[I write this now not so that you should adopt such virtuous ways, but rather that you should take delight in so living and having so lived, giving you fresh courage to do the same in the future.]
You may well remember how I spared no effort to accomplish and perfect this enterprise: rather did I help you as though I had no other treasure in this world than to see you, once in my life, both fully perfected in virtue, honour and wisdom and also in all liberal and honourable knowledge, so to leave you when I die as a mirror reflecting the persona of me, your father, and if not actually as excellent as I could wish you to be, yet certainly such in your desire.
And even though Grandgousier, my late father of grateful memory, devoted all his zeal towards having me progress towards every perfection and polite learning, and even though my toil and study did correspond very closely to his desire – indeed surpassed them – nevertheless, as you can well understand, those times were neither so opportune nor convenient for learning as they now are, and I never had an abundance of such tutors as you have. The times were still dark, redolent of the disaster and calamity of the Goths, who had brought all sound learning to destruction; but, by the goodness of God, light and dignity have been restored to literature during my lifetime: and I can see such an improvement that I would hardly be classed nowadays among the first form of little grammar-schoolboys, I who (not wrongly) was reputed the most learned of my century as a young man.
I do not say that out of vain bragging – even though I could well and laudably do so when writing to you, for which you have the authority of Cicero in his book On Old Age and the judgement of Plutarch in his book entitled How One May Praise Oneself without Envy – but to give you a passion for tending higher.
Now all disciplines have been brought back; languages have been restored: Greek – without which it is a disgrace that any man should call himself a scholar – Hebrew, Chaldaean, Latin; elegant and accurate books are now in use, printing having been invented in my lifetime through divine inspiration just as artillery, on the contrary, was invented through the prompting of the devil. The whole world is now full of erudite persons, full of very learned teachers and of the most ample libraries, such indeed that I hold that it was not as easy to study in the days of Plato, Cicero nor Papinian as it is now.
From henceforth no one should be found in any position or company who has not been well burnished in the workshop of Minerva. I see even today’s brigands, hangmen, mercenaries and stable-lads better taught than the teachers and preachers of my day. [What shall I say?] Even the very women and children have aspired to such praise and to the heavenly manna of sound learning. Things are such that I have had to learn to read Greek literature at my age! I had never despised it as Cato did, but when I was young I never had the means of mastering it. Now I readily delight in reading the Moral Writings of Plutarch, the beautiful Dialogues of Plato, the Monuments of Pausanias and the Antiquities of Athenaeus, as I await the hour when it shall please God my Maker to summon and command me to quit this world.
That is why, my son, I urge you to employ your youth in making good progress in study [and virtue]. You are in Paris; Epistemon your tutor is with you; both can teach you: one directly and orally, the other by laudable examples.
I intend and will that you acquire a perfect command of languages – first Greek (as Quintilian wishes), secondly Latin, and then Hebrew for the Holy Scriptures, as well as Chaldaean and Arabic likewise – and that, for your Greek, you mould your style by imitating Plato, and for your Latin, Cicero.
Let there be no history which you do not hold ready in memory: to help you, you have the cosmographies of those who have written on the subject.
When you were still very young – about five or six – I gave you a foretaste of geometry, arithmetic and music among the liberal arts. Follow that up with the other arts. Know all the canons of astronomy, but leave judicial astrology and the Art of Lullius alone as abuses and vanities.
I want you to learn all of the beautiful texts of Civil Law by heart and compare them to moral philosophy.
And as for the knowledge of natural phenomena, I want you to apply yourself to it with curiosity: let there be no sea, river or stream the fishes of which you do not know. Know all the birds of the air, all the trees, bushes and shrubs of the forests, all the herbs in the soil, all the metals hidden deep in the womb of the Earth, the precious stones of all the Orient and the South: let none remain unknown to you.
Then frequent the books of the ancient medical writers, Greek, Arabic and Latin, without despising the Talmudists or the Cabbalists; and by frequent dissections acquire a perfect knowledge of that other world which is Man.
And for a few hours every day start to study the Sacred Writings: first the Gospels and Epistles of the Apostles in Greek, then the Old Testament in Hebrew.
In short, let me see you an abyss of erudition.
For from henceforth, now that you are growing up into manhood, it behoves you to issue forth from that calm and restful pursuit of knowledge and to learn chivalry and the handling of arms so as to defend my House and come to the help of our friends in all their troubles against the assaults of evil-doers.
