Gargantua and Pantagruel, Book IV. - Francois Rabelais
MASTER FRANCIS RABELAIS
FIVE BOOKS OF THE LIVES, HEROIC DEEDS AND SAYINGS OF
GARGANTUA AND HIS SON PANTAGRUEL
Book IV.
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.
THE FOURTH BOOK
The Translator's Preface.
Reader,--I don't know what kind of a preface I must write to find thee
courteous, an epithet too often bestowed without a cause. The author of
this work has been as sparing of what we call good nature, as most readers
are nowadays. So I am afraid his translator and commentator is not to
expect much more than has been showed them. What's worse, there are but
two sorts of taking prefaces, as there are but two kinds of prologues to
plays; for Mr. Bays was doubtless in the right when he said that if thunder
and lightning could not fright an audience into complaisance, the sight of
the poet with a rope about his neck might work them into pity. Some,
indeed, have bullied many of you into applause, and railed at your faults
that you might think them without any; and others, more safely, have spoken
kindly of you, that you might think, or at least speak, as favourably of
them, and be flattered into patience. Now, I fancy, there's nothing less
difficult to attempt than the first method; for, in this blessed age, 'tis
as easy to find a bully without courage, as a whore without beauty, or a
writer without wit; though those qualifications are so necessary in their
respective professions. The mischief is, that you seldom allow any to rail
besides yourselves, and cannot bear a pride which shocks your own. As for
wheedling you into a liking of a work, I must confess it seems the safest
way; but though flattery pleases you well when it is particular, you hate
it, as little concerning you, when it is general. Then we knights of the
quill are a stiff-necked generation, who as seldom care to seem to doubt
the worth of our writings, and their being liked, as we love to flatter
more than one at a time; and had rather draw our pens, and stand up for the
beauty of our works (as some arrant fools use to do for that of their
mistresses) to the last drop of our ink. And truly this submission, which
sometimes wheedles you into pity, as seldom decoys you into love, as the
awkward cringing of an antiquated fop, as moneyless as he is ugly, affects
an experienced fair one. Now we as little value your pity as a lover his
mistress's, well satisfied that it is only a less uncivil way of dismissing
us. But what if neither of these two ways will work upon you, of which
doleful truth some of our playwrights stand so many living monuments? Why,
then, truly I think on no other way at present but blending the two into
one; and, from this marriage of huffing and cringing, there will result a
new kind of careless medley, which, perhaps, will work upon both sorts of
readers, those who are to be hectored, and those whom we must creep to. At
least, it is like to please by its novelty; and it will not be the first
monster that has pleased you when regular nature could not do it.
If uncommon worth, lively wit, and deep learning, wove into wholesome
satire, a bold, good, and vast design admirably pursued, truth set out in
its true light, and a method how to arrive to its oracle, can recommend a
work, I am sure this has enough to please any reasonable man. The three
books published some time since, which are in a manner an entire work, were
kindly received; yet, in the French, they come far short of these two,
which are also entire pieces; for the satire is all general here, much more
obvious, and consequently more entertaining. Even my long explanatory
preface was not thought improper. Though I was so far from being allowed
time to make it methodical, that at first only a few pages were intended;
yet as fast as they were printed I wrote on, till it proved at last like
one of those towns built little at first, then enlarged, where you see
promiscuously an odd variety of all sorts of irregular buildings. I hope
the remarks I give now will not please less; for, as I have translated the
work which they explain, I had more time to make them, though as little to
write them. It would be needless to give here a large account of my
performance; for, after all, you readers care no more for this or that
apology, or pretence of Mr. Translator, if the version does not please you,
than we do for a blundering cook's excuse after he has spoiled a good dish
in the dressing. Nor can the first pretend to much praise, besides that of
giving his author's sense in its full extent, and copying his style, if it
is to be copied; since he has no share in the invention or disposition of
what he translates. Yet there was no small difficulty in doing Rabelais
justice in that double respect; the obsolete words and turns of phrase, and
dark subjects, often as darkly treated, make the sense hard to be
understood even by a Frenchman, and it cannot be easy to give it the free
easy air of an original; for even what seems most common talk in one
language, is what is often the most difficult to be made so in another; and
Horace's thoughts of comedy may be well applied to this:
Creditur, ex medio quia res arcessit, habere
Sudoris minimum; sed habet commoedia tantum
Plus oneris, quanto veniae minus.
