Gargantua and Pantagruel
matter--and it was enchanted in such sort that it could never break, but,
contrarily, all that it did touch did break immediately. Thus, then, as he
approached with great fierceness and pride of heart, Pantagruel, casting up
his eyes to heaven, recommended himself to God with all his soul, making
such a vow as followeth.
O thou Lord God, who hast always been my protector and my saviour! thou
seest the distress wherein I am at this time. Nothing brings me hither but
a natural zeal, which thou hast permitted unto mortals, to keep and defend
themselves, their wives and children, country and family, in case thy own
proper cause were not in question, which is the faith; for in such a
business thou wilt have no coadjutors, only a catholic confession and
service of thy word, and hast forbidden us all arming and defence. For
thou art the Almighty, who in thine own cause, and where thine own business
is taken to heart, canst defend it far beyond all that we can conceive,
thou who hast thousand thousands of hundreds of millions of legions of
angels, the least of which is able to kill all mortal men, and turn about
the heavens and earth at his pleasure, as heretofore it very plainly
appeared in the army of Sennacherib. If it may please thee, therefore, at
this time to assist me, as my whole trust and confidence is in thee alone,
I vow unto thee, that in all countries whatsoever wherein I shall have any
power or authority, whether in this of Utopia or elsewhere, I will cause
thy holy gospel to be purely, simply, and entirely preached, so that the
abuses of a rabble of hypocrites and false prophets, who by human
constitutions and depraved inventions have empoisoned all the world, shall
be quite exterminated from about me.
This vow was no sooner made, but there was heard a voice from heaven
saying, Hoc fac et vinces; that is to say, Do this, and thou shalt
overcome. Then Pantagruel, seeing that Loupgarou with his mouth wide open
was drawing near to him, went against him boldly, and cried out as loud as
he was able, Thou diest, villain, thou diest! purposing by his horrible cry
to make him afraid, according to the discipline of the Lacedaemonians.
Withal, he immediately cast at him out of his bark, which he wore at his
girdle, eighteen cags and four bushels of salt, wherewith he filled both
his mouth, throat, nose, and eyes. At this Loupgarou was so highly
incensed that, most fiercely setting upon him, he thought even then with a
blow of his mace to have beat out his brains. But Pantagruel was very
nimble, and had always a quick foot and a quick eye, and therefore with his
left foot did he step back one pace, yet not so nimbly but that the blow,
falling upon the bark, broke it in four thousand four score and six pieces,
and threw all the rest of the salt about the ground. Pantagruel, seeing
that, most gallantly displayed the vigour of his arms, and, according to
the art of the axe, gave him with the great end of his mast a homethrust a
little above the breast; then, bringing along the blow to the left side,
with a slash struck him between the neck and shoulders. After that,
advancing his right foot, he gave him a push upon the couillons with the
upper end of his said mast, wherewith breaking the scuttle on the top
thereof, he spilt three or four puncheons of wine that were left therein.
Upon that Loupgarou thought that he had pierced his bladder, and that the
wine that came forth had been his urine. Pantagruel, being not content
with this, would have doubled it by a side-blow; but Loupgarou, lifting
up his mace, advanced one step upon him, and with all his force would
have dashed it upon Pantagruel, wherein, to speak the truth, he so
sprightfully carried himself, that, if God had not succoured the good
Pantagruel, he had been cloven from the top of his head to the bottom of
his milt. But the blow glanced to the right side by the brisk nimbleness
of Pantagruel, and his mace sank into the ground above threescore and
thirteen foot, through a huge rock, out of which the fire did issue greater
than nine thousand and six tons. Pantagruel, seeing him busy about
plucking out his mace, which stuck in the ground between the rocks, ran
upon him, and would have clean cut off his head, if by mischance his mast
had not touched a little against the stock of Loupgarou’s mace, which was
enchanted, as we have said before. By this means his mast broke off about
three handfuls above his hand, whereat he stood amazed like a bell-founder,
and cried out, Ah, Panurge, where art thou? Panurge, seeing that, said to
the king and the giants, By G--, they will hurt one another if they be not
parted. But the giants were as merry as if they had been at a wedding.
Then Carpalin would have risen from thence to help his master; but one of
the giants said unto him, By Golfarin, the nephew of Mahoom, if thou stir
hence I will put thee in the bottom of my breeches instead of a
suppository, which cannot choose but do me good. For in my belly I am very
costive, and cannot well cagar without gnashing my teeth and making many
filthy faces. Then Pantagruel, thus destitute of a staff, took up the end
of his mast, striking athwart and alongst upon the giant, but he did him no
more hurt than you would do with a fillip upon a smith’s anvil. In the
(mean) time Loupgarou was drawing his mace out of the ground, and, having
already plucked it out, was ready therewith to have struck Pantagruel, who,
being very quick in turning, avoided all his blows in taking only the
defensive part in hand, until on a sudden he saw that Loupgarou did
threaten him with these words, saying, Now, villain, will not I fail to
chop thee as small as minced meat, and keep thee henceforth from ever
making any more poor men athirst! For then, without any more ado,
Pantagruel struck him such a blow with his foot against the belly that he
made him fall backwards, his heels over his head, and dragged him thus
along at flay-buttock above a flight-shot. Then Loupgarou cried out,
bleeding at the throat, Mahoom, Mahoom, Mahoom! at which noise all the
giants arose to succour him. But Panurge said unto them, Gentlemen, do not
go, if will believe me, for our master is mad, and strikes athwart and
alongst, he cares not where; he will do you a mischief. But the giants
made no account of it, seeing that Pantagruel had never a staff.