And then I want you shortly to find out how much you have profited, which you can best do by defending theses in any field of knowledge, in public, with anyone, against anyone and by haunting learned men both in Paris and elsewhere.
But since, according to Solomon, ‘Wisdom will not enter a soul which diviseth evil,’ and since ‘Science without conscience is but the ruination of the soul,’ you should serve, love and fear God, fixing all your thoughts and hopes in Him, and, by faith informed with charity, live conjoined to Him in such a way as never to be cut off from Him by sin.
Beware of this world’s deceits. Give not your mind unto vanity, for this is a transitory life, but the word of God endureth for ever. Be of service to your neighbours and love them as yourself. Venerate your teachers. Flee the company of those whom you do not wish to resemble; and the gifts of grace which God has bestowed upon you receive you not in vain. Then once you know that you have acquired all there is to learn over there, come back to me so that I may see you and give you my blessing before I die.
My son: the peace and grace of our Lord be with you.
Amen.
From Utopia,
this seventh day of the month of March.
Your father,
GARGANTUA.
Once that letter was received and read, Pantagruel took new heart; he was so burning to improve himself even further that if you had seen him improving himself by study you would have said that his mind was so tireless and keen among his books that it was like a flame among the heather.
How Pantagruel met Panurge, whom he loved all his life
CHAPTER 9
[Every language has to be invented, accepted by convention and learnt. (Rabelais here, follows Aristotle.) Unknown languages may seem awesome or funny. In the Quartier Latin of Paris Latin held sway but one also heard the many languages of the ‘Nations’ studying there. Most readers find it tiresome to try to make out what the following languages mean. At all events they are above all used for the comic effect of their sounds on ears attuned to French.
Rabelais was not restricting himself to tongues he knew. The Scots for example is garbled; no attempt was ever made to put it right, yet there were plenty of Scots in Paris. (It can still be amusing to hear this chapter read aloud by a good mimic. Since Rabelais added new languages the joke must have gone down well. A few readers must have played with the coded, invented tongues.) There are invented languages in More’s Utopia, and also in the Farce of Maître Pathelin.
What each of the languages approximately means is given in the footnotes – reluctantly: they are best enjoyed for their sounds.
Panurge’s name is from the Greek for a wiley man, a trickster.]
Pantagruel was outside the city one day, strolling near the Abbaye de Saint-Antoine, discussing and philosophizing with his followers an
d some students, when he met a man handsomely built and elegant in all his bodily lineaments but piteously injured here and there and so bedraggled that he looked as if he had just escaped from a pack of dogs, or better still like an apple-picker from the orchards of Perche.
As soon as he descried him afar off, Pantagruel said to those around him:
‘Do you see that man coming along the road from the Pont de Charenton? I swear he is poor only by chance, for I assure you from reading his face that Nature produced him from some rich and noble ancestry, but the trials which befall folk who are eager for knowledge have reduced him to such poverty and penury.’
As soon as the man came right up to them Pantagruel asked:
‘My friend, I beg you to be good enough to stay here a while and answer what I ask. You will never regret it, for I have a very great desire to give you all the help I can in the wretched state I see you in; for you move me to great pity. So, my friend, tell me: who are you? Where are you coming from? Where are you going to? What are you in quest of? And what is your name?’
That companion answered in a Germanic tongue:
‘Juncker, Gott geb euch glück unnd hail. Zuvor, lieber Juncker, ich las euch wissen das da ir mich von fragt, ist ein arm unnd erbarmglich ding, unnd wer vil daw on zu sagen, welches euch verdruslich zu hoeren, unnd mir zu erzelen wer, vievol die Poeten unnd Orators vorzeiten hahen gesagt in irem Spürchen unnd Sentenzen, das die Gedechtnus des Ellends unnd Armuot vorlangs erlitten ist ain grosser Lust.’20
To which Pantagruel replied:
‘My Friend, I can’t understand that gibble-gabble. Speak a different language if you want people to understand you.’
Whereupon the companion replied:
‘Al barildim gotfano dech min brin alabo dordin falbroth ringuam albaras. Nin porth zadikim almucathin milko prin al elmim enthoth dal heben ensouim; kuthim al dum alkatim nim broth dechoth porth min michais im endoth, pruch dal maisoulum hol moth dansrilrim lupaldas im voldemoth. Nin hur diavosth mnarbotim dal gousch palfrapin duch im scoth pruch galeth dal Chinon min foulchrich al conin butathen doth dal prim.’21
Pantagruel asked those around him, ‘Did you get any of that?
