butt of malvoisie or St. Benedictus' boot (butt), and always open like
a lawyer's pouch.  Of all fishes but the tench take the wing of a partridge
or the thigh of a nun.  Doth not he die like a good fellow that dies with a
stiff catso?  Our prior loves exceedingly the white of a capon.  In that,
said Gymnast, he doth not resemble the foxes; for of the capons, hens, and
pullets which they carry away they never eat the white.  Why? said the
monk.  Because, said Gymnast, they have no cooks to dress them; and, if
they be not competently made ready, they remain red and not white; the
redness of meats being a token that they have not got enough of the fire,
whether by boiling, roasting, or otherwise, except the shrimps, lobsters,
crabs, and crayfishes, which are cardinalized with boiling.  By God's
feast-gazers, said the monk, the porter of our abbey then hath not his head
well boiled, for his eyes are as red as a mazer made of an alder-tree.  The
thigh of this leveret is good for those that have the gout.  To the purpose
of the truel,--what is the reason that the thighs of a gentlewoman are
always fresh and cool?  This problem, said Gargantua, is neither in
Aristotle, in Alexander Aphrodiseus, nor in Plutarch.  There are three
causes, said the monk, by which that place is naturally refreshed.  Primo,
because the water runs all along by it.  Secundo, because it is a shady
place, obscure and dark, upon which the sun never shines.  And thirdly,
because it is continually flabbelled, blown upon, and aired by the north
winds of the hole arstick, the fan of the smock, and flipflap of the
codpiece.  And lusty, my lads.  Some bousing liquor, page!  So! crack,
crack, crack.  O how good is God, that gives us of this excellent juice!  I
call him to witness, if I had been in the time of Jesus Christ, I would
have kept him from being taken by the Jews in the garden of Olivet.  And
the devil fail me, if I should have failed to cut off the hams of these
gentlemen apostles who ran away so basely after they had well supped, and
left their good master in the lurch.  I hate that man worse than poison
that offers to run away when he should fight and lay stoutly about him.  Oh
that I were but King of France for fourscore or a hundred years!  By G--, I
should whip like curtail-dogs these runaways of Pavia.  A plague take them;
why did they not choose rather to die there than to leave their good prince
in that pinch and necessity?  Is it not better and more honourable to
perish in fighting valiantly than to live in disgrace by a cowardly running
away?  We are like to eat no great store of goslings this year; therefore,
friend, reach me some of that roasted pig there.

Diavolo, is there no more must?  No more sweet wine?  Germinavit radix
Jesse.  Je renie ma vie, je meurs de soif; I renounce my life, I rage for
thirst.  This wine is none of the worst.  What wine drink you at Paris?  I
give myself to the devil, if I did not once keep open house at Paris for
all comers six months together.  Do you know Friar Claude of the high
kilderkins?  Oh the good fellow that he is!  But I do not know what fly
hath stung him of late, he is become so hard a student.  For my part, I
study not at all.  In our abbey we never study for fear of the mumps, which
disease in horses is called the mourning in the chine.  Our late abbot was
wont to say that it is a monstrous thing to see a learned monk.  By G--,
master, my friend, Magis magnos clericos non sunt magis magnos sapientes.
You never saw so many hares as there are this year.  I could not anywhere
come by a goshawk nor tassel of falcon.  My Lord Belloniere promised me a
lanner, but he wrote to me not long ago that he was become pursy.  The
partridges will so multiply henceforth, that they will go near to eat up
our ears.  I take no delight in the stalking-horse, for I catch such cold
that I am like to founder myself at that sport.  If I do not run, toil,
travel, and trot about, I am not well at ease.  True it is that in leaping
over the hedges and bushes my frock leaves always some of its wool behind
it.  I have recovered a dainty greyhound; I give him to the devil, if he
suffer a hare to escape him.  A groom was leading him to my Lord
Huntlittle, and I robbed him of him.  Did I ill?  No, Friar John, said
Gymnast, no, by all the devils that are, no!  So, said the monk, do I
attest these same devils so long as they last, or rather, virtue (of) G--,
what could that gouty limpard have done with so fine a dog?  By the body of
G--, he is better pleased when one presents him with a good yoke of oxen.
How now, said Ponocrates, you swear, Friar John.  It is only, said the
monk, but to grace and adorn my speech.  They are colours of a Ciceronian
rhetoric.



Chapter 1.XL.

Why monks are the outcasts of the world; and wherefore some have bigger
noses than others.

By the faith of a Christian, said Eudemon, I do wonderfully dote and enter
in a great ecstasy when I consider the honesty and good fellowship of this
monk, for he makes us here all merry.  How is it, then, that they exclude
the monks from all good companies, calling them feast-troublers, marrers of
mirth, and disturbers of all civil conversation, as the bees drive away the
drones from their hives?  Ignavum fucos pecus, said Maro, a praesepibus
arcent.  Hereunto, answered Gargantua, there is nothing so true as that the
frock and cowl draw unto itself the opprobries, injuries, and maledictions
of the world, just as the wind called Cecias attracts the clouds.  The
peremptory reason is, because they eat the ordure and excrements of the
world, that is to say, the sins of the people, and, like dung-chewers and
excrementitious eaters, they are cast into the privies and secessive
places, that is, the convents and abbeys, separated from political
conversation, as the jakes and retreats of a house are.  But if you
conceive how an ape in a family is always mocked and provokingly incensed,
you shall easily apprehend how monks are shunned of all men, both young and
old.  The ape keeps not the house as a dog doth, he draws not in the plough
as the ox, he yields neither milk nor wool as the sheep, he carrieth no
burden as a horse doth.  That which he doth, is only to conskite, spoil,
and defile all, which is the cause wherefore he hath of all men mocks,
frumperies, and bastinadoes.

After the same manner a monk--I mean those lither, idle, lazy monks--doth
not labour and work, as do the peasant and artificer; doth not ward and
defend the country, as doth the man of war; cureth not the sick and
diseased, as the physician doth; doth neither preach nor teach, as do the
evangelical doctors and schoolmasters; doth not import commodities and
things necessary for the commonwealth, as the merchant doth.  Therefore is
it that by and of all men they are hooted at, hated, and abhorred.  Yea,
but, said Grangousier, they pray to God for us.  Nothing less, answered
Gargantua.  True it is, that with a tingle tangle jangling of bells they
trouble and disquiet all their neighbours about them.  Right, said the
monk; a mass, a matin, a vesper well rung, are half said.  They mumble out
great store of legends and psalms, by them not at all understood; they say
many paternosters interlarded with Ave-Maries, without thinking upon or
apprehending the meaning of what it is they say, which truly I call mocking
of God, and not prayers.  But so help them God, as they pray for us, and
not for being afraid to lose their victuals, their manchots, and good fat
pottage.  All true Christians, of all estates and conditions, in all places
and at all times, send up their prayers to God, and the Mediator prayeth
and intercedeth for them, and God is gracious to them.  Now such a one is
our good Friar John; therefore every man desireth to have him in his
company.  He is no bigot or hypocrite; he is not torn and divided betwixt
reality and appearance; no wretch of a rugged and peevish disposition, but
honest, jovial, resolute, and a good fellow.  He travels, he labours, he
defends the oppressed, comforts the afflicted, helps the needy, and keeps
the close of the abbey.  Nay, said the monk, I do a great deal more than
that; for whilst we are in despatching our matins and anniversaries in the
choir, I make withal some crossbow-strings, polish glass bottles and bolts,
I twist lines and weave purse nets wherein to catch coneys.  I am never
idle.  But now, hither come, some drink, some drink here!  Bring the fruit.
These chestnuts are of the wood of Estrox, and with good new wine are able
to make you a fine cracker and composer of bum-sonnets.  You are not as
yet, it seems, well moistened in this house with the sweet wine and must.
By G--, I drink to all men freely, and at all fords, like a proctor or
promoter's horse.  Friar John, said Gymnast, take away the snot that hangs
at your nose.  Ha, ha, said the monk, am not I in danger of drowning,
seeing I am in water even to the nose?  No, no, Quare?  Quia, though some
water come out from thence, there never goes in any; for it is well
antidoted with pot-proof armour and syrup of the vine-leaf.

Oh, my friend, he that hath winter-boots made of such leather may boldly
fish for oysters, for they will never take water.  What is the cause, said
Gargantua, that Friar John hath such a fair nose?  Because, said
Grangousier, that God would have it so, who frameth us in such form and for
such end as is most agreeable with his divine will, even as a potter
fashioneth his vessels.  Because, said Ponocrates, he came with the first
to the fair of noses, and therefore made choice of the fairest and the
greatest.  Pish, said the monk, that is not the reason of it, but,
according to the true monastical philosophy, it is because my nurse had
soft teats, by virtue whereof, whilst she gave me suck, my nose did sink in
as in so much butter.  The hard breasts of nurses make children
short-nosed.  But hey, gay, Ad formam nasi cognoscitur ad te levavi.  I
never eat any confections, page, whilst I am at the bibbery.  Item, bring
me rather some toasts.



Chapter 1.XLI.

How the Monk made Gargantua sleep, and of his hours and breviaries.

Supper being ended, they consulted of the business in hand, and concluded
that about midnight they should fall unawares upon the enemy, to know what
manner of watch and ward they kept, and that in the meanwhile they should
take a little rest the better to refresh themselves.  But Gargantua could
not sleep by any means, on which side soever he turned himself.  Whereupon
the monk said to him, I never sleep soundly but when I am at sermon or
prayers.  Let us therefore begin, you and I, the seven penitential psalms,
to try whether you shall not quickly fall asleep.  The conceit pleased
Gargantua very well, and, beginning the first of these psalms, as soon as
they came to the words Beati quorum they fell asleep, both the one and the
other.  But the monk, for his being formerly accustomed to the hour of
claustral matins, failed not to awake a little before midnight, and, being
up himself, awaked all the rest, in singing aloud, and with a full clear
voice, the song:

  Awake, O Reinian, ho, awake!
    Awake, O Reinian, ho!
  Get up, you no more sleep must take;
    Get up, for we must go.