Far be it from me, for all this, to value myself upon hitting the words of
cant in which my drolling author is so luxuriant; for though such words
have stood me in good stead, I scarce can forbear thinking myself unhappy
in having insensibly hoarded up so much gibberish and Billingsgate trash in
my memory; nor could I forbear asking of myself, as an Italian cardinal
said on another account, D'onde hai tu pigliato tante coglionerie? Where
the devil didst thou rake up all these fripperies?
It was not less difficult to come up to the author's sublime expressions.
Nor would I have attempted such a task, but that I was ambitious of giving
a view of the most valuable work of the greatest genius of his age, to the
Mecaenas and best genius of this. For I am not overfond of so ungrateful a
task as translating, and would rejoice to see less versions and more
originals; so the latter were not as bad as many of the first are, through
want of encouragement. Some indeed have deservedly gained esteem by
translating; yet not many condescend to translate, but such as cannot
invent; though to do the first well requires often as much genius as to do
the latter.
I wish, reader, thou mayest be as willing to do my author justice, as I
have strove to do him right. Yet, if thou art a brother of the quill, it
is ten to one thou art too much in love with thy own dear productions to
admire those of one of thy trade. However, I know three or four who have
not such a mighty opinion of themselves; but I'll not name them, lest I
should be obliged to place myself among them. If thou art one of those
who, though they never write, criticise everyone that does; avaunt!--Thou
art a professed enemy of mankind and of thyself, who wilt never be pleased
nor let anybody be so, and knowest no better way to fame than by striving
to lessen that of others; though wouldst thou write thou mightst be soon
known, even by the butterwomen, and fly through the world in bandboxes. If
thou art of the dissembling tribe, it is thy office to rail at those books
which thou huggest in a corner. If thou art one of those eavesdroppers,
who would have their moroseness be counted gravity, thou wilt condemn a
mirth which thou art past relishing; and I know no other way to quit the
score than by writing (as like enough I may) something as dull, or duller
than thyself, if possible. If thou art one of those critics in dressing,
those extempores of fortune, who, having lost a relation and got an estate,
in an instant set up for wit and every extravagance, thou'lt either praise
or discommend this book, according to the dictates of some less foolish
than thyself, perhaps of one of those who, being lodged at the sign of the
box and dice, will know better things than to recommend to thee a work
which bids thee beware of his tricks. This book might teach thee to leave
thy follies; but some will say it does not signify much to some fools
whether they are so or not; for when was there a fool that thought himself
one? If thou art one of those who would put themselves upon us for learned
men in Greek and Hebrew, yet are mere blockheads in English, and patch
together old pieces of the ancients to get themselves clothes out of them,
thou art too severely mauled in this work to like it. Who then will? some
will cry. Nay, besides these, many societies that make a great figure in
the world are reflected on in this book; which caused Rabelais to study to
be dark, and even bedaub it with many loose expressions, that he might not
be thought to have any other design than to droll; in a manner bewraying
his book that his enemies might not bite it. Truly, though now the riddle
is expounded, I would advise those who read it not to reflect on the
author, lest he be thought to have been beforehand with them, and they be
ranked among those who have nothing to show for their honesty but their
money, nothing for their religion but their dissembling, or a fat benefice,
nothing for their wit but their dressing, for their nobility but their
title, for their gentility but their sword, for their courage but their
huffing, for their preferment but their assurance, for their learning but
their degrees, or for their gravity but their wrinkles or dulness. They
had better laugh at one another here, as it is the custom of the world.
