Gargantua and Pantagruel Part 47

Bottle, whose Mysterious Deep Do's ten thousand Secrets keep, With attentive Ear I wait; Ease my Mind, and speak my Fate.

Soul of Joy! Like Bacchus, we More than India gain by thee.

Truths unborn thy Juice reveals, Which Futurity conceals.

Antidote to Frauds and Lies, Wine, that mounts us to the Skies, May thy Father Noah's Brood Like him drown, but in thy Flood.

Speak, so may the Liquid Mine Of Rubies, or of Diamonds shine.

Bottle, whose Mysterious Deep Do's ten thousand Secrets keep, With attentive Ear I wait; Ease my Mind, and speak my Fate.

When Panurge had sung, Bacbuc threw I don't know what into the fountain, and straight its water began to boil in good earnest, just for the world as doth the great monastical pot at Bourgueil when 'tis high holiday there. Friend Panurge was listening with one ear, and Bacbuc kneeled by him, when such a kind of humming was heard out of the Bottle as is made by a swarm of bees bred in the flesh of a young bull killed and dressed according to Aristaeus's art, or such as is made when a bolt flies out of a crossbow, or when a shower falls on a sudden in summer. Immediately after this was heard the word Trinc. By cob's body, cried Panurge, 'tis broken, or cracked at least, not to tell a lie for the matter; for even so do crystal bottles speak in our country when they burst near the fire.

Bacbuc arose, and gently taking Panurge under the arms, said, Friend, offer your thanks to indulgent heaven, as reason requires. You have soon had the word of the G.o.ddess-Bottle; and the kindest, most favourable, and certain word of answer that I ever yet heard her give since I officiated here at her most sacred oracle. Rise, let us go to the chapter, in whose gloss that fine word is explained. With all my heart, quoth Panurge; by jingo, I am just as wise as I was last year. Light, where's the book? Turn it over, where's the chapter? Let's see this merry gloss.

Chapter 5.XLV.-How Bacbuc explained the word of the G.o.ddess-Bottle.

Bacbuc having thrown I don't know what into the fountain, straight the water ceased to boil; and then she took Panurge into the greater temple, in the central place, where there was the enlivening fountain.

There she took out a hugeous silver book, in the shape of a half-tierce, or hogshead, of sentences, and, having filled it at the fountain, said to him, The philosophers, preachers, and doctors of your world feed you up with fine words and cant at the ears; now, here we really incorporate our precepts at the mouth. Therefore I'll not say to you, read this chapter, see this gloss; no, I say to you, taste me this fine chapter, swallow me this rare gloss. Formerly an ancient prophet of the Jewish nation ate a book and became a clerk even to the very teeth! Now will I have you drink one, that you may be a clerk to your very liver. Here, open your mandibules.

Panurge gaping as wide as his jaws would stretch, Bacbuc took the silver book-at least we took it for a real book, for it looked just for the world like a breviary-but in truth it was a breviary, a flask of right Falernian wine as it came from the grape, which she made him swallow every drop.

By Bacchus, quoth Panurge, this was a notable chapter, a most authentic gloss, o' my word. Is this all that the trismegistian Bottle's word means? I' troth, I like it extremely; it went down like mother's milk. Nothing more, returned Bacbuc; for Trinc is a panomphean word, that is, a word understood, used and celebrated by all nations, and signifies drink.

Some say in your world that sack is a word used in all tongues, and justly admitted in the same sense among all nations; for, as Aesop's fable hath it, all men are born with a sack at the neck, naturally needy and begging of each other; neither can the most powerful king be without the help of other men, or can anyone that's poor subsist without the rich, though he be never so proud and insolent; as, for example, Hippias the philosopher, who boasted he could do everything. Much less can anyone make shift without drink than without a sack. Therefore here we hold not that laughing, but that drinking is the distinguishing character of man. I don't say drinking, taking that word singly and absolutely in the strictest sense; no, beasts then might put in for a share; I mean drinking cool delicious wine. For you must know, my beloved, that by wine we become divine; neither can there be a surer argument or a less deceitful divination. Your ('Varro.'-Motteux) academics a.s.sert the same when they make the etymology of wine, which the Greeks call OINOS, to be from vis, strength, virtue, and power; for 'tis in its power to fill the soul with all truth, learning, and philosophy.