When they were all roused and up, he said, My masters, it is a usual
saying, that we begin matins with coughing and supper with drinking.  Let
us now, in doing clean contrarily, begin our matins with drinking, and at
night before supper we shall cough as hard as we can.  What, said
Gargantua, to drink so soon after sleep?  This is not to live according to
the diet and prescript rule of the physicians, for you ought first to scour
and cleanse your stomach of all its superfluities and excrements.  Oh, well
physicked, said the monk; a hundred devils leap into my body, if there be
not more old drunkards than old physicians!  I have made this paction and
covenant with my appetite, that it always lieth down and goes to bed with
myself, for to that I every day give very good order; then the next morning
it also riseth with me and gets up when I am awake.  Mind you your charges,
gentlemen, or tend your cures as much as you will.  I will get me to my
drawer; in terms of falconry, my tiring.  What drawer or tiring do you
mean? said Gargantua.  My breviary, said the monk, for just as the
falconers, before they feed their hawks, do make them draw at a hen's leg
to purge their brains of phlegm and sharpen them to a good appetite, so, by
taking this merry little breviary in the morning, I scour all my lungs and
am presently ready to drink.

After what manner, said Gargantua, do you say these fair hours and prayers
of yours?  After the manner of Whipfield (Fessecamp, and corruptly Fecan.),
said the monk, by three psalms and three lessons, or nothing at all, he
that will.  I never tie myself to hours, prayers, and sacraments; for they
are made for the man and not the man for them.  Therefore is it that I make
my prayers in fashion of stirrup-leathers; I shorten or lengthen them when
I think good.  Brevis oratio penetrat caelos et longa potatio evacuat
scyphos.  Where is that written?  By my faith, said Ponocrates, I cannot
tell, my pillicock, but thou art more worth than gold.  Therein, said the
monk, I am like you; but, venite, apotemus.  Then made they ready store of
carbonadoes, or rashers on the coals, and good fat soups, or brewis with
sippets; and the monk drank what he pleased.  Some kept him company, and
the rest did forbear, for their stomachs were not as yet opened.
Afterwards every man began to arm and befit himself for the field. And they
armed the monk against his will; for he desired no other armour for back
and breast but his frock, nor any other weapon in his hand but the staff of
the cross.  Yet at their pleasure was he completely armed cap-a-pie, and
mounted upon one of the best horses in the kingdom, with a good slashing
shable by his side, together with Gargantua, Ponocrates, Gymnast, Eudemon,
and five-and-twenty more of the most resolute and adventurous of
Grangousier's house, all armed at proof with their lances in their hands,
mounted like St. George, and everyone of them having an arquebusier behind
him.



Chapter 1.XLII.

How the Monk encouraged his fellow-champions, and how he hanged upon a
tree.


[Illustration: Valiant Champions on Their Adventure--1-42-086]


Thus went out those valiant champions on their adventure, in full
resolution to know what enterprise they should undertake, and what to take
heed of and look well to in the day of the great and horrible battle.  And
the monk encouraged them, saying, My children, do not fear nor doubt, I
will conduct you safely.  God and Sanct Benedict be with us!  If I had
strength answerable to my courage, by's death, I would plume them for you
like ducks.  I fear nothing but the great ordnance; yet I know of a charm
by way of prayer, which the subsexton of our abbey taught me, that will
preserve a man from the violence of guns and all manner of fire-weapons and
engines; but it will do me no good, because I do not believe it.
Nevertheless, I hope my staff of the cross shall this day play devilish
pranks amongst them.  By G--, whoever of our party shall offer to play the
duck, and shrink when blows are a-dealing, I give myself to the devil, if I
do not make a monk of him in my stead, and hamper him within my frock,
which is a sovereign cure against cowardice.  Did you never hear of my Lord
Meurles his greyhound, which was not worth a straw in the fields?  He put a
frock about his neck:  by the body of G--, there was neither hare nor fox
that could escape him, and, which is more, he lined all the bitches in the
country, though before that he was feeble-reined and ex frigidis et
maleficiatis.

The monk uttering these words in choler, as he passed under a walnut-tree,
in his way towards the causey, he broached the vizor of his helmet on the
stump of a great branch of the said tree.  Nevertheless, he set his spurs
so fiercely to the horse, who was full of mettle and quick on the spur,
that he bounded forwards, and the monk going about to ungrapple his vizor,
let go his hold of the bridle, and so hanged by his hand upon the bough,
whilst his horse stole away from under him.  By this means was the monk
left hanging on the walnut-tree, and crying for help, murder, murder,
swearing also that he was betrayed.  Eudemon perceived him first, and
calling Gargantua said, Sir, come and see Absalom hanging.  Gargantua,
being come, considered the countenance of the monk, and in what posture he
hanged; wherefore he said to Eudemon, You were mistaken in comparing him to
Absalom; for Absalom hung by his hair, but this shaveling monk hangeth by
the ears.  Help me, said the monk, in the devil's name; is this a time for
you to prate?  You seem to me to be like the decretalist preachers, who say
that whosoever shall see his neighbour in the danger of death, ought, upon
pain of trisulk excommunication, rather choose to admonish him to make his
confession to a priest, and put his conscience in the state of peace, than
otherwise to help and relieve him.

And therefore when I shall see them fallen into a river, and ready to be
drowned, I shall make them a fair long sermon de contemptu mundi, et fuga
seculi; and when they are stark dead, shall then go to their aid and
succour in fishing after them.  Be quiet, said Gymnast, and stir not, my
minion.  I am now coming to unhang thee and to set thee at freedom, for
thou art a pretty little gentle monachus.  Monachus in claustro non valet
ova duo; sed quando est extra, bene valet triginta.  I have seen above five
hundred hanged, but I never saw any have a better countenance in his
dangling and pendilatory swagging.  Truly, if I had so good a one, I would
willingly hang thus all my lifetime.  What, said the monk, have you almost
done preaching?  Help me, in the name of God, seeing you will not in the
name of the other spirit, or, by the habit which I wear, you shall repent
it, tempore et loco praelibatis.

Then Gymnast alighted from his horse, and, climbing up the walnut-tree,
lifted up the monk with one hand by the gussets of his armour under the
armpits, and with the other undid his vizor from the stump of the broken
branch; which done, he let him fall to the ground and himself after.  As
soon as the monk was down, he put off all his armour, and threw away one
piece after another about the field, and, taking to him again his staff of
the cross, remounted up to his horse, which Eudemon had caught in his
running away.  Then went they on merrily, riding along on the highway.



Chapter 1.XLIII.

How the scouts and fore-party of Picrochole were met with by Gargantua, and
how the Monk slew Captain Drawforth (Tirevant.), and then was taken
prisoner by his enemies.


[Illustration: I Hear the Enemy, Let us Rally--1-43-088]


Picrochole, at the relation of those who had escaped out of the broil and
defeat wherein Tripet was untriped, grew very angry that the devils should
have so run upon his men, and held all that night a counsel of war, at
which Rashcalf and Touchfaucet (Hastiveau, Touquedillon.), concluded his
power to be such that he was able to defeat all the devils of hell if they
should come to jostle with his forces.  This Picrochole did not fully
believe, though he doubted not much of it.  Therefore sent he under the
command and conduct of the Count Drawforth, for discovering of the country,
the number of sixteen hundred horsemen, all well mounted upon light horses
for skirmish and thoroughly besprinkled with holy water; and everyone for
their field-mark or cognizance had the sign of a star in his scarf, to
serve at all adventures in case they should happen to encounter with
devils, that by the virtue, as well of that Gregorian water as of the stars
which they wore, they might make them disappear and evanish.

In this equipage they made an excursion upon the country till they came
near to the Vauguyon, which is the valley of Guyon, and to the spital, but
could never find anybody to speak unto; whereupon they returned a little
back, and took occasion to pass above the aforesaid hospital to try what
intelligence they could come by in those parts.  In which resolution riding
on, and by chance in a pastoral lodge or shepherd's cottage near to Coudray
hitting upon the five pilgrims, they carried them way-bound and manacled,
as if they had been spies, for all the exclamations, adjurations, and
requests that they could make.  Being come down from thence towards
Seville, they were heard by Gargantua, who said then unto those that were
with him, Comrades and fellow-soldiers, we have here met with an encounter,
and they are ten times in number more than we.  Shall we charge them or no?
What a devil, said the monk, shall we do else?  Do you esteem men by their
number rather than by their valour and prowess?  With this he cried out,
Charge, devils, charge!  Which when the enemies heard, they thought
certainly that they had been very devils, and therefore even then began all
of them to run away as hard as they could drive, Drawforth only excepted,
who immediately settled his lance on its rest, and therewith hit the monk
with all his force on the very middle of his breast, but, coming against
his horrific frock, the point of the iron being with the blow either broke
off or blunted, it was in matter of execution as if you had struck against
an anvil with a little wax-candle.

Then did the monk with his staff of the cross give him such a sturdy thump
and whirret betwixt his neck and shoulders, upon the acromion bone, that he
made him lose both sense and motion and fall down stone dead at his horse's
feet; and, seeing the sign of the star which he wore scarfwise, he said
unto Gargantua, These men are but priests, which is but the beginning of a
monk; by St. John, I am a perfect monk, I will kill them to you like flies.
Then ran he after them at a swift and full gallop till he overtook the
rear, and felled them down like tree-leaves, striking athwart and alongst
and every way.  Gymnast presently asked Gargantua if they should pursue
them.  To whom Gargantua answered, By no means; for, according to right
military discipline, you must never drive your enemy unto despair, for that
such a strait doth multiply his force and increase his courage, which was
before broken and cast down; neither is there any better help or outrage of
relief for men that are amazed, out of heart, toiled, and spent, than to
hope for no favour at all.  How many victories have been taken out of the
hands of the victors by the vanquished, when they would not rest satisfied
with reason, but attempt to put all to the sword, and totally to destroy
their enemies, without leaving so much as one to carry home news of the
defeat of his fellows.  Open, therefore, unto your enemies all the gates
and ways, and make to them a bridge of silver rather than fail, that you
may be rid of them.  Yea, but, said Gymnast, they have the monk.  Have they
the monk? said Gargantua.  Upon mine honour, then, it will prove to their
cost.  But to prevent all dangers, let us not yet retreat, but halt here
quietly as in an ambush; for I think I do already understand the policy and
judgment of our enemies.  They are truly more directed by chance and mere
fortune than by good advice and counsel.  In the meanwhile, whilst these
made a stop under the walnut-trees, the monk pursued on the chase, charging
all he overtook, and giving quarter to none, until he met with a trooper
who carried behind him one of the poor pilgrims, and there would have
rifled him.  The pilgrim, in hope of relief at the sight of the monk, cried
out, Ha, my lord prior, my good friend, my lord prior, save me, I beseech
you, save me!  Which words being heard by those that rode in the van, they
instantly faced about, and seeing there was nobody but the monk that made
this great havoc and slaughter among them, they loaded him with blows as
thick as they use to do an ass with wood.  But of all this he felt nothing,
especially when they struck upon his frock, his skin was so hard.  Then
they committed him to two of the marshal's men to keep, and, looking about,
saw nobody coming against them, whereupon they thought that Gargantua and
his party were fled.  Then was it that they rode as hard as they could
towards the walnut-trees to meet with them, and left the monk there all
alone, with his two foresaid men to guard him.  Gargantua heard the noise
and neighing of the horses, and said to his men, Comrades, I hear the track
and beating of the enemy's horse-feet, and withal perceive that some of
them come in a troop and full body against us.  Let us rally and close
here, then set forward in order, and by this means we shall be able to
receive their charge to their loss and our honour.