Laughing is of all professions; the miser may hoard, the spendthrift
squander, the politician plot, the lawyer wrangle, and the gamester cheat;
still their main design is to be able to laugh at one another; and here
they may do it at a cheap and easy rate. After all, should this work fail
to please the greater number of readers, I am sure it cannot miss being
liked by those who are for witty mirth and a chirping bottle; though not by
those solid sots who seem to have drudged all their youth long only that
they might enjoy the sweet blessing of getting drunk every night in their
old age. But those men of sense and honour who love truth and the good of
mankind in general above all other things will undoubtedly countenance this
work. I will not gravely insist upon its usefulness, having said enough of
it in the preface (Motteux' Preface to vol. I of Rabelais, ed. 1694.) to
the first part. I will only add, that as Homer in his Odyssey makes his
hero wander ten years through most parts of the then known world, so
Rabelais, in a three months' voyage, makes Pantagruel take a view of almost
all sorts of people and professions; with this difference, however, between
the ancient mythologist and the modern, that while the Odyssey has been
compared to a setting sun in respect to the Iliads, Rabelais' last work,
which is this Voyage to the Oracle of the Bottle (by which he means truth)
is justly thought his masterpiece, being wrote with more spirit, salt, and
flame, than the first part of his works. At near seventy years of age, his
genius, far from being drained, seemed to have acquired fresh vigour and
new graces the more it exerted itself; like those rivers which grow more
deep, large, majestic, and useful by their course. Those who accuse the
French of being as sparing of their wit as lavish of their words will find
an Englishman in our author. I must confess indeed that my countrymen and
other southern nations temper the one with the other in a manner as they do
their wine with water, often just dashing the latter with a little of the
first. Now here men love to drink their wine pure; nay, sometimes it will
not satisfy unless in its very quintessence, as in brandies; though an
excess of this betrays want of sobriety, as much as an excess of wit
betrays a want of judgment. But I must conclude, lest I be justly taxed
with wanting both. I will only add, that as every language has its
peculiar graces, seldom or never to be acquired by a foreigner, I cannot
think I have given my author those of the English in every place; but as
none compelled me to write, I fear to ask a pardon which yet the generous
temper of this nation makes me hope to obtain. Albinus, a Roman, who had
written in Greek, desired in his preface to be forgiven his faults of
language; but Cato asked him in derision whether any had forced him to
write in a tongue of which he was not an absolute master. Lucullus wrote a
history in the same tongue, and said he had scattered some false Greek in
it to let the world know it was the work of a Roman. I will not say as
much of my writings, in which I study to be as little incorrect as the
hurry of business and shortness of time will permit; but I may better say,
as Tully did of the history of his consulship, which he also had written in
Greek, that what errors may be found in the diction are crept in against my
intent. Indeed, Livius Andronicus and Terence, the one a Greek, the other
a Carthaginian, wrote successfully in Latin, and the latter is perhaps the
most perfect model of the purity and urbanity of that tongue; but I ought
not to hope for the success of those great men. Yet am I ambitious of
being as subservient to the useful diversion of the ingenious of this
nation as I can, which I have endeavoured in this work, with hopes to
attempt some greater tasks if ever I am happy enough to have more leisure.
In the meantime it will not displease me, if it is known that this is given
by one who, though born and educated in France, has the love and veneration
of a loyal subject for this nation, one who, by a fatality, which with many
more made him say,
Nos patriam fugimus et dulcia linquimus arva,
is obliged to make the language of these happy regions as natural to him as
he can, and thankfully say with the rest, under this Protestant government,
Deus nobis haec otia fecit.
The Author's Epistle Dedicatory.
To the most Illustrious Prince and most Reverend Lord Odet, Cardinal de
Chastillon.
You know, most illustrious prince, how often I have been, and am daily
pressed and required by great numbers of eminent persons, to proceed in the
Pantagruelian fables; they tell me that many languishing, sick, and
disconsolate persons, perusing them, have deceived their grief, passed
their time merrily, and been inspired with new joy and comfort. I commonly
answer that I aimed not at glory and applause when I diverted myself with
writing, but only designed to give by my pen, to the absent who labour
under affliction, that little help which at all times I willingly strive to
give to the present that stand in need of my art and service. Sometimes I
at large relate to them how Hippocrates in several places, and particularly
in lib. 6. Epidem., describing the institution of the physician his
disciple, and also Soranus of Ephesus, Oribasius, Galen, Hali Abbas, and
other authors, have descended to particulars, in the prescription of his
motions, deportment, looks, countenance, gracefulness, civility,
cleanliness of face, clothes, beard, hair, hands, mouth, even his very
nails; as if he were to play the part of a lover in some comedy, or enter
the lists to fight some enemy. And indeed the practice of physic is
properly enough compared by Hippocrates to a fight, and also to a farce
acted between three persons, the patient, the physician, and the disease.
