|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 16
(1)The Greek _rombos_ [transliterated], mentioned by Lucian and Theocritus,
was the magical weapon of the Australians--the _turndun_.
Yes, Lucian, we are the same vain creatures of doubt and dread, of unbelief
and credulity, of avarice and pretence, that you knew, and at whom you smiled.
Nay, our very 'social question' is not altered. Do you not write, in 'The
Runaways,' 'The artisans will abandon their workshops, and leave their trades,
when they see that, with all the labour that bows their bodies from dawn to
dark, they make a petty and starveling pittance, while men that toil not nor
spin are floating in Pactolus'?
They begin to see this again as of yore; but whether the end of their vision
will be a laughing matter, you, fortunate Lucian, do not need to care. Hail to
you, and farewell!
VII.
To Maitre Francoys Rabelais.
Of the Coming of the Coqcigrues.
Master,-- In the Boreal and Septentrional lands, turned aside from the noonday
and the sun, there dwelt of old (as thou knowest, and as Olaus voucheth) a
race of men, brave, strong, nimble, and adventurous, who had no other care but
to fight and drink. There, by reason of the cold (as Virgil witnesseth), men
break wine with axes. To their minds, when once they were dead and gotten to
Valhalla, or the place of their Gods, there would be no other pleasure but to
swig, tipple, drink, and boose till the coming of that last darkness and
Twilight, wherein they, with their deities, should do battle against the
enemies of all mankind; which day they rather desired than dreaded.
So chanced it also with Pantagruel and Brother John and their company, after
they had once partaken of the secret of the _Dive Bouteille_. Thereafter they
searched no longer; but, abiding at their ease, were merry, frolic, jolly,
gay, glad, and wise; only that they always and ever did expect the awful
Coming of the Coqcigrues. Now concerning the day of that coming, and the
nature of them that should come, they knew nothing; and for his part Panurge
was all the more adread, as Aristotle testifieth that men (and Panurge above
others) most fear that which they know least. Now it chanced one day, as they
sat at meat, with viands rare, dainty, and precious as ever Apicius dreamed
of, that there fluttered on the air a faint sound as of sermons, speeches,
orations, addresses, discourses, lectures, and the like; whereat Panurge,
pricking up his ears, cried, 'Methinks this wind bloweth from Midlothian,' and
so fell a trembling.
Next, to their aural orifices, and the avenues audient of the brain, was borne
a very melancholy sound as of harmoniums, hymns, organ-pianos, psalteries, and
the like, all playing different airs, in a kind most hateful to the Muses.
Then said Panurge, as well as he might for the chattering of his teeth: 'May I
never drink if here come not the Coqcigrues!' and this saying and prophecy of
his was true and inspired. But thereon the others began to mock, flout, and
gird at Panurge for his cowardice. 'Here am I!' cried Brother John,
'well-armed and ready to stand a siege; being entrenched, fortified, hemmed-in
and surrounded with great pasties, huge pieces of salted beef, salads,
fricassees, hams, tongues, pies, and a wilderness of pleasant little tarts,
jellies, pastries, trifles, and fruits of all kinds, and I shall not thirst
while I have good wells, founts, springs, and sources of Bordeaux wine,
Burgundy, wine of the Champagne country, sack and Canary. A fig for thy
Coqcigrues!'
But even as he spoke there ran up suddenly a whole legion, or rather army, of
physicians, each armed with laryngoscopes, stethoscopes, horoscopes,
microscopes, weighing machines, and such other tools, engines, and arms as
they had who, after thy time, persecuted Monsieur de Pourceaugnac! And they
all, rushing on Brother John, cried out to him, 'Abstain! Abstain!' And one
said, 'I have well diagnosed thee, and thou art in a fair way to have the
gout.' 'I never did better in my days,' said Brother John. 'Away with thy
meats and drinks!' they cried. And one said, 'He must to Royat;' and another,
'Hence with him to Aix;' and a third, 'Banish him to Wiesbaden;' and a
fourth, 'Hale him to Gastein;' and yet another, 'To Barbouille with him in
chains!'
And while others felt his pulse and looked at his tongue, they all wrote
prescriptions for him like men mad. 'For thy eating,' cried he that seemed to
be their leader, 'No soup!' 'No soup!' quoth Brother John; and those cheeks of
his, whereat you might have warmed your two hands in the winter solstice, grew
white as lilies. 'Nay! and no salmon nor any beef nor mutton! A little chicken
by times, but _periculo tuo_! Nor any game, such as grouse, partridge,
pheasant, capercailzie, wild duck; nor any cheese, nor fruit, nor pastry, nor
coffee, nor eau de vie; and avoid all sweets. No veal, pork, nor made dishes
of any kind.' 'Then what may I eat?' quoth the good Brother, whose valour had
oozed out of the soles of his sandals. 'A little cold bacon at breakfast--no
eggs,' quoth the leader of the strange folk, 'and a slice of toast without
butter.' 'And for thy drink'-- ('What?' gasped Brother John)--'one
dessert-spoonful of whisky, with a pint of the water of Apollinaris at
luncheon and dinner. No more!' At this Brother John fainted, falling like a
great buttress of a hill, such as Taygetus or Erymanthus.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|