Chapter 1.XLIV.

How the Monk rid himself of his keepers, and how Picrochole's forlorn hope
was defeated.

The monk, seeing them break off thus without order, conjectured that they
were to set upon Gargantua and those that were with him, and was
wonderfully grieved that he could not succour them.  Then considered he the
countenance of the two keepers in whose custody he was, who would have
willingly run after the troops to get some booty and plunder, and were
always looking towards the valley unto which they were going.  Farther, he
syllogized, saying, These men are but badly skilled in matters of war, for
they have not required my parole, neither have they taken my sword from me.
Suddenly hereafter he drew his brackmard or horseman's sword, wherewith he
gave the keeper which held him on the right side such a sound slash that he
cut clean through the jugulary veins and the sphagitid or transparent
arteries of the neck, with the fore-part of the throat called the
gargareon, even unto the two adenes, which are throat kernels; and,
redoubling the blow, he opened the spinal marrow betwixt the second and
third vertebrae.  There fell down that keeper stark dead to the ground.
Then the monk, reining his horse to the left, ran upon the other, who,
seeing his fellow dead, and the monk to have the advantage of him, cried
with a loud voice, Ha, my lord prior, quarter; I yield, my lord prior,
quarter; quarter, my good friend, my lord prior.  And the monk cried
likewise, My lord posterior, my friend, my lord posterior, you shall have
it upon your posteriorums.  Ha, said the keeper, my lord prior, my minion,
my gentle lord prior, I pray God make you an abbot.  By the habit, said the
monk, which I wear, I will here make you a cardinal.  What! do you use to
pay ransoms to religious men?  You shall therefore have by-and-by a red hat
of my giving.  And the fellow cried, Ha, my lord prior, my lord prior, my
lord abbot that shall be, my lord cardinal, my lord all!  Ha, ha, hes, no,
my lord prior, my good little lord the prior, I yield, render and deliver
myself up to you.  And I deliver thee, said the monk, to all the devils in
hell.  Then at one stroke he cut off his head, cutting his scalp upon the
temple-bones, and lifting up in the upper part of the skull the two
triangulary bones called sincipital, or the two bones bregmatis, together
with the sagittal commissure or dartlike seam which distinguisheth the
right side of the head from the left, as also a great part of the coronal
or forehead bone, by which terrible blow likewise he cut the two meninges
or films which enwrap the brain, and made a deep wound in the brain's two
posterior ventricles, and the cranium or skull abode hanging upon his
shoulders by the skin of the pericranium behind, in form of a doctor's
bonnet, black without and red within.  Thus fell he down also to the ground
stark dead.

And presently the monk gave his horse the spur, and kept the way that the
enemy held, who had met with Gargantua and his companions in the broad
highway, and were so diminished of their number for the enormous slaughter
that Gargantua had made with his great tree amongst them, as also Gymnast,
Ponocrates, Eudemon, and the rest, that they began to retreat disorderly
and in great haste, as men altogether affrighted and troubled in both sense
and understanding, and as if they had seen the very proper species and form
of death before their eyes; or rather, as when you see an ass with a brizze
or gadbee under his tail, or fly that stings him, run hither and thither
without keeping any path or way, throwing down his load to the ground,
breaking his bridle and reins, and taking no breath nor rest, and no man
can tell what ails him, for they see not anything touch him.  So fled these
people destitute of wit, without knowing any cause of flying, only pursued
by a panic terror which in their minds they had conceived.  The monk,
perceiving that their whole intent was to betake themselves to their heels,
alighted from his horse and got upon a big large rock which was in the way,
and with his great brackmard sword laid such load upon those runaways, and
with main strength fetching a compass with his arm without feigning or
sparing, slew and overthrew so many that his sword broke in two pieces.
Then thought he within himself that he had slain and killed sufficiently,
and that the rest should escape to carry news.  Therefore he took up a
battle-axe of those that lay there dead, and got upon the rock again,
passing his time to see the enemy thus flying and to tumble himself amongst
the dead bodies, only that he suffered none to carry pike, sword, lance,
nor gun with him, and those who carried the pilgrims bound he made to
alight, and gave their horses unto the said pilgrims, keeping them there
with him under the hedge, and also Touchfaucet, who was then his prisoner.



Chapter 1.XLV.

How the Monk carried along with him the Pilgrims, and of the good words
that Grangousier gave them.

This skirmish being ended, Gargantua retreated with his men, excepting the
monk, and about the dawning of the day they came unto Grangousier, who in
his bed was praying unto God for their safety and victory.  And seeing them
all safe and sound, he embraced them lovingly, and asked what was become of
the monk.  Gargantua answered him that without doubt the enemies had the
monk.  Then have they mischief and ill luck, said Grangousier; which was
very true.  Therefore is it a common proverb to this day, to give a man the
monk, or, as in French, lui bailler le moine, when they would express the
doing unto one a mischief.  Then commanded he a good breakfast to be
provided for their refreshment.  When all was ready, they called Gargantua,
but he was so aggrieved that the monk was not to be heard of that he would
neither eat nor drink.  In the meanwhile the monk comes, and from the gate
of the outer court cries out aloud, Fresh wine, fresh wine, Gymnast my
friend!  Gymnast went out and saw that it was Friar John, who brought along
with him five pilgrims and Touchfaucet prisoners; whereupon Gargantua
likewise went forth to meet him, and all of them made him the best welcome
that possibly they could, and brought him before Grangousier, who asked him
of all his adventures.  The monk told him all, both how he was taken, how
he rid himself of his keepers, of the slaughter he had made by the way, and
how he had rescued the pilgrims and brought along with him Captain
Touchfaucet.  Then did they altogether fall to banqueting most merrily.  In
the meantime Grangousier asked the pilgrims what countrymen they were,
whence they came, and whither they went.  Sweer-to-go in the name of the
rest answered, My sovereign lord, I am of Saint Genou in Berry, this man is
of Palvau, this other is of Onzay, this of Argy, this of St. Nazarand, and
this man of Villebrenin.  We come from Saint Sebastian near Nantes, and are
now returning, as we best may, by easy journeys.  Yea, but, said
Grangousier, what went you to do at Saint Sebastian?  We went, said
Sweer-to-go, to offer up unto that sanct our vows against the plague.  Ah,
poor men! said Grangousier, do you think that the plague comes from Saint
Sebastian?  Yes, truly, answered Sweer-to-go, our preachers tell us so
indeed.  But is it so, said Grangousier, do the false prophets teach you
such abuses?  Do they thus blaspheme the sancts and holy men of God, as to
make them like unto the devils, who do nothing but hurt unto mankind,--as
Homer writeth, that the plague was sent into the camp of the Greeks by
Apollo, and as the poets feign a great rabble of Vejoves and mischievous
gods.  So did a certain cafard or dissembling religionary preach at Sinay,
that Saint Anthony sent the fire into men's legs, that Saint Eutropius made
men hydropic, Saint Clidas, fools, and that Saint Genou made them goutish.
But I punished him so exemplarily, though he called me heretic for it, that
since that time no such hypocritical rogue durst set his foot within my
territories.  And truly I wonder that your king should suffer them in their
sermons to publish such scandalous doctrine in his dominions; for they
deserve to be chastised with greater severity than those who, by magical
art, or any other device, have brought the pestilence into a country.  The
pest killeth but the bodies, but such abominable imposters empoison our
very souls.  As he spake these words, in came the monk very resolute, and
asked them, Whence are you, you poor wretches?  Of Saint Genou, said they.
And how, said the monk, does the Abbot Gulligut, the good drinker,--and the
monks, what cheer make they?  By G-- body, they'll have a fling at your
wives, and breast them to some purpose, whilst you are upon your roaming
rant and gadding pilgrimage.  Hin, hen, said Sweer-to-go, I am not afraid
of mine, for he that shall see her by day will never break his neck to come
to her in the night-time.  Yea, marry, said the monk, now you have hit it.
Let her be as ugly as ever was Proserpina, she will once, by the Lord G--,
be overturned, and get her skin-coat shaken, if there dwell any monks near
to her; for a good carpenter will make use of any kind of timber.  Let me
be peppered with the pox, if you find not all your wives with child at your
return; for the very shadow of the steeple of an abbey is fruitful.  It is,
said Gargantua, like the water of Nilus in Egypt, if you believe Strabo and
Pliny, Lib. 7, cap. 3.  What virtue will there be then, said the monk, in
their bullets of concupiscence, their habits and their bodies?

Then, said Grangousier, go your ways, poor men, in the name of God the
Creator, to whom I pray to guide you perpetually, and henceforward be not
so ready to undertake these idle and unprofitable journeys.  Look to your
families, labour every man in his vocation, instruct your children, and
live as the good apostle St. Paul directeth you; in doing whereof, God, his
angels and sancts, will guard and protect you, and no evil or plague at any
time shall befall you.  Then Gargantua led them into the hall to take their
refection; but the pilgrims did nothing but sigh, and said to Gargantua, O
how happy is that land which hath such a man for their lord!  We have been
more edified and instructed by the talk which he had with us, than by all
the sermons that ever were preached in our town.  This is, said Gargantua,
that which Plato saith, Lib. 5 de Republ., that those commonwealths are
happy, whose rulers philosophate, and whose philosophers rule.  Then caused
he their wallets to be filled with victuals and their bottles with wine,
and gave unto each of them a horse to ease them upon the way, together with
some pence to live by.



Chapter 1.XLVI.

How Grangousier did very kindly entertain Touchfaucet his prisoner.

