Gargantua and Pantagruel
arch Semiquavering strumpets, must be! That damned cattle are so high fed
that they must needs be high-mettled, and ready to wince and give two ups
for one go-down when anyone offers to ride them below the crupper.
Prithee, Friar John, quoth Panurge, hold thy prating tongue; stay till I
have done.
Till what time do the doxies sit up? Fri. Night.
Pan. When do they get up? Fri. Late.
Pan. May I ride on a horse that was foaled of an acorn, if this be not as
honest a cod as ever the ground went upon, and as grave as an old gate-post
into the bargain. Would to the blessed St. Semiquaver, and the blessed
worthy virgin St. Semiquavera, he were lord chief president (justice) of
Paris! Ods-bodikins, how he’d despatch! With what expedition would he
bring disputes to an upshot! What an abbreviator and clawer off of
lawsuits, reconciler of differences, examiner and fumbler of bags, peruser
of bills, scribbler of rough drafts, and engrosser of deeds would he not
make! Well, friar, spare your breath to cool your porridge. Come, let’s
now talk with deliberation, fairly and softly, as lawyers go to heaven.
Let’s know how you victual the venereal camp. How is the snatchblatch?
Fri. Rough.
Pan. How is the gateway? Fri. Free.
Pan. And how is it within? Fri. Deep.
Pan. I mean, what weather is it there? Fri. Hot.
Pan. What shadows the brooks? Fri. Groves.
Pan. Of what’s the colour of the twigs? Fri. Red.
Pan. And that of the old? Fri. Grey.
Pan. How are you when you shake? Fri. Brisk.
Pan. How is their motion? Fri. Quick.
Pan. Would you have them vault or wriggle more? Fri. Less.
Pan. What kind of tools are yours? Fri. Big.
Pan. And in their helves? Fri. Round.
Pan. Of what colour is the tip? Fri. Red.
Pan. When they’ve even used, how are they? Fri. Shrunk.
Pan. How much weighs each bag of tools? Fri. Pounds.
Pan. How hang your pouches? Fri. Tight.
Pan. How are they when you’ve done? Fri. Lank.
Pan. Now, by the oath you have taken, tell me, when you have a mind to
cohabit, how you throw ‘em? Fri. Down.
Pan. And what do they say then? Fri. Fie.
Pan. However, like maids, they say nay, and take it; and speak the less,
but think the more, minding the work in hand; do they not? Fri. True.
Pan. Do they get you bairns? Fri. None.
Pan. How do you pig together? Fri. Bare.
Pan. Remember you’re upon your oath, and tell me justly and bona fide how
many times a day you monk it? Fri. Six.
Pan. How many bouts a-nights? Fri. Ten.
Catso, quoth Friar John, the poor fornicating brother is bashful, and
sticks at sixteen, as if that were his stint. Right, quoth Panurge, but
couldst thou keep pace with him, Friar John, my dainty cod? May the
devil’s dam suck my teat if he does not look as if he had got a blow over
the nose with a Naples cowl-staff.
Pan. Pray, Friar Shakewell, does your whole fraternity quaver and shake at
that rate? Fri. All.
Pan. Who of them is the best cock o’ the game? Fri. I.
Pan. Do you never commit dry-bobs or flashes in the pan? Fri. None.
Pan. I blush like any black dog, and could be as testy as an old cook when
I think on all this; it passes my understanding. But, pray, when you have
been pumped dry one day, what have you got the next? Fri. More.
Pan. By Priapus, they have the Indian herb of which Theophrastus spoke, or
I’m much out. But, hearkee me, thou man of brevity, should some
impediment, honestly or otherwise, impair your talents and cause your
benevolence to lessen, how would it fare with you, then? Fri. Ill.
Pan. What would the wenches do? Fri. Rail.
Pan. What if you skipped, and let ‘em fast a whole day? Fri. Worse.
Pan. What do you give ‘em then? Fri. Thwacks.
Pan. What do they say to this? Fri. Bawl.
Pan. And what else? Fri. Curse.
Pan. How do you correct ‘em? Fri. Hard.
Pan. What do you get out of ‘em then? Fri. Blood.
Pan. How’s their complexion then? Fri. Odd.
Pan. What do they mend it with? Fri. Paint.
Pan. Then what do they do? Fri. Fawn.
Pan. By the oath you have taken, tell me truly what time of the year do
you do it least in? Fri. Now (August.).
Pan. What season do you do it best in? Fri. March.
Pan. How is your performance the rest of the year? Fri. Brisk.
Then quoth Panurge, sneering, Of all, and of all, commend me to Ball; this
is the friar of the world for my money. You’ve heard how short, concise,
and compendious he is in his answers. Nothing is to be got out of him but
monosyllables. By jingo, I believe he would make three bites of a cherry.
Damn him, cried Friar John, that’s as true as I am his uncle. The dog
yelps at another gate’s rate when he is among his bitches; there he is
polysyllable enough, my life for yours. You talk of making three bites of
a cherry! God send fools more wit and us more money! May I be doomed to
fast a whole day if I don’t verily believe he would not make above two
bites of a shoulder of mutton and one swoop of a whole pottle of wine.
Zoons, do but see how down o’ the mouth the cur looks! He’s nothing but
skin and bones; he has pissed his tallow.
Truly, truly, quoth Epistemon, this rascally monastical vermin all over the
world mind nothing but their gut, and are as ravenous as any kites, and
then, forsooth, they tell us they’ve nothing but food and raiment in this
world. ‘Sdeath, what more have kings and princes?
Chapter 5.XXIX.