Epistemon replied,
‘It’s the language of the Antipodes, I think. The devil himself couldn’t sink his teeth into it!’
Pantagruel then said,
‘The walls might understand you, my good fellow but none of us can understand one bit of it!’
To which the companion replied:
‘Signor mio, voi videte per exemplo che la cornamusa non suona mai, s’ela non a il ventre pieno; cosi io parimente non vi saprei contare le mie fortune, se prima il tribulato ventre non a la solita refectione, al quale è adviso che le mani et li denti abbui perso il loro or dine naturale et del tuto annichillati.’22
Epistemon rejoined: ‘One is as bad as the other!’
So Panurge then said:
[‘Lard, ghest tholb be sua virtiuss be intelligence ass yi body schal biss be naturall relvtht, tholb suld of me pety have, for nature hass ulss egualy maide; bot fortune sum exaltit bess, an oyis deprevit. Non ye less viois mou virtius deprevit and virtiuss men discrivis, for, anen ye lad end, iss non gud.’23
‘Worse still’ said Pantagruel.
Whereupon Panurge said:
‘Jona andie, guaussa goussyetan behar da erremedio, beharde, versela ysser lan da. Anbates, otoyyes nausu, eyn essassu gourr ay proposian ordine den. Non yssena bayta fascheria egabe, genherassy badia sadassu nour assia. Aran hondovan gualde eydassu nay dassuna. Estou oussyc eguinan soury hin, er darstura eguy harm, Genicoa plasar vadu.’24
‘Genicoa?’ Eudemon replied, ‘Are you there?’
To which Carpalim added,
‘By Sain Tringan, either I fail to understan’ ye, or shoo cum fra Scotlan.’
Panurge then answered him:
‘Prug frest strinst sorgdmand strochdt drhds pag brledand Gravot Chavigny Pomardiere rusth pkallhdracg Deviniere près Nays, Bcuille kalmuch monach drupp delmeupplistrincq dlrnd dodelb up drent loch minc stzrinquald de vins ders cordelis hur jocststzampenards.’25
Whereupon Epistcmon said:
‘Are you speaking Christian, or the Pathelinese tongue? No: the language of the Lanterns.’
To which Panurge said:]
‘Herre, ie en spreke anders gheen taele dan kersten taele; my dunct nochtans, al en seg ie ν niel een wordt, myuen noot ν claert ghenonch wat ie beglere; gheest my unyt bermherticheyt yet waer un ie ghevoet mach zunch.’26
Pantagruel’s reaction was: ‘Enough of that!’
But Panurge said:
‘Señor, de tanto hablar yo soy cansado. For que supplico a Vostra Reverentia que mire a los preceptos evangeliquos, para que ellos movant Vostra Reverentia a lo qu’es de conscientia, y, sy ellos non bastarent para mover Vostra Reverentia a piedad, supplico que mire a la piedad natural, la qual yo creo que le movra, como es de razon, y con esto non digo mas.’27
Pantagruel commented:
‘Gosh, my friend, I have no doubt that you can speak several languages well, but tell us what you want in one we can understand!’
[The companion then said:
‘Myn Herre, endog jeg med inghen tunge talede, lygesom boeen, ocg uskvvlig creatner! myne kleebon, och myne legoms magerbed uudviser allygue klalig buvad tyng meg meest behoff girereb, som aer sandeligh mad och dryeke: hwarfor forbarme teg omsyder offvermeg, och bef ael at gyffuc meg nogeth, aff huylket jeg kand styre myne groeendes maghe, lygeruss son mand Cerbero en soppe forsetthr. Soa shal tue loeffve lenge och lyksalight.’28
‘I think,’ said Eusthenes, ‘that the Goths spoke like that, and thus would we speak through our bums if God so wished.’]
Whereupon the companion said:
‘Adoni, scolom lecha. Im ischar harob hal habdeca, beme-herah thithen li kikar lehem, chancathub: Laah al Adonai chonen ral.’29
‘That,’ replied Epistemon, ‘I do understand! That’s ancient Hebrew, pronounced as an orator should.’