Touchfaucet was presented unto Grangousier, and by him examined upon the
enterprise and attempt of Picrochole, what it was he could pretend to, or
aim at, by the rustling stir and tumultuary coil of this his sudden
invasion.  Whereunto he answered, that his end and purpose was to conquer
all the country, if he could, for the injury done to his cake-bakers.  It
is too great an undertaking, said Grangousier; and, as the proverb is, He
that grips too much, holds fast but little.  The time is not now as
formerly, to conquer the kingdoms of our neighbour princes, and to build up
our own greatness upon the loss of our nearest Christian Brother.  This
imitation of the ancient Herculeses, Alexanders, Hannibals, Scipios,
Caesars, and other such heroes, is quite contrary to the profession of the
gospel of Christ, by which we are commanded to preserve, keep, rule, and
govern every man his own country and lands, and not in a hostile manner to
invade others; and that which heretofore the Barbars and Saracens called
prowess and valour, we do now call robbing, thievery, and wickedness.  It
would have been more commendable in him to have contained himself within
the bounds of his own territories, royally governing them, than to insult
and domineer in mine, pillaging and plundering everywhere like a most
unmerciful enemy; for, by ruling his own with discretion, he might have
increased his greatness, but by robbing me he cannot escape destruction.
Go your ways in the name of God, prosecute good enterprises, show your king
what is amiss, and never counsel him with regard unto your own particular
profit, for the public loss will swallow up the private benefit.  As for
your ransom, I do freely remit it to you, and will that your arms and horse
be restored to you; so should good neighbours do, and ancient friends,
seeing this our difference is not properly war.  As Plato, Lib. 5 de
Repub., would not have it called war, but sedition, when the Greeks took up
arms against one another, and that therefore, when such combustions should
arise amongst them, his advice was to behave themselves in the managing of
them with all discretion and modesty.  Although you call it war, it is but
superficial; it entereth not into the closet and inmost cabinet of our
hearts.  For neither of us hath been wronged in his honour, nor is there
any question betwixt us in the main, but only how to redress, by the bye,
some petty faults committed by our men,--I mean, both yours and ours,
which, although you knew, you ought to let pass; for these quarrelsome
persons deserve rather to be contemned than mentioned, especially seeing I
offered them satisfaction according to the wrong.  God shall be the just
judge of our variances, whom I beseech by death rather to take me out of
this life, and to permit my goods to perish and be destroyed before mine
eyes, than that by me or mine he should in any sort be wronged.  These
words uttered, he called the monk, and before them all thus spoke unto him,
Friar John, my good friend, it is you that took prisoner the Captain
Touchfaucet here present?  Sir, said the monk, seeing himself is here, and
that he is of the years of discretion, I had rather you should know it by
his confession than by any words of mine.  Then said Touchfaucet, My
sovereign lord it is he indeed that took me, and I do therefore most freely
yield myself his prisoner.  Have you put him to any ransom? said
Grangousier to the monk.  No, said the monk, of that I take no care.  How
much would you have for having taken him?  Nothing, nothing, said the monk;
I am not swayed by that, nor do I regard it.  Then Grangousier commanded
that, in presence of Touchfaucet, should be delivered to the monk for
taking him the sum of three score and two thousand saluts (in English
money, fifteen thousand and five hundred pounds), which was done, whilst
they made a collation or little banquet to the said Touchfaucet, of whom
Grangousier asked if he would stay with him, or if he loved rather to
return to his king.  Touchfaucet answered that he was content to take
whatever course he would advise him to.  Then, said Grangousier, return
unto your king, and God be with you.

Then he gave him an excellent sword of a Vienne blade, with a golden
scabbard wrought with vine-branch-like flourishes, of fair goldsmith's
work, and a collar or neck-chain of gold, weighing seven hundred and two
thousand marks (at eight ounces each), garnished with precious stones of
the finest sort, esteemed at a hundred and sixty thousand ducats, and ten
thousand crowns more, as an honourable donative, by way of present.

After this talk Touchfaucet got to his horse, and Gargantua for his safety
allowed him the guard of thirty men-at-arms and six score archers to attend
him, under the conduct of Gymnast, to bring him even unto the gate of the
rock Clermond, if there were need.  As soon as he was gone, the monk
restored unto Grangousier the three score and two thousand saluts which he
had received, saying, Sir, it is not as yet the time for you to give such
gifts; stay till this war be at an end, for none can tell what accidents
may occur, and war begun without good provision of money beforehand for
going through with it, is but as a breathing of strength, and blast that
will quickly pass away.  Coin is the sinews of war.  Well then, said
Grangousier, at the end I will content you by some honest recompense, as
also all those who shall do me good service.



Chapter 1.XLVII.

How Grangousier sent for his legions, and how Touchfaucet slew Rashcalf,
and was afterwards executed by the command of Picrochole.

About this same time those of Besse, of the Old Market, of St. James'
Bourg, of the Draggage, of Parille, of the Rivers, of the rocks St. Pol, of
the Vaubreton, of Pautille, of the Brehemont, of Clainbridge, of Cravant,
of Grammont, of the town at the Badgerholes, of Huymes, of Segre, of Husse,
of St. Lovant, of Panzoust, of the Coldraux, of Verron, of Coulaines, of
Chose, of Varenes, of Bourgueil, of the Bouchard Island, of the Croullay,
of Narsay, of Cande, of Montsoreau, and other bordering places, sent
ambassadors unto Grangousier, to tell him that they were advised of the
great wrongs which Picrochole had done him, and, in regard of their ancient
confederacy, offered him what assistance they could afford, both in men,
money, victuals, and ammunition, and other necessaries for war.  The money
which by the joint agreement of them all was sent unto him, amounted to six
score and fourteen millions, two crowns and a half of pure gold.  The
forces wherewith they did assist him did consist in fifteen thousand
cuirassiers, two-and-thirty thousand light horsemen, four score and nine
thousand dragoons, and a hundred-and-forty thousand volunteer adventurers.
These had with them eleven thousand and two hundred cannons, double
cannons, long pieces of artillery called basilisks, and smaller sized ones
known by the name of spirols, besides the mortar-pieces and grenadoes.  Of
pioneers they had seven-and-forty thousand, all victualled and paid for six
months and four days of advance.  Which offer Gargantua did not altogether
refuse, nor wholly accept of; but, giving them hearty thanks, said that he
would compose and order the war by such a device, that there should not be
found great need to put so many honest men to trouble in the managing of
it; and therefore was content at that time to give order only for bringing
along the legions which he maintained in his ordinary garrison towns of the
Deviniere, of Chavigny, of Gravot, and of the Quinquenais, amounting to the
number of two thousand cuirassiers, three score and six thousand
foot-soldiers, six-and-twenty thousand dragoons, attended by two hundred
pieces of great ordnance, two-and-twenty thousand pioneers, and six thousand
light horsemen, all drawn up in troops, so well befitted and accommodated
with their commissaries, sutlers, farriers, harness-makers, and other such
like necessary members in a military camp, so fully instructed in the art of
warfare, so perfectly knowing and following their colours, so ready to hear
and obey their captains, so nimble to run, so strong at their charging, so
prudent in their adventures, and every day so well disciplined, that they
seemed rather to be a concert of organ-pipes, or mutual concord of the
wheels of a clock, than an infantry and cavalry, or army of soldiers.

Touchfaucet immediately after his return presented himself before
Picrochole, and related unto him at large all that he had done and seen,
and at last endeavoured to persuade him with strong and forcible arguments
to capitulate and make an agreement with Grangousier, whom he found to be
the honestest man in the world; saying further, that it was neither right
nor reason thus to trouble his neighbours, of whom they had never received
anything but good.  And in regard of the main point, that they should never
be able to go through stitch with that war, but to their great damage and
mischief; for the forces of Picrochole were not so considerable but that
Grangousier could easily overthrow them.

He had not well done speaking when Rashcalf said out aloud, Unhappy is that
prince which is by such men served, who are so easily corrupted, as I know
Touchfaucet is.  For I see his courage so changed that he had willingly
joined with our enemies to fight against us and betray us, if they would
have received him; but as virtue is of all, both friends and foes, praised
and esteemed, so is wickedness soon known and suspected, and although it
happen the enemies to make use thereof for their profit, yet have they
always the wicked and the traitors in abomination.

Touchfaucet being at these words very impatient, drew out his sword, and
therewith ran Rashcalf through the body, a little under the nipple of his
left side, whereof he died presently, and pulling back his sword out of his
body said boldly, So let him perish that shall a faithful servant blame.
Picrochole incontinently grew furious, and seeing Touchfaucet's new sword
and his scabbard so richly diapered with flourishes of most excellent
workmanship, said, Did they give thee this weapon so feloniously therewith
to kill before my face my so good friend Rashcalf?  Then immediately
commanded he his guard to hew him in pieces, which was instantly done, and
that so cruelly that the chamber was all dyed with blood.  Afterwards he
appointed the corpse of Rashcalf to be honourably buried, and that of
Touchfaucet to be cast over the walls into the ditch.

The news of these excessive violences were quickly spread through all the
army; whereupon many began to murmur against Picrochole, in so far that
Pinchpenny said to him, My sovereign lord, I know not what the issue of
this enterprise will be.  I see your men much dejected, and not well
resolved in their minds, by considering that we are here very ill provided
of victual, and that our number is already much diminished by three or four
sallies.  Furthermore, great supplies and recruits come daily in to your
enemies; but we so moulder away that, if we be once besieged, I do not see
how we can escape a total destruction.  Tush, pish, said Picrochole, you
are like the Melun eels, you cry before they come to you.  Let them come,
let them come, if they dare.



Chapter 1.XLVIII.

How Gargantua set upon Picrochole within the rock Clermond, and utterly
defeated the army of the said Picrochole.

Gargantua had the charge of the whole army, and his father Grangousier
stayed in his castle, who, encouraging them with good words, promised great
rewards unto those that should do any notable service.  Having thus set
forward, as soon as they had gained the pass at the ford of Vede, with
boats and bridges speedily made they passed over in a trice.  Then
considering the situation of the town, which was on a high and advantageous
place, Gargantua thought fit to call his council, and pass that night in
deliberation upon what was to be done.  But Gymnast said unto him, My
sovereign lord, such is the nature and complexion of the French, that they
are worth nothing but at the first push.  Then are they more fierce than
devils.  But if they linger a little and be wearied with delays, they'll
prove more faint and remiss than women.  My opinion is, therefore, that now
presently, after your men have taken breath and some small refection, you
give order for a resolute assault, and that we storm them instantly.  His
advice was found very good, and for effectuating thereof he brought forth
his army into the plain field, and placed the reserves on the skirt or
rising of a little hill.  The monk took along with him six companies of
foot and two hundred horsemen well armed, and with great diligence crossed
the marsh, and valiantly got upon the top of the green hillock even unto
the highway which leads to Loudun.  Whilst the assault was thus begun,
Picrochole's men could not tell well what was best, to issue out and
receive the assailants, or keep within the town and not to stir.  Himself
in the mean time, without deliberation, sallied forth in a rage with the
cavalry of his guard, who were forthwith received and royally entertained
with great cannon-shot that fell upon them like hail from the high grounds
on which the artillery was planted.  Whereupon the Gargantuists betook
themselves unto the valleys, to give the ordnance leave to play and range
with the larger scope.