Which passage has sometimes put me in mind of Julia's saying to Augustus
her father. One day she came before him in a very gorgeous, loose,
lascivious dress, which very much displeased him, though he did not much
discover his discontent. The next day she put on another, and in a modest
garb, such as the chaste Roman ladies wore, came into his presence. The
kind father could not then forbear expressing the pleasure which he took to
see her so much altered, and said to her: Oh! how much more this garb
becomes and is commendable in the daughter of Augustus. But she, having
her excuse ready, answered: This day, sir, I dressed myself to please my
father's eye; yesterday, to gratify that of my husband. Thus disguised in
looks and garb, nay even, as formerly was the fashion, with a rich and
pleasant gown with four sleeves, which was called philonium according to
Petrus Alexandrinus in 6. Epidem., a physician might answer to such as
might find the metamorphosis indecent: Thus have I accoutred myself, not
that I am proud of appearing in such a dress, but for the sake of my
patient, whom alone I wholly design to please, and no wise offend or
dissatisfy. There is also a passage in our father Hippocrates, in the book
I have named, which causes some to sweat, dispute, and labour; not indeed
to know whether the physician's frowning, discontented, and morose Catonian
look render the patient sad, and his joyful, serene, and pleasing
countenance rejoice him; for experience teaches us that this is most
certain; but whether such sensations of grief or pleasure are produced by
the apprehension of the patient observing his motions and qualities in his
physician, and drawing from thence conjectures of the end and catastrophe
of his disease; as, by his pleasing look, joyful and desirable events, and
by his sorrowful and unpleasing air, sad and dismal consequences; or
whether those sensations be produced by a transfusion of the serene or
gloomy, aerial or terrestrial, joyful or melancholic spirits of the
physician into the person of the patient, as is the opinion of Plato,
Averroes, and others.
Above all things, the forecited authors have given particular directions to
physicians about the words, discourse, and converse which they ought to
have with their patients; everyone aiming at one point, that is, to rejoice
them without offending God, and in no wise whatsoever to vex or displease
them. Which causes Herophilus much to blame the physician Callianax, who,
being asked by a patient of his, Shall I die? impudently made him this
answer:
Patroclus died, whom all allow
By much a better man than you.
Another, who had a mind to know the state of his distemper, asking him,
after our merry Patelin's way: Well, doctor, does not my water tell you I
shall die? He foolishly answered, No; if Latona, the mother of those
lovely twins, Phoebus and Diana, begot thee. Galen, lib. 4, Comment. 6.
Epidem., blames much also Quintus his tutor, who, a certain nobleman of
Rome, his patient, saying to him, You have been at breakfast, my master,
your breath smells of wine; answered arrogantly, Yours smells of fever;
which is the better smell of the two, wine or a putrid fever? But the
calumny of certain cannibals, misanthropes, perpetual eavesdroppers, has
been so foul and excessive against me, that it had conquered my patience,
and I had resolved not to write one jot more. For the least of their
detractions were that my books are all stuffed with various heresies, of
which, nevertheless, they could not show one single instance; much, indeed,
of comical and facetious fooleries, neither offending God nor the king (and
truly I own they are the only subject and only theme of these books), but
of heresy not a word, unless they interpreted wrong, and against all use of
reason and common language, what I had rather suffer a thousand deaths, if
it were possible, than have thought; as who should make bread to be stone,
a fish to be a serpent, and an egg to be a scorpion. This, my lord,
emboldened me once to tell you, as I was complaining of it in your
presence, that if I did not esteem myself a better Christian than they show
themselves towards me, and if my life, writings, words, nay thoughts,
betrayed to me one single spark of heresy, or I should in a detestable
manner fall into the snares of the spirit of detraction, Diabolos, who, by
their means, raises such crimes against me; I would then, like the phoenix,
gather dry wood, kindle a fire, and burn myself in the midst of it. You
were then pleased to say to me that King Francis, of eternal memory, had
been made sensible of those false accusations; and that having caused my
books (mine, I say, because several, false and infamous, have been wickedly
laid to me) to be carefully and distinctly read to him by the most learned
and faithful anagnost in this kingdom, he had not found any passage
suspicious; and that he abhorred a certain envious, ignorant, hypocritical
informer, who grounded a mortal heresy on an n put instead of an m by the
carelessness of the printers.