Whereupon that companion said:
‘Despota ti nyn panagathe, doiti sy mi uc artodotis? Horas gar limo analiscomenon eme atlhios. Ce en to mctaxy eleis uc eleis udamos, zetis de par emu ha u chre, ce homos philologi pamdes homologusi tote logus te ce rhemeta peritta hyrparchin, opote pragma afto pasi delon esti. Entha gar anancei monon logi isin, hina pragmata, (bon peri amphibetumen), me phos-phoros epihenete.’30
‘Why!’ cried Carpalim, Pantagruel’s footman, ‘Greek, that is! I could understand it! How come? Have you ever lived in Greece?’
The companion then said:
‘Agonou dont oussys vou denaguez algarou, nou den farou zamist vous mariston ulbrou, fousquez vou brol tam bredaguez moupreton den goul houst, daguez daguez nou croupys fost bardounnoflist nou grou. Agou paston tol nalprissys hourtou los echatonous prou dhouquys brol panygou den baserou noudous caguons goulfren goul oust troppassou.’
‘I fancy I do understand that,’ said Pantagruel. ‘It’s the language of my homeland, Utopia. Or else it sounds very like it.’31
And as he was about to make a speech the companion interrupted him:
‘Jam toties vos per sacra perque deos deasque omnis obtestatus sum ut, si qua vos pietas permovet, egestatem meam solaremini, nec hilum proficio clamans et ejulans. Sinite, queso, sinite, viri impii quo me fata vocant abire, nec ultra vanis vestris interpellationibus obtundatis, memores veteris illius adagi quo venter famelicus auriculis carere dicitur.’32
‘Gosh, my friend,’ said Pantagruel, ‘can’t you speak French?’
The companion replied:
‘Yes I do. Very well, my Lord. French is, thank God, my native tongue, my mother tongue, for I was born and brought up in the Garden of France, [in Touraine, that is].’
‘Well then,’ said Pantagruel, ‘tell us your name and where you come from; for, upon my word, I feel so great a friendship for you that, if you will condescend to do as I wish, you shall never budge from my side: you and I will form a new brace of friends, like Aeneas
and Achates.’
‘My Lord,’ said the companion, ‘my real and true baptismal name is Panurge. I am now on my way from Turkey, where I was taken captive during the disaster of Mytilene. I would love to tell you of my adventures, which are more wonderful than those of Ulysses; but since you kindly wish to retain me with you – and since I willingly accept that offer, vowing never to leave you even if you were to go to all the devils – we shall at some more convenient time find ample leisure for relating them.
‘Just now I have a more pressing necessity: to feed! Everything is ready: sharp teeth, empty belly, dry throat [and screaming appetite]. If you will please set me to work, you will find it soothing to watch me tuck in.
‘Do give the order, for God’s sake!’
Pantagruel then commanded that Panurge be taken to his lodgings and brought plenty of food. And it was done: that evening he fed very well, went to roost early and slept round to dinnertime next day [, so that from bed to table he made but three-skips-and-a-jump].
How Pantagruel fairly judged an amazingly hard and obscure controversy so equitably that his judgement was termed more wonderful than that of Solomon’s
CHAPTER 9 bis
[In the original edition this chapter is erroneously numbered 9 like the previous one.
Bumkis renders Baisecul and Slurp-ffart Humevene.
An adage of Erasmus (III, IV, LXXXIII: ‘A deaf man went to law with a deaf man: the judge was deafer still’) sums up the course of the following three-part farce. Erasmus extends the adage to the stupidly incoherent. Rabelais applies it to the incomprehensibly verbose. Here we have lawyers’ jokes against legal proceedings partly conceived in the spirit of Maître Pathelin and partly arising from a medieval legal belief that the Greeks, misunderstanding the ‘natural’ gestures of the Romans and taking them for signs of profundity, judged the Romans worthy of learning from them the principles of law. Cf. chapter 13.
Not all the legal authorities laughed at here are dismissed with scorn – it is not in the spirit of Shrovetide fun to do so – though several are, since Rabelais supports humanist Law in the Gallic Mode. Guillaume Budé was its champion. Humanist Law depreciates much of the work of the great glossators whose copious glosses swamped the texts with dense, cramped, workaday Latin. The Gallic Mode favoured the study of the meanings of texts with the aid of the widest historical and semantic erudition. Like Budé Rabelais believed that law should be conceived as moral philosophy. Hence the condemnation of Cepola, who was renowned for his ‘stratagems’ designed to get guilty clients out of scrapes.
Gargantua and Pantagruel Page 9