Those of the town defended themselves as well as they could, but their shot
passed over us without doing us any hurt at all.  Some of Picrochole's men
that had escaped our artillery set most fiercely upon our soldiers, but
prevailed little; for they were all let in betwixt the files, and there
knocked down to the ground, which their fellow-soldiers seeing, they would
have retreated, but the monk having seized upon the pass by the which they
were to return, they ran away and fled in all the disorder and confusion
that could be imagined.

Some would have pursued after them and followed the chase, but the monk
withheld them, apprehending that in their pursuit the pursuers might lose
their ranks, and so give occasion to the besieged to sally out of the town
upon them.  Then staying there some space and none coming against him, he
sent the Duke Phrontist to advise Gargantua to advance towards the hill
upon the left hand, to hinder Picrochole's retreat at that gate; which
Gargantua did with all expedition, and sent thither four brigades under the
conduct of Sebast, which had no sooner reached the top of the hill, but
they met Picrochole in the teeth, and those that were with him scattered.

Then charged they upon them stoutly, yet were they much endamaged by those
that were upon the walls, who galled them with all manner of shot, both
from the great ordnance, small guns, and bows.  Which Gargantua perceiving,
he went with a strong party to their relief, and with his artillery began
to thunder so terribly upon that canton of the wall, and so long, that all
the strength within the town, to maintain and fill up the breach, was drawn
thither.  The monk seeing that quarter which he kept besieged void of men
and competent guards, and in a manner altogether naked and abandoned, did
most magnanimously on a sudden lead up his men towards the fort, and never
left it till he had got up upon it, knowing that such as come to the
reserve in a conflict bring with them always more fear and terror than
those that deal about them with they hands in the fight.

Nevertheless, he gave no alarm till all his soldiers had got within the
wall, except the two hundred horsemen, whom he left without to secure his
entry.  Then did he give a most horrible shout, so did all these who were
with him, and immediately thereafter, without resistance, putting to the
edge of the sword the guard that was at that gate, they opened it to the
horsemen, with whom most furiously they altogether ran towards the east
gate, where all the hurlyburly was, and coming close upon them in the rear
overthrew all their forces.

The besieged, seeing that the Gargantuists had won the town upon them, and
that they were like to be secure in no corner of it, submitted themselves
unto the mercy of the monk, and asked for quarter, which the monk very
nobly granted to them, yet made them lay down their arms; then, shutting
them up within churches, gave order to seize upon all the staves of the
crosses, and placed men at the doors to keep them from coming forth.  Then
opening that east gate, he issued out to succour and assist Gargantua.  But
Picrochole, thinking it had been some relief coming to him from the town,
adventured more forwardly than before, and was upon the giving of a most
desperate home-charge, when Gargantua cried out, Ha, Friar John, my friend
Friar John, you are come in a good hour.  Which unexpected accident so
affrighted Picrochole and his men, that, giving all for lost, they betook
themselves to their heels, and fled on all hands.  Gargantua chased them
till they came near to Vaugaudry, killing and slaying all the way, and then
sounded the retreat.



Chapter 1.XLIX.

How Picrochole in his flight fell into great misfortunes, and what
Gargantua did after the battle.

Picrochole thus in despair fled towards the Bouchard Island, and in the way
to Riviere his horse stumbled and fell down, whereat he on a sudden was so
incensed, that he with his sword without more ado killed him in his choler;
then, not finding any that would remount him, he was about to have taken an
ass at the mill that was thereby; but the miller's men did so baste his
bones and so soundly bethwack him that they made him both black and blue
with strokes; then stripping him of all his clothes, gave him a scurvy old
canvas jacket wherewith to cover his nakedness.  Thus went along this poor
choleric wretch, who, passing the water at Port-Huaulx, and relating his
misadventurous disasters, was foretold by an old Lourpidon hag that his
kingdom should be restored to him at the coming of the Cocklicranes, which
she called Coquecigrues.  What is become of him since we cannot certainly
tell, yet was I told that he is now a porter at Lyons, as testy and pettish
in humour as ever he was before, and would be always with great lamentation
inquiring at all strangers of the coming of the Cocklicranes, expecting
assuredly, according to the old woman's prophecy, that at their coming he
shall be re-established in his kingdom.  The first thing Gargantua did
after his return into the town was to call the muster-roll of his men,
which when he had done, he found that there were very few either killed or
wounded, only some few foot of Captain Tolmere's company, and Ponocrates,
who was shot with a musket-ball through the doublet.  Then he caused them
all at and in their several posts and divisions to take a little
refreshment, which was very plenteously provided for them in the best drink
and victuals that could be had for money, and gave order to the treasurers
and commissaries of the army to pay for and defray that repast, and that
there should be no outrage at all nor abuse committed in the town, seeing
it was his own.  And furthermore commanded, that immediately after the
soldiers had done with eating and drinking for that time sufficiently and
to their own hearts' desire, a gathering should be beaten for bringing them
altogether, to be drawn up on the piazza before the castle, there to
receive six months' pay completely.  All which was done.  After this, by
his direction, were brought before him in the said place all those that
remained of Picrochole's party, unto whom, in the presence of the princes,
nobles, and officers of his court and army, he spoke as followeth.



Chapter 1.L.

Gargantua's speech to the vanquished.

Our forefathers and ancestors of all times have been of this nature and
disposition, that, upon the winning of a battle, they have chosen rather,
for a sign and memorial of their triumphs and victories, to erect trophies
and monuments in the hearts of the vanquished by clemency than by
architecture in the lands which they had conquered.  For they did hold in
greater estimation the lively remembrance of men purchased by liberality
than the dumb inscription of arches, pillars, and pyramids, subject to the
injury of storms and tempests, and to the envy of everyone.  You may very
well remember of the courtesy which by them was used towards the Bretons in
the battle of St. Aubin of Cormier and at the demolishing of Partenay.  You
have heard, and hearing admire, their gentle comportment towards those at
the barriers (the barbarians) of Spaniola, who had plundered, wasted, and
ransacked the maritime borders of Olone and Thalmondois.  All this
hemisphere of the world was filled with the praises and congratulations
which yourselves and your fathers made, when Alpharbal, King of Canarre,
not satisfied with his own fortunes, did most furiously invade the land of
Onyx, and with cruel piracies molest all the Armoric Islands and confine
regions of Britany.  Yet was he in a set naval fight justly taken and
vanquished by my father, whom God preserve and protect.  But what?  Whereas
other kings and emperors, yea, those who entitle themselves Catholics,
would have dealt roughly with him, kept him a close prisoner, and put him
to an extreme high ransom, he entreated him very courteously, lodged him
kindly with himself in his own palace, and out of his incredible mildness
and gentle disposition sent him back with a safe conduct, laden with gifts,
laden with favours, laden with all offices of friendship.  What fell out
upon it?  Being returned into his country, he called a parliament, where
all the princes and states of his kingdom being assembled, he showed them
the humanity which he had found in us, and therefore wished them to take
such course by way of compensation therein as that the whole world might be
edified by the example, as well of their honest graciousness to us as of
our gracious honesty towards them.  The result hereof was, that it was
voted and decreed by an unanimous consent, that they should offer up
entirely their lands, dominions, and kingdoms, to be disposed of by us
according to our pleasure.

Alpharbal in his own person presently returned with nine thousand and
thirty-eight great ships of burden, bringing with him the treasures, not
only of his house and royal lineage, but almost of all the country besides.
For he embarking himself, to set sail with a west-north-east wind, everyone
in heaps did cast into the ship gold, silver, rings, jewels, spices, drugs,
and aromatical perfumes, parrots, pelicans, monkeys, civet-cats,
black-spotted weasels, porcupines, &c.  He was accounted no good mother's
son that did not cast in all the rare and precious things he had.

Being safely arrived, he came to my said father, and would have kissed his
feet.  That action was found too submissively low, and therefore was not
permitted, but in exchange he was most cordially embraced.  He offered his
presents; they were not received, because they were too excessive:  he
yielded himself voluntarily a servant and vassal, and was content his whole
posterity should be liable to the same bondage; this was not accepted of,
because it seemed not equitable:  he surrendered, by virtue of the decree
of his great parliamentary council, his whole countries and kingdoms to
him, offering the deed and conveyance, signed, sealed, and ratified by all
those that were concerned in it; this was altogether refused, and the
parchments cast into the fire.  In end, this free goodwill and simple
meaning of the Canarians wrought such tenderness in my father's heart that
he could not abstain from shedding tears, and wept most profusely; then, by
choice words very congruously adapted, strove in what he could to diminish
the estimation of the good offices which he had done them, saying, that any
courtesy he had conferred upon them was not worth a rush, and what favour
soever he had showed them he was bound to do it.  But so much the more did
Alpharbal augment the repute thereof.  What was the issue?  Whereas for his
ransom, in the greatest extremity of rigour and most tyrannical dealing,
could not have been exacted above twenty times a hundred thousand crowns,
and his eldest sons detained as hostages till that sum had been paid, they
made themselves perpetual tributaries, and obliged to give us every year
two millions of gold at four-and-twenty carats fine.  The first year we
received the whole sum of two millions; the second year of their own accord
they paid freely to us three-and-twenty hundred thousand crowns; the third
year, six-and-twenty hundred thousand; the fourth year, three millions, and
do so increase it always out of their own goodwill that we shall be
constrained to forbid them to bring us any more.  This is the nature of
gratitude and true thankfulness.  For time, which gnaws and diminisheth all
things else, augments and increaseth benefits; because a noble action of
liberality, done to a man of reason, doth grow continually by his generous
thinking of it and remembering it.