As much was done by his son, our most gracious, virtuous, and blessed
sovereign, Henry, whom Heaven long preserve! so that he granted you his
royal privilege and particular protection for me against my slandering
adversaries.
You kindly condescended since to confirm me these happy news at Paris; and
also lately, when you visited my Lord Cardinal du Bellay, who, for the
benefit of his health, after a lingering distemper, was retired to St.
Maur, that place (or rather paradise) of salubrity, serenity, conveniency,
and all desirable country pleasures.
Thus, my lord, under so glorious a patronage, I am emboldened once more to
draw my pen, undaunted now and secure; with hopes that you will still prove
to me, against the power of detraction, a second Gallic Hercules in
learning, prudence, and eloquence; an Alexicacos in virtue, power, and
authority; you, of whom I may truly say what the wise monarch Solomon saith
of Moses, that great prophet and captain of Israel, Ecclesiast. 45: A man
fearing and loving God, who found favour in the sight of all flesh,
well-beloved both of God and man; whose memorial is blessed. God made him
like to the glorious saints, and magnified him so, that his enemies stood in
fear of him; and for him made wonders; made him glorious in the sight of
kings, gave him a commandment for his people, and by him showed his light;
he sanctified him in his faithfulness and meekness, and chose him out of all
men. By him he made us to hear his voice, and caused by him the law of life
and knowledge to be given.
Accordingly, if I shall be so happy as to hear anyone commend those merry
composures, they shall be adjured by me to be obliged and pay their thanks
to you alone, as also to offer their prayers to Heaven for the continuance
and increase of your greatness; and to attribute no more to me than my
humble and ready obedience to your commands; for by your most honourable
encouragement you at once have inspired me with spirit and with invention;
and without you my heart had failed me, and the fountain-head of my animal
spirits had been dry. May the Lord keep you in his blessed mercy!
My Lord,
Your most humble, and most devoted Servant,
Francis Rabelais, Physician.
Paris, this 28th of January, MDLII.
The Author's Prologue.
Good people, God save and keep you! Where are you? I can't see you:
stay--I'll saddle my nose with spectacles--oh, oh! 'twill be fair anon: I
see you. Well, you have had a good vintage, they say: this is no bad news
to Frank, you may swear. You have got an infallible cure against thirst:
rarely performed of you, my friends! You, your wives, children, friends,
and families are in as good case as hearts can wish; it is well, it is as I
would have it: God be praised for it, and if such be his will, may you
long be so. For my part, I am thereabouts, thanks to his blessed goodness;
and by the means of a little Pantagruelism (which you know is a certain
jollity of mind, pickled in the scorn of fortune), you see me now hale and
cheery, as sound as a bell, and ready to drink, if you will. Would you
know why I'm thus, good people? I will even give you a positive answer
--Such is the Lord's will, which I obey and revere; it being said in his
word, in great derision to the physician neglectful of his own health,
Physician, heal thyself.
Galen had some knowledge of the Bible, and had conversed with the
Christians of his time, as appears lib. 11. De Usu Partium; lib. 2. De
Differentiis Pulsuum, cap. 3, and ibid. lib. 3. cap. 2. and lib. De Rerum
Affectibus (if it be Galen's). Yet 'twas not for any such veneration of
holy writ that he took care of his own health. No, it was for fear of
being twitted with the saying so well known among physicians:
Iatros allon autos elkesi bruon.
He boasts of healing poor and rich,
Yet is himself all over itch.