And when Pantagruel saw those giants approach very near unto him, he took
Loupgarou by the two feet, and lift up his body like a pike in the air,
wherewith, it being harnessed with anvils, he laid such heavy load amongst
those giants armed with free-stone, that, striking them down as a mason
doth little knobs of stones, there was not one of them that stood before
him whom he threw not flat to the ground. And by the breaking of this
stony armour there was made such a horrible rumble as put me in mind of the
fall of the butter-tower of St. Stephen’s at Bourges when it melted before
the sun. Panurge, with Carpalin and Eusthenes, did cut in the mean time
the throats of those that were struck down, in such sort that there escaped
not one. Pantagruel to any man’s sight was like a mower, who with his
scythe, which was Loupgarou, cut down the meadow grass, to wit, the giants;
but with this fencing of Pantagruel’s Loupgarou lost his head, which
happened when Pantagruel struck down one whose name was Riflandouille, or
Pudding-plunderer, who was armed cap-a-pie with Grison stones, one chip
whereof splintering abroad cut off Epistemon’s neck clean and fair. For
otherwise the most part of them were but lightly armed with a kind of sandy
brittle stone, and the rest with slates. At last, when he saw that they
were all dead, he threw the body of Loupgarou as hard as he could against
the city, where falling like a frog upon his belly in the great Piazza
thereof, he with the said fall killed a singed he-cat, a wet she-cat, a
farting duck, and a bridled goose.
Chapter 2.XXX.
How Epistemon, who had his head cut off, was finely healed by Panurge, and
of the news which he brought from the devils, and of the damned people in
hell.
This gigantal victory being ended, Pantagruel withdrew himself to the place
of the flagons, and called for Panurge and the rest, who came unto him safe
and sound, except Eusthenes, whom one of the giants had scratched a little
in the face whilst he was about the cutting of his throat, and Epistemon,
who appeared not at all. Whereat Pantagruel was so aggrieved that he would
have killed himself. But Panurge said unto him, Nay, sir, stay a while,
and we will search for him amongst the dead, and find out the truth of all.
Thus as they went seeking after him, they found him stark dead, with his
head between his arms all bloody. Then Eusthenes cried out, Ah, cruel
death! hast thou taken from me the perfectest amongst men? At which words
Pantagruel rose up with the greatest grief that ever any man did see, and
said to Panurge, Ha, my friend! the prophecy of your two glasses and the
javelin staff was a great deal too deceitful. But Panurge answered, My
dear bullies all, weep not one drop more, for, he being yet all hot, I will
make him as sound as ever he was. In saying this, he took the head and
held it warm foregainst his codpiece, that the wind might not enter into
it. Eusthenes and Carpalin carried the body to the place where they had
banqueted, not out of any hope that ever he would recover, but that
Pantagruel might see it.
Nevertheless Panurge gave him very good comfort, saying, If I do not heal
him, I will be content to lose my head, which is a fool’s wager. Leave
off, therefore, crying, and help me. Then cleansed he his neck very well
with pure white wine, and, after that, took his head, and into it synapised
some powder of diamerdis, which he always carried about him in one of his
bags. Afterwards he anointed it with I know not what ointment, and set it
on very just, vein against vein, sinew against sinew, and spondyle against
spondyle, that he might not be wry-necked--for such people he mortally
hated. This done, he gave it round about some fifteen or sixteen stitches
with a needle that it might not fall off again; then, on all sides and
everywhere, he put a little ointment on it, which he called resuscitative.
Suddenly Epistemon began to breathe, then opened his eyes, yawned, sneezed,
and afterwards let a great household fart. Whereupon Panurge said, Now,
certainly, he is healed,--and therefore gave him to drink a large full
glass of strong white wine, with a sugared toast. In this fashion was
Epistemon finely healed, only that he was somewhat hoarse for above three
weeks together, and had a dry cough of which he could not be rid but by the
force of continual drinking. And now he began to speak, and said that he
had seen the devil, had spoken with Lucifer familiarly, and had been very
merry in hell and in the Elysian fields, affirming very seriously before
them all that the devils were boon companions and merry fellows. But, in
respect of the damned, he said he was very sorry that Panurge had so soon
called him back into this world again; for, said he, I took wonderful
delight to see them. How so? said Pantagruel. Because they do not use
them there, said Epistemon, so badly as you think they do. Their estate
and condition of living is but only changed after a very strange manner;
for I saw Alexander the Great there amending and patching on clouts upon
old breeches and stockings, whereby he got but a very poor living.
Xerxes was a crier of mustard.
Romulus, a salter and patcher of pattens.
Numa, a nailsmith.
Tarquin, a porter.
Piso, a clownish swain.
Sylla, a ferryman.
Cyrus, a cowherd.
Themistocles, a glass-maker.
Epaminondas, a maker of mirrors or looking-glasses.