Being unwilling therefore any way to degenerate from the hereditary
mildness and clemency of my parents, I do now forgive you, deliver you from
all fines and imprisonments, fully release you, set you at liberty, and
every way make you as frank and free as ever you were before.  Moreover, at
your going out of the gate, you shall have every one of you three months'
pay to bring you home into your houses and families, and shall have a safe
convoy of six hundred cuirassiers and eight thousand foot under the conduct
of Alexander, esquire of my body, that the clubmen of the country may not
do you any injury.  God be with you!  I am sorry from my heart that
Picrochole is not here; for I would have given him to understand that this
war was undertaken against my will and without any hope to increase either
my goods or renown.  But seeing he is lost, and that no man can tell where
nor how he went away, it is my will that his kingdom remain entire to his
son; who, because he is too young, he not being yet full five years old,
shall be brought up and instructed by the ancient princes and learned men
of the kingdom.  And because a realm thus desolate may easily come to ruin,
if the covetousness and avarice of those who by their places are obliged to
administer justice in it be not curbed and restrained, I ordain and will
have it so, that Ponocrates be overseer and superintendent above all his
governors, with whatever power and authority is requisite thereto, and that
he be continually with the child until he find him able and capable to rule
and govern by himself.

Now I must tell you, that you are to understand how a too feeble and
dissolute facility in pardoning evildoers giveth them occasion to commit
wickedness afterwards more readily, upon this pernicious confidence of
receiving favour.  I consider that Moses, the meekest man that was in his
time upon the earth, did severely punish the mutinous and seditious people
of Israel.  I consider likewise that Julius Caesar, who was so gracious an
emperor that Cicero said of him that his fortune had nothing more excellent
than that he could, and his virtue nothing better than that he would always
save and pardon every man--he, notwithstanding all this, did in certain
places most rigorously punish the authors of rebellion.  After the example
of these good men, it is my will and pleasure that you deliver over unto me
before you depart hence, first, that fine fellow Marquet, who was the prime
cause, origin, and groundwork of this war by his vain presumption and
overweening; secondly, his fellow cake-bakers, who were neglective in
checking and reprehending his idle hairbrained humour in the instant time;
and lastly, all the councillors, captains, officers, and domestics of
Picrochole, who had been incendiaries or fomenters of the war by provoking,
praising, or counselling him to come out of his limits thus to trouble us.



Chapter 1.LI.

How the victorious Gargantuists were recompensed after the battle.

When Gargantua had finished his speech, the seditious men whom he required
were delivered up unto him, except Swashbuckler, Dirt-tail, and Smalltrash,
who ran away six hours before the battle--one of them as far as to
Lainiel-neck at one course, another to the valley of Vire, and the third
even unto Logroine, without looking back or taking breath by the way--and
two of the cake-bakers who were slain in the fight.  Gargantua did them no
other hurt but that he appointed them to pull at the presses of his
printing-house which he had newly set up.  Then those who died there he
caused to be honourably buried in Black-soile valley and Burn-hag field, and
gave order that the wounded should be dressed and had care of in his great
hospital or nosocome.  After this, considering the great prejudice done to
the town and its inhabitants, he reimbursed their charges and repaired all
the losses that by their confession upon oath could appear they had
sustained; and, for their better defence and security in times coming
against all sudden uproars and invasions, commanded a strong citadel to be
built there with a competent garrison to maintain it.  At his departure he
did very graciously thank all the soldiers of the brigades that had been at
this overthrow, and sent them back to their winter-quarters in their several
stations and garrisons; the decumane legion only excepted, whom in the field
on that day he saw do some great exploit, and their captains also, whom he
brought along with himself unto Grangousier.

At the sight and coming of them, the good man was so joyful, that it is not
possible fully to describe it.  He made them a feast the most magnificent,
plentiful, and delicious that ever was seen since the time of the king
Ahasuerus.  At the taking up of the table he distributed amongst them his
whole cupboard of plate, which weighed eight hundred thousand and fourteen
bezants (Each bezant is worth five pounds English money.) of gold, in great
antique vessels, huge pots, large basins, big tasses, cups, goblets,
candlesticks, comfit-boxes, and other such plate, all of pure massy gold,
besides the precious stones, enamelling, and workmanship, which by all
men's estimation was more worth than the matter of the gold.  Then unto
every one of them out of his coffers caused he to be given the sum of
twelve hundred thousand crowns ready money.  And, further, he gave to each
of them for ever and in perpetuity, unless he should happen to decease
without heirs, such castles and neighbouring lands of his as were most
commodious for them.  To Ponocrates he gave the rock Clermond; to Gymnast,
the Coudray; to Eudemon, Montpensier; Rivau, to Tolmere, to Ithibolle,
Montsoreau; to Acamas, Cande; Varenes, to Chironacte; Gravot, to Sebast;
Quinquenais, to Alexander; Legre, to Sophrone, and so of his other places.



Chapter 1.LII.

How Gargantua caused to be built for the Monk the Abbey of Theleme.

There was left only the monk to provide for, whom Gargantua would have made
Abbot of Seville, but he refused it.  He would have given him the Abbey of
Bourgueil, or of Sanct Florent, which was better, or both, if it pleased
him; but the monk gave him a very peremptory answer, that he would never
take upon him the charge nor government of monks.  For how shall I be able,
said he, to rule over others, that have not full power and command of
myself?  If you think I have done you, or may hereafter do any acceptable
service, give me leave to found an abbey after my own mind and fancy.  The
motion pleased Gargantua very well, who thereupon offered him all the
country of Theleme by the river of Loire till within two leagues of the
great forest of Port-Huaulx.  The monk then requested Gargantua to
institute his religious order contrary to all others.  First, then, said
Gargantua, you must not build a wall about your convent, for all other
abbeys are strongly walled and mured about.  See, said the monk, and not
without cause (seeing wall and mur signify but one and the same thing);
where there is mur before and mur behind, there is store of murmur, envy,
and mutual conspiracy.  Moreover, seeing there are certain convents in the
world whereof the custom is, if any woman come in, I mean chaste and honest
women, they immediately sweep the ground which they have trod upon;
therefore was it ordained, that if any man or woman entered into religious
orders should by chance come within this new abbey, all the rooms should be
thoroughly washed and cleansed through which they had passed.  And because
in all other monasteries and nunneries all is compassed, limited, and
regulated by hours, it was decreed that in this new structure there should
be neither clock nor dial, but that according to the opportunities and
incident occasions all their hours should be disposed of; for, said
Gargantua, the greatest loss of time that I know is to count the hours.
What good comes of it?  Nor can there be any greater dotage in the world
than for one to guide and direct his courses by the sound of a bell, and
not by his own judgment and discretion.

Item, Because at that time they put no women into nunneries but such as
were either purblind, blinkards, lame, crooked, ill-favoured, misshapen,
fools, senseless, spoiled, or corrupt; nor encloistered any men but those
that were either sickly, subject to defluxions, ill-bred louts, simple
sots, or peevish trouble-houses.  But to the purpose, said the monk.  A
woman that is neither fair nor good, to what use serves she?  To make a nun
of, said Gargantua.  Yea, said the monk, and to make shirts and smocks.
Therefore was it ordained that into this religious order should be admitted
no women that were not fair, well-featured, and of a sweet disposition; nor
men that were not comely, personable, and well conditioned.

Item, Because in the convents of women men come not but underhand, privily,
and by stealth, it was therefore enacted that in this house there shall be
no women in case there be not men, nor men in case there be not women.

Item, Because both men and women that are received into religious orders
after the expiring of their noviciate or probation year were constrained
and forced perpetually to stay there all the days of their life, it was
therefore ordered that all whatever, men or women, admitted within this
abbey, should have full leave to depart with peace and contentment
whensoever it should seem good to them so to do.

Item, for that the religious men and women did ordinarily make three vows,
to wit, those of chastity, poverty, and obedience, it was therefore
constituted and appointed that in this convent they might be honourably
married, that they might be rich, and live at liberty.  In regard of the
legitimate time of the persons to be initiated, and years under and above
which they were not capable of reception, the women were to be admitted
from ten till fifteen, and the men from twelve till eighteen.



Chapter 1.LIII.

How the abbey of the Thelemites was built and endowed.

For the fabric and furniture of the abbey Gargantua caused to be delivered
out in ready money seven-and-twenty hundred thousand, eight hundred and
one-and-thirty of those golden rams of Berry which have a sheep stamped on
the one side and a flowered cross on the other; and for every year, until
the whole work were completed, he allotted threescore nine thousand crowns
of the sun, and as many of the seven stars, to be charged all upon the
receipt of the custom.  For the foundation and maintenance thereof for
ever, he settled a perpetual fee-farm-rent of three-and-twenty hundred,
three score and nine thousand, five hundred and fourteen rose nobles,
exempted from all homage, fealty, service, or burden whatsoever, and
payable every year at the gate of the abbey; and of this by letters patent
passed a very good grant.  The architecture was in a figure hexagonal, and
in such a fashion that in every one of the six corners there was built a
great round tower of threescore foot in diameter, and were all of a like
form and bigness.  Upon the north side ran along the river of Loire, on the
bank whereof was situated the tower called Arctic.  Going towards the east,
there was another called Calaer,--the next following Anatole,--the next
Mesembrine,--the next Hesperia, and the last Criere.  Every tower was
distant from other the space of three hundred and twelve paces.  The whole
edifice was everywhere six storeys high, reckoning the cellars underground
for one.  The second was arched after the fashion of a basket-handle; the
rest were ceiled with pure wainscot, flourished with Flanders fretwork, in
the form of the foot of a lamp, and covered above with fine slates, with an
endorsement of lead, carrying the antique figures of little puppets and
animals of all sorts, notably well suited to one another, and gilt,
together with the gutters, which, jutting without the walls from betwixt
the crossbars in a diagonal figure, painted with gold and azure, reached to
the very ground, where they ended into great conduit-pipes, which carried
all away unto the river from under the house.

This same building was a hundred times more sumptuous and magnificent than
ever was Bonnivet, Chambourg, or Chantilly; for there were in it nine
thousand, three hundred and two-and-thirty chambers, every one whereof had
a withdrawing-room, a handsome closet, a wardrobe, an oratory, and neat
passage, leading into a great and spacious hall.  Between every tower in
the midst of the said body of building there was a pair of winding, such as
we now call lantern stairs, whereof the steps were part of porphyry, which
is a dark red marble spotted with white, part of Numidian stone, which is a
kind of yellowishly-streaked marble upon various colours, and part of
serpentine marble, with light spots on a dark green ground, each of those
steps being two-and-twenty foot in length and three fingers thick, and the
just number of twelve betwixt every rest, or, as we now term it,
landing-place.  In every resting-place were two fair antique arches where
the light came in:  and by those they went into a cabinet, made even with
and of the breadth of the said winding, and the reascending above the roofs
of the house ended conically in a pavilion.  By that vise or winding they
entered on every side into a great hall, and from the halls into the
chambers. From the Arctic tower unto the Criere were the fair great
libraries in Greek, Latin, Hebrew, French, Italian, and Spanish,
respectively distributed in their several cantons, according to the
diversity of these languages.  In the midst there was a wonderful scalier or
winding-stair, the entry whereof was without the house, in a vault or arch
six fathom broad.  It was made in such symmetry and largeness that six
men-at-arms with their lances in their rests might together in a breast ride
all up to the very top of all the palace.  From the tower Anatole to the
Mesembrine were fair spacious galleries, all  over and painted with
the ancient prowesses, histories, and descriptions of the world.  In the
midst thereof there was likewise such another ascent and gate as we said
there was on the river-side.  Upon that gate was written in great antique
letters that which followeth.