How Epistemon disliked the institution of Lent.
Pray did you observe, continued Epistemon, how this damned ill-favoured
Semiquaver mentioned March as the best month for caterwauling? True, said
Pantagruel; yet Lent and March always go together, and the first was
instituted to macerate and bring down our pampered flesh, to weaken and
subdue its lusts, to curb and assuage the venereal rage.
By this, said Epistemon, you may guess what kind of a pope it was who first
enjoined it to be kept, since this filthy wooden-shoed Semiquaver owns that
his spoon is never oftener nor deeper in the porringer of lechery than in
Lent. Add to this the evident reasons given by all good and learned
physicians, affirming that throughout the whole year no food is eaten that
can prompt mankind to lascivious acts more than at that time.
As, for example, beans, peas, phasels, or long-peason, ciches, onions,
nuts, oysters, herrings, salt-meats, garum (a kind of anchovy), and salads
wholly made up of venereous herbs and fruits, as--
Rocket, Parsley, Hop-buds,
Nose-smart, Rampions, Figs,
Taragon, Poppy, Rice,
Cresses, Celery, Raisins, and others.
It would not a little surprise you, said Pantagruel, should a man tell you
that the good pope who first ordered the keeping of Lent, perceiving that
at that time o’ year the natural heat (from the centre of the body, whither
it was retired during the winter’s cold) diffuses itself, as the sap does
in trees, through the circumference of the members, did therefore in a
manner prescribe that sort of diet to forward the propagation of mankind.
What makes me think so, is that by the registers of christenings at Touars
it appears that more children are born in October and November than in the
other ten months of the year, and reckoning backwards ‘twill be easily
found that they were all made, conceived, and begotten in Lent.
I listen to you with both my ears, quoth Friar John, and that with no small
pleasure, I’ll assure you. But I must tell you that the vicar of Jambert
ascribed this copious prolification of the women, not to that sort of food
that we chiefly eat in Lent, but to the little licensed stooping mumpers,
your little booted Lent-preachers, your little draggle-tailed father
confessors, who during all that time of their reign damn all husbands that
run astray three fathom and a half below the very lowest pit of hell. So
the silly cod’s-headed brothers of the noose dare not then stumble any more
at the truckle-bed, to the no small discomfort of their maids, and are even
forced, poor souls, to take up with their own bodily wives. Dixi; I have
done.
You may descant on the institution of Lent as much as you please, cried
Epistemon; so many men so many minds; but certainly all the physicians will
be against its being suppressed, though I think that time is at hand. I
know they will, and have heard ‘em say were it not for Lent their art would
soon fall into contempt, and they’d get nothing, for hardly anybody would
be sick.
All distempers are sowed in lent; ‘tis the true seminary and native bed of
all diseases; nor does it only weaken and putrefy bodies, but it also makes
souls mad and uneasy. For then the devils do their best, and drive a
subtle trade, and the tribe of canting dissemblers come out of their holes.
‘Tis then term-time with your cucullated pieces of formality that have one
face to God and another to the devil; and a wretched clutter they make with
their sessions, stations, pardons, syntereses, confessions, whippings,
anathematizations, and much prayer with as little devotion. However, I’ll
not offer to infer from this that the Arimaspians are better than we are in
that point; yet I speak to the purpose.
Well, quoth Panurge to the Semiquaver friar, who happened to be by, dear
bumbasting, shaking, trilling, quavering cod, what thinkest thou of this
fellow? Is he a rank heretic? Fri. Much.
Pan. Ought he not to be singed? Fri. Well.
Pan. As soon as may be? Fri. Right.
Pan. Should not he be scalded first? Fri. No.
Pan. How then, should he be roasted? Fri. Quick.
Pan. Till at last he be? Fri. Dead.
Pan. What has he made you? Fri. Mad.
Pan. What d’ye take him to be? Fri. Damned.
Pan. What place is he to go to? Fri. Hell.
Pan. But, first, how would you have ‘em served here? Fri. Burnt.
Pan. Some have been served so? Fri. Store.
Pan. That were heretics? Fri. Less.
Pan. And the number of those that are to be warmed thus hereafter is?
Fri. Great.
Pan. How many of ‘em do you intend to save? Fri. None.
Pan. So you’d have them burned? Fri. All.
I wonder, said Epistemon to Panurge, what pleasure you can find in talking
thus with this lousy tatterdemalion of a monk. I vow, did I not know you
well, I might be ready to think you had no more wit in your head than he
has in both his shoulders. Come, come, scatter no words, returned Panurge;
everyone as they like, as the woman said when she kissed her cow. I wish I
might carry him to Gargantua; when I’m married he might be my wife’s fool.
And make you one, cried Epistemon. Well said, quoth Friar John. Now, poor
Panurge, take that along with thee, thou’rt e’en fitted; ‘tis a plain case
thou’lt never escape wearing the bull’s feather; thy wife will be as common
as the highway, that’s certain.
Chapter 5.XXX.
How we came to the land of Satin.
Having pleased ourselves with observing that new order of Semiquaver
Friars, we set sail, and in three days our skipper made the finest and most
delightful island that ever was seen. He called it the island of Frieze,
for all the ways were of frieze.
In that island is the land of Satin, so celebrated by our court pages. Its
trees and herbage never lose their leaves or flowers, and are all damask
and flowered velvet. As for the beasts and birds, they are all of tapestry
work. There we saw many beasts, birds on trees, of the same colour,
bigness, and shape of those in our country; with this difference, however,
that these did eat nothing, and never sung or bit like ours; and we also
saw there many sorts of creatures which we never had seen before.