If you observe what is written in Ionic letters on the temple gate, you may have understood that truth is in wine. The G.o.ddess-Bottle therefore directs you to that divine liquor; be yourself the expounder of your undertaking.

It is impossible, said Pantagruel to Panurge, to speak more to the purpose than does this true priestess; you may remember I told you as much when you first spoke to me about it.

Trinc then: what says your heart, elevated by Bacchic enthusiasm?

With this quoth Panurge: Trinc, trinc; by Bacchus, let us tope, And tope again; for, now I hope To see some brawny, juicy rump Well tickled with my carnal stump.

Ere long, my friends, I shall be wedded, Sure as my trap-stick has a red-head; And my sweet wife shall hold the combat Long as my baws can on her b.u.m beat.

O what a battle of a- fighting Will there be, which I much delight in!

What pleasing pains then shall I take To keep myself and spouse awake!

All heart and juice, I'll up and ride, And make a d.u.c.h.ess of my bride.

Sing Io paean! loudly sing To Hymen, who all joys will bring.

Well, Friar John, I'll take my oath, This oracle is full of troth; Intelligible truth it bears, More certain than the sieve and shears.

Chapter 5.XLVI.-How Panurge and the rest rhymed with poetic fury.

What a pox ails the fellow? quoth Friar John. Stark staring mad, or bewitched, o' my word! Do but hear the chiming dotterel gabble in rhyme. What o' devil has he swallowed? His eyes roll in his loggerhead just for the world like a dying goat's. Will the addle-pated wight have the grace to sheer off? Will he rid us of his d.a.m.ned company, to go s.h.i.te out his nasty rhyming balderdash in some bog-house? Will n.o.body be so kind as to cram some dog's-bur down the poor cur's gullet? or will he, monk-like, run his fist up to the elbow into his throat to his very maw, to scour and clear his flanks? Will he take a hair of the same dog?

Pantagruel chid Friar John, and said: Bold monk, forbear! this, I'll a.s.sure ye, Proceeds all from poetic fury; Warmed by the G.o.d, inspired with wine, His human soul is made divine.

For without jest, His hallowed breast, With wine possessed, Could have no rest Till he'd expressed Some thoughts at least Of his great guest.

Then straight he flies Above the skies, And mortifies, With prophecies, Our miseries.

And since divinely he's inspired, Adore the soul by wine acquired, And let the tosspot be admired.

How, quoth the friar, the fit rhyming is upon you too? Is't come to that? Then we are all peppered, or the devil pepper me. What would I not give to have Gargantua see us while we are in this maggotty crambo-vein! Now may I be cursed with living on that d.a.m.ned empty food, if I can tell whether I shall scape the catching distemper. The devil a bit do I understand which way to go about it; however, the spirit of fustian possesses us all, I find. Well, by St. John, I'll poetize, since everybody does; I find it coming. Stay, and pray pardon me if I don't rhyme in crimson; 'tis my first essay.

Thou, who canst water turn to wine, Transform my b.u.m, by power divine, Into a lantern, that may light My neighbour in the darkest night.

Panurge then proceeds in his rapture, and says: From Pythian Tripos ne'er were heard More truths, nor more to be revered.

I think from Delphos to this spring Some wizard brought that conjuring thing.

Had honest Plutarch here been toping, He then so long had ne'er been groping To find, according to his wishes, Why oracles are mute as fishes At Delphos. Now the reason's clear; No more at Delphos they're, but here.

Here is the tripos, out of which Is spoke the doom of poor and rich.

For Athenaeus does relate This Bottle is the Womb of Fate; Prolific of mysterious wine, And big with prescience divine, It brings the truth with pleasure forth; Besides you ha't a pennyworth.

So, Friar John, I must exhort you To wait a word that may import you, And to inquire, while here we tarry, If it shall be your luck to marry.

Friar John answers him in a rage, and says: How, marry! By St. Bennet's boot, And his gambadoes, I'll never do't.

No man that knows me e'er shall judge I mean to make myself a drudge; Or that pilgarlic e'er will dote Upon a paltry petticoat.

I'll ne'er my liberty betray All for a little leapfrog play; And ever after wear a clog Like monkey or like mastiff-dog.

No, I'd not have, upon my life, Great Alexander for my wife, Nor Pompey, nor his dad-in-law, Who did each other clapperclaw.