Chapter 1.LIV.

The inscription set upon the great gate of Theleme.

Here enter not vile bigots, hypocrites,
Externally devoted apes, base snites,
Puffed-up, wry-necked beasts, worse than the Huns,
Or Ostrogoths, forerunners of baboons:
Cursed snakes, dissembled varlets, seeming sancts,
Slipshod caffards, beggars pretending wants,
Fat chuffcats, smell-feast knockers, doltish gulls,
Out-strouting cluster-fists, contentious bulls,
Fomenters of divisions and debates,
Elsewhere, not here, make sale of your deceits.

  Your filthy trumperies
  Stuffed with pernicious lies
    (Not worth a bubble),
    Would do but trouble
  Our earthly paradise,
  Your filthy trumperies.

Here enter not attorneys, barristers,
Nor bridle-champing law-practitioners:
Clerks, commissaries, scribes, nor pharisees,
Wilful disturbers of the people's ease:
Judges, destroyers, with an unjust breath,
Of honest men, like dogs, even unto death.
Your salary is at the gibbet-foot:
Go drink there! for we do not here fly out
On those excessive courses, which may draw
A waiting on your courts by suits in law.

  Lawsuits, debates, and wrangling
  Hence are exiled, and jangling.
    Here we are very
    Frolic and merry,
  And free from all entangling,
  Lawsuits, debates, and wrangling.

Here enter not base pinching usurers,
Pelf-lickers, everlasting gatherers,
Gold-graspers, coin-gripers, gulpers of mists,
Niggish deformed sots, who, though your chests
Vast sums of money should to you afford,
Would ne'ertheless add more unto that hoard,
And yet not be content,--you clunchfist dastards,
Insatiable fiends, and Pluto's bastards,
Greedy devourers, chichy sneakbill rogues,
Hell-mastiffs gnaw your bones, you ravenous dogs.

  You beastly-looking fellows,
  Reason doth plainly tell us
    That we should not
    To you allot
  Room here, but at the gallows,
  You beastly-looking fellows.

Here enter not fond makers of demurs
In love adventures, peevish, jealous curs,
Sad pensive dotards, raisers of garboils,
Hags, goblins, ghosts, firebrands of household broils,
Nor drunkards, liars, cowards, cheaters, clowns,
Thieves, cannibals, faces o'ercast with frowns,
Nor lazy slugs, envious, covetous,
Nor blockish, cruel, nor too credulous,--
Here mangy, pocky folks shall have no place,
No ugly lusks, nor persons of disgrace.

  Grace, honour, praise, delight,
  Here sojourn day and night.
    Sound bodies lined
    With a good mind,
  Do here pursue with might
  Grace, honour, praise, delight.

Here enter you, and welcome from our hearts,
All noble sparks, endowed with gallant parts.
This is the glorious place, which bravely shall
Afford wherewith to entertain you all.
Were you a thousand, here you shall not want
For anything; for what you'll ask we'll grant.
Stay here, you lively, jovial, handsome, brisk,
Gay, witty, frolic, cheerful, merry, frisk,
Spruce, jocund, courteous, furtherers of trades,
And, in a word, all worthy gentle blades.

  Blades of heroic breasts
  Shall taste here of the feasts,
    Both privily
    And civilly
  Of the celestial guests,
  Blades of heroic breasts.

Here enter you, pure, honest, faithful, true
Expounders of the Scriptures old and new.
Whose glosses do not blind our reason, but
Make it to see the clearer, and who shut
Its passages from hatred, avarice,
Pride, factions, covenants, and all sort of vice.
Come, settle here a charitable faith,
Which neighbourly affection nourisheth.
And whose light chaseth all corrupters hence,
Of the blest word, from the aforesaid sense.

  The holy sacred Word,
  May it always afford
    T' us all in common,
    Both man and woman,
  A spiritual shield and sword,
  The holy sacred Word.

Here enter you all ladies of high birth,
Delicious, stately, charming, full of mirth,
Ingenious, lovely, miniard, proper, fair,
Magnetic, graceful, splendid, pleasant, rare,
Obliging, sprightly, virtuous, young, solacious,
Kind, neat, quick, feat, bright, compt, ripe, choice, dear, precious.
Alluring, courtly, comely, fine, complete,
Wise, personable, ravishing, and sweet,
Come joys enjoy.  The Lord celestial
Hath given enough wherewith to please us all.

  Gold give us, God forgive us,
  And from all woes relieve us;
    That we the treasure
    May reap of pleasure,
  And shun whate'er is grievous,
  Gold give us, God forgive us.



Chapter 1.LV.

What manner of dwelling the Thelemites had.

In the middle of the lower court there was a stately fountain of fair
alabaster.  Upon the top thereof stood the three Graces, with their
cornucopias, or horns of abundance, and did jet out the water at their
breasts, mouth, ears, eyes, and other open passages of the body.  The
inside of the buildings in this lower court stood upon great pillars of
chalcedony stone and porphyry marble made archways after a goodly antique
fashion.  Within those were spacious galleries, long and large, adorned
with curious pictures, the horns of bucks and unicorns:  with rhinoceroses,
water-horses called hippopotames, the teeth and tusks of elephants, and
other things well worth the beholding.  The lodging of the ladies, for so
we may call those gallant women, took up all from the tower Arctic unto the
gate Mesembrine.  The men possessed the rest.  Before the said lodging of
the ladies, that they might have their recreation, between the two first
towers, on the outside, were placed the tiltyard, the barriers or lists for
tournaments, the hippodrome or riding-court, the theatre or public
playhouse, and natatory or place to swim in, with most admirable baths in
three stages, situated above one another, well furnished with all necessary
accommodation, and store of myrtle-water.  By the river-side was the fair
garden of pleasure, and in the midst of that the glorious labyrinth.
Between the two other towers were the courts for the tennis and the
balloon.  Towards the tower Criere stood the orchard full of all
fruit-trees, set and ranged in a quincuncial order.  At the end of that was
the great park, abounding with all sort of venison.  Betwixt the third
couple of towers were the butts and marks for shooting with a snapwork gun,
an ordinary bow for common archery, or with a crossbow.  The office-houses
were without the tower Hesperia, of one storey high.  The stables were
beyond the offices, and before them stood the falconry, managed by
ostrich-keepers and falconers very expert in the art, and it was yearly
supplied and furnished by the Candians, Venetians, Sarmates, now called
Muscoviters, with all sorts of most excellent hawks, eagles, gerfalcons,
goshawks, sacres, lanners, falcons, sparrowhawks, marlins, and other kinds
of them, so gentle and perfectly well manned, that, flying of themselves
sometimes from the castle for their own disport, they would not fail to
catch whatever they encountered.  The venery, where the beagles and hounds
were kept, was a little farther off, drawing towards the park.

All the halls, chambers, and closets or cabinets were richly hung with
tapestry and hangings of divers sorts, according to the variety of the
seasons of the year.  All the pavements and floors were covered with green
cloth.  The beds were all embroidered.  In every back-chamber or
withdrawing-room there was a looking-glass of pure crystal set in a frame
of fine gold, garnished all about with pearls, and was of such greatness
that it would represent to the full the whole lineaments and proportion of
the person that stood before it.  At the going out of the halls which
belong to the ladies' lodgings were the perfumers and trimmers through
whose hands the gallants passed when they were to visit the ladies.  Those
sweet artificers did every morning furnish the ladies' chambers with the
spirit of roses, orange-flower-water, and angelica; and to each of them
gave a little precious casket vapouring forth the most odoriferous
exhalations of the choicest aromatical scents.



Chapter 1.LVI.

How the men and women of the religious order of Theleme were apparelled.

The ladies at the foundation of this order were apparelled after their own
pleasure and liking; but, since that of their own accord and free will they
have reformed themselves, their accoutrement is in manner as followeth.
They wore stockings of scarlet crimson, or ingrained purple dye, which
reached just three inches above the knee, having a list beautified with
exquisite embroideries and rare incisions of the cutter's art.  Their
garters were of the colour of their bracelets, and circled the knee a
little both over and under.  Their shoes, pumps, and slippers were either
of red, violet, or crimson-velvet, pinked and jagged like lobster waddles.

Next to their smock they put on the pretty kirtle or vasquin of pure silk
camlet:  above that went the taffety or tabby farthingale, of white, red,
tawny, grey, or of any other colour.  Above this taffety petticoat they had
another of cloth of tissue or brocade, embroidered with fine gold and
interlaced with needlework, or as they thought good, and according to the
temperature and disposition of the weather had their upper coats of satin,
damask, or velvet, and those either orange, tawny, green, ash-,
blue, yellow, bright red, crimson, or white, and so forth; or had them of
cloth of gold, cloth of silver, or some other choice stuff, enriched with
purl, or embroidered according to the dignity of the festival days and
times wherein they wore them.

Their gowns, being still correspondent to the season, were either of cloth
of gold frizzled with a silver-raised work; of red satin, covered with gold
purl; of tabby, or taffety, white, blue, black, tawny, &c., of silk serge,
silk camlet, velvet, cloth of silver, silver tissue, cloth of gold, gold
wire, figured velvet, or figured satin tinselled and overcast with golden
threads, in divers variously purfled draughts.

In the summer some days instead of gowns they wore light handsome mantles,
made either of the stuff of the aforesaid attire, or like Moresco rugs, of
violet velvet frizzled, with a raised work of gold upon silver purl, or
with a knotted cord-work of gold embroidery, everywhere garnished with
little Indian pearls.  They always carried a fair panache, or plume of
feathers, of the colour of their muff, bravely adorned and tricked out with
glistering spangles of gold.  In the winter time they had their taffety
gowns of all colours, as above-named, and those lined with the rich
furrings of hind-wolves, or speckled lynxes, black-spotted weasels, martlet
skins of Calabria, sables, and other costly furs of an inestimable value.
Their beads, rings, bracelets, collars, carcanets, and neck-chains were all
of precious stones, such as carbuncles, rubies, baleus, diamonds,
sapphires, emeralds, turquoises, garnets, agates, beryls, and excellent
margarites.  Their head-dressing also varied with the season of the year,
according to which they decked themselves.  In winter it was of the French
fashion; in the spring, of the Spanish; in summer, of the fashion of
Tuscany, except only upon the holy days and Sundays, at which times they
were accoutred in the French mode, because they accounted it more
honourable and better befitting the garb of a matronal pudicity.

The men were apparelled after their fashion.  Their stockings were of
tamine or of cloth serge, of white, black, scarlet, or some other ingrained
colour.  Their breeches were of velvet, of the same colour with their
stockings, or very near, embroidered and cut according to their fancy.
Their doublet was of cloth of gold, of cloth of silver, of velvet, satin,
damask, taffeties, &c., of the same colours, cut, embroidered, and suitably
trimmed up in perfection.  The points were of silk of the same colours; the
tags were of gold well enamelled.  Their coats and jerkins were of cloth of
gold, cloth of silver, gold, tissue or velvet embroidered, as they thought
fit.  Their gowns were every whit as costly as those of the ladies.  Their
girdles were of silks, of the colour of their doublets.  Every one had a
gallant sword by his side, the hilt and handle whereof were gilt, and the
scabbard of velvet, of the colour of his breeches, with a chape of gold,
and pure goldsmith's work.  The dagger was of the same.  Their caps or
bonnets were of black velvet, adorned with jewels and buttons of gold.
Upon that they wore a white plume, most prettily and minion-like parted by
so many rows of gold spangles, at the end whereof hung dangling in a more
sparkling resplendency fair rubies, emeralds, diamonds, &c., but there was
such a sympathy betwixt the gallants and the ladies, that every day they
were apparelled in the same livery.  And that they might not miss, there
were certain gentlemen appointed to tell the youths every morning what
vestments the ladies would on that day wear:  for all was done according to
the pleasure of the ladies.  In these so handsome clothes, and habiliments
so rich, think not that either one or other of either sex did waste any
time at all; for the masters of the wardrobes had all their raiments and
apparel so ready for every morning, and the chamber-ladies so well skilled,
that in a trice they would be dressed and completely in their clothes from
head to foot.  And to have those accoutrements with the more conveniency,
there was about the wood of Theleme a row of houses of the extent of half a
league, very neat and cleanly, wherein dwelt the goldsmiths, lapidaries,
jewellers, embroiderers, tailors, gold-drawers, velvet-weavers,
tapestry-makers and upholsterers, who wrought there every one in his own
trade, and all for the aforesaid jolly friars and nuns of the new stamp.
They were furnished with matter and stuff from the hands of the Lord
Nausiclete, who every year brought them seven ships from the Perlas and
Cannibal Islands, laden with ingots of gold, with raw silk, with pearls and
precious stones. And if any margarites, called unions, began to grow old and
lose somewhat of their natural whiteness and lustre, those with their art
they did renew by tendering them to eat to some pretty cocks, as they use to
give casting unto hawks.



Chapter 1.LVII.

How the Thelemites were governed, and of their manner of living.

All their life was spent not in laws, statutes, or rules, but according to
their own free will and pleasure.  They rose out of their beds when they
thought good; they did eat, drink, labour, sleep, when they had a mind to
it and were disposed for it.  None did awake them, none did offer to
constrain them to eat, drink, nor to do any other thing; for so had
Gargantua established it.  In all their rule and strictest tie of their
order there was but this one clause to be observed,

Do What Thou Wilt;

because men that are free, well-born, well-bred, and conversant in honest
companies, have naturally an instinct and spur that prompteth them unto
virtuous actions, and withdraws them from vice, which is called honour.
Those same men, when by base subjection and constraint they are brought
under and kept down, turn aside from that noble disposition by which they
formerly were inclined to virtue, to shake off and break that bond of
servitude wherein they are so tyrannously enslaved; for it is agreeable
with the nature of man to long after things forbidden and to desire what is
denied us.

By this liberty they entered into a very laudable emulation to do all of
them what they saw did please one.  If any of the gallants or ladies should
say, Let us drink, they would all drink.  If any one of them said, Let us
play, they all played.  If one said, Let us go a-walking into the fields
they went all.  If it were to go a-hawking or a-hunting, the ladies mounted
upon dainty well-paced nags, seated in a stately palfrey saddle, carried on
their lovely fists, miniardly begloved every one of them, either a
sparrowhawk or a laneret or a marlin, and the young gallants carried the
other kinds of hawks.  So nobly were they taught, that there was neither he
nor she amongst them but could read, write, sing, play upon several musical
instruments, speak five or six several languages, and compose in them all
very quaintly, both in verse and prose.  Never were seen so valiant
knights, so noble and worthy, so dexterous and skilful both on foot and
a-horse-back, more brisk and lively, more nimble and quick, or better
handling all manner of weapons than were there.  Never were seen ladies so
proper and handsome, so miniard and dainty, less froward, or more ready
with their hand and with their needle in every honest and free action
belonging to that sex, than were there.  For this reason, when the time
came that any man of the said abbey, either at the request of his parents,
or for some other cause, had a mind to go out of it, he carried along with
him one of the ladies, namely, her whom he had before that chosen for his
mistress, and (they) were married together.  And if they had formerly in
Theleme lived in good devotion and amity, they did continue therein and
increase it to a greater height in their state of matrimony; and did
entertain that mutual love till the very last day of their life, in no less
vigour and fervency than at the very day of their wedding.  Here must not I
forget to set down unto you a riddle which was found under the ground as
they were laying the foundation of the abbey, engraven in a copper plate,
and it was thus as followeth.



Chapter 1.LVIII.

A prophetical Riddle.

Poor mortals, who wait for a happy day,
Cheer up your hearts, and hear what I shall say:
If it be lawful firmly to believe
That the celestial bodies can us give
Wisdom to judge of things that are not yet;
Or if from heaven such wisdom we may get
As may with confidence make us discourse
Of years to come, their destiny and course;
I to my hearers give to understand
That this next winter, though it be at hand,
Yea and before, there shall appear a race
Of men who, loth to sit still in one place,
Shall boldly go before all people's eyes,
Suborning men of divers qualities
To draw them unto covenants and sides,
In such a manner that, whate'er betides,
They'll move you, if you give them ear, no doubt,
With both your friends and kindred to fall out.
They'll make a vassal to gain-stand his lord,
And children their own parents; in a word,
All reverence shall then be banished,
No true respect to other shall be had.
They'll say that every man should have his turn,
Both in his going forth and his return;
And hereupon there shall arise such woes,
Such jarrings, and confused to's and fro's,
That never were in history such coils
Set down as yet, such tumults and garboils.
Then shall you many gallant men see by
Valour stirr'd up, and youthful fervency,
Who, trusting too much in their hopeful time,
Live but a while, and perish in their prime.
Neither shall any, who this course shall run,
Leave off the race which he hath once begun,
Till they the heavens with noise by their contention
Have fill'd, and with their steps the earth's dimension.
Then those shall have no less authority,
That have no faith, than those that will not lie;
For all shall be governed by a rude,
Base, ignorant, and foolish multitude;
The veriest lout of all shall be their judge,
O horrible and dangerous deluge!
Deluge I call it, and that for good reason,
For this shall be omitted in no season;
Nor shall the earth of this foul stir be free,
Till suddenly you in great store shall see
The waters issue out, with whose streams the
Most moderate of all shall moistened be,
And justly too; because they did not spare
The flocks of beasts that innocentest are,
But did their sinews and their bowels take,
Not to the gods a sacrifice to make,
But usually to serve themselves for sport:
And now consider, I do you exhort,
In such commotions so continual,
What rest can take the globe terrestrial?
Most happy then are they, that can it hold,
And use it carefully as precious gold,
By keeping it in gaol, whence it shall have
No help but him who being to it gave.
And to increase his mournful accident,
The sun, before it set in th' occident,
Shall cease to dart upon it any light,
More than in an eclipse, or in the night,--
So that at once its favour shall be gone,
And liberty with it be left alone.
And yet, before it come to ruin thus,
Its quaking shall be as impetuous
As Aetna's was when Titan's sons lay under,
And yield, when lost, a fearful sound like thunder.
Inarime did not more quickly move,
When Typheus did the vast huge hills remove,
And for despite into the sea them threw.
  Thus shall it then be lost by ways not few,
And changed suddenly, when those that have it
To other men that after come shall leave it.
Then shall it be high time to cease from this
So long, so great, so tedious exercise;
For the great waters told you now by me,
Will make each think where his retreat shall be;
And yet, before that they be clean disperst,
You may behold in th' air, where nought was erst,
The burning heat of a great flame to rise,
Lick up the water, and the enterprise.
  It resteth after those things to declare,
That those shall sit content who chosen are,
With all good things, and with celestial man (ne,)
And richly recompensed every man:
The others at the last all stripp'd shall be,
That after this great work all men may see,
How each shall have his due.  This is their lot;
O he is worthy praise that shrinketh not!

No sooner was this enigmatical monument read over, but Gargantua, fetching
a very deep sigh, said unto those that stood by, It is not now only, I
perceive, that people called to the faith of the gospel, and convinced with
the certainty of evangelical truths, are persecuted.  But happy is that man
that shall not be scandalized, but shall always continue to the end in
aiming at that mark which God by his dear Son hath set before us, without
being distracted or diverted by his carnal affections and depraved nature.

The monk then said, What do you think in your conscience is meant and
signified by this riddle?  What? said Gargantua,--the progress and carrying
on of the divine truth.  By St. Goderan, said the monk, that is not my
exposition.  It is the style of the prophet Merlin.  Make upon it as many
grave allegories and glosses as you will, and dote upon it you and the rest
of the world as long as you please; for my part, I can conceive no other
meaning in it but a description of a set at tennis in dark and obscure
terms.  The suborners of men are the makers of matches, which are commonly
friends.  After the two chases are made, he that was in the upper end of
the tennis-court goeth out, and the other cometh in.  They believe the
first that saith the ball was over or under the line.  The waters are the
heats that the players take till they sweat again.  The cords of the
rackets are made of the guts of sheep or goats.  The globe terrestrial is
the tennis-ball.  After playing, when the game is done, they refresh
themselves before a clear fire, and change their shirts; and very willingly
they make all good cheer, but most merrily those that have gained.  And so,
farewell!


End book 1





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gargantua and Pantagruel, Book I.
by Francois Rabelais

*** 