Not the best he that wears a head Shall win me to his truckle-bed.

Panurge, pulling off his gaberdine and mystical accoutrements, replied: Wherefore thou shalt, thou filthy beast, Be d.a.m.ned twelve fathoms deep at least; While I shall reign in Paradise, Whence on thy loggerhead I'll p.i.s.s.

Now when that dreadful hour is come, That thou in h.e.l.l receiv'st thy doom, E'en there, I know, thou'lt play some trick, And Proserpine shan't scape a p.r.i.c.k Of the long pin within thy breeches.

But when thou'rt using these capriches, And caterwauling in her cavern, Send Pluto to the farthest tavern For the best wine that's to be had, Lest he should see, and run horn-mad.

She's kind, and ever did admire A well-fed monk or well-hung friar.

Go to, quoth Friar John, thou old noddy, thou doddipolled ninny, go to the devil thou'rt prating of. I've done with rhyming; the rheum gripes me at the gullet. Let's talk of paying and going; come.

Chapter 5.XLVII.-How we took our leave of Bacbuc, and left the Oracle of the Holy Bottle.

Do not trouble yourself about anything here, said the priestess to the friar; if you be but satisfied, we are. Here below, in these circ.u.mcentral regions, we place the sovereign good, not in taking and receiving, but in bestowing and giving; so that we esteem ourselves happy, not if we take and receive much of others, as perhaps the sects of teachers do in your world, but rather if we impart and give much. All I have to beg of you is that you leave us here your names in writing, in this ritual. She then opened a fine large book, and as we gave our names one of her mystagogues with a gold pin drew some lines on it, as if she had been writing; but we could not see any characters.

This done, she filled three gla.s.ses with fantastic water, and giving them into our hands, said, Now, my friends, you may depart, and may that intellectual sphere whose centre is everywhere and circ.u.mference nowhere, whom we call G.o.d, keep you in his almighty protection. When you come into your world, do not fail to affirm and witness that the greatest treasures and most admirable things are hidden underground, and not without reason.

Ceres was worshipped because she taught mankind the art of husbandry, and by the use of corn, which she invented, abolished that beastly way of feeding on acorns; and she grievously lamented her daughter's banishment into our subterranean regions, certainly foreseeing that Proserpine would meet with more excellent things, more desirable enjoyments, below, than she her mother could be blessed with above.

What do you think is become of the art of forcing the thunder and celestial fire down, which the wise Prometheus had formerly invented? 'Tis most certain you have lost it; 'tis no more on your hemisphere; but here below we have it. And without a cause you sometimes wonder to see whole towns burned and destroyed by lightning and ethereal fire, and are at a loss about knowing from whom, by whom, and to what end those dreadful mischiefs were sent. Now, they are familiar and useful to us; and your philosophers who complain that the ancients have left them nothing to write of or to invent, are very much mistaken. Those phenomena which you see in the sky, whatever the surface of the earth affords you, and the sea, and every river contain, is not to be compared with what is hid within the bowels of the earth.

For this reason the subterranean ruler has justly gained in almost every language the epithet of rich. Now when your sages shall wholly apply their minds to a diligent and studious search after truth, humbly begging the a.s.sistance of the sovereign G.o.d, whom formerly the Egyptians in their language called The Hidden and the Concealed, and invoking him by that name, beseech him to reveal and make himself known to them, that Almighty Being will, out of his infinite goodness, not only make his creatures, but even himself known to them.

Thus will they be guided by good lanterns. For all the ancient philosophers and sages have held two things necessary safely and pleasantly to arrive at the knowledge of G.o.d and true wisdom; first, G.o.d's gracious guidance, then man's a.s.sistance.

So, among the philosophers, Zoroaster took Arimaspes for the companion of his travels; Aesculapius, Mercury; Orpheus, Musaeus; Pythagoras, Aglaophemus; and, among princes and warriors, Hercules in his most difficult achievements had his singular friend Theseus; Ulysses, Diomedes; Aeneas, Achates. You followed their examples, and came under the conduct of an ill.u.s.trious lantern. Now, in G.o.d's name depart, and may he go along with you!

THE END OF THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE HEROIC DEEDS AND SAYINGS OF THE n.o.bLE PANTAGRUEL. PANTAGRUEL.