Gargantua and Pantagruel

by François Rabelais

  ‘I’m prepared to believe that those ancient statues are well made, but by Saint Ferreol of Abbeville, the young wenches of our countryside are a thousand times more winsome!’

  ‘You can always find monks in kitchens,’ said Frère Jean, ‘but never kings, popes or emperors. What does that signify? What does it mean?’ ‘Is it, replied Rhizotome, ‘some latent power, some specific property, hidden within the cooking-pots and the cooking-racks which attracts monks as the magnet attracts iron, without attracting kings, popes or emperors? Or is it some natural inductive power or proclivity inherent in frocks and cowls which of itself induces and propels good monks into kitchens even though they have never elected or decided to go there?’25

  ‘He means Forms seeking matter,’ said Epistemon. ‘Averroës puts it that way.’26

  ‘Yeah. Yeah!’ said Frère Jean.

  ‘What I am going to tell you,’ said Pantagruel, ‘is no answer to the problem you propose, which is rather a thorny one: you could hardly touch it without pricking your fingers. But I remember having read that Antigonus, King of Macedonia, went into his field-kitchen one day, and, finding the poet Antagoras there with the pan actually in his hands, preparing a fry-up of eels, asked him with a sneer, “Was Homer frying conger-eels when he described the prowesses of Agamemnon?”

  ‘“But, O King,” replied Antagoras, “do you think that when Agamemnon was performing those prowesses he ever thought of asking whether anyone in his camp was frying up eels?”

  ‘To the king it seemed improper for a poet to be making a fry-up in the field-kitchen: the poet retorted that it was far more shocking to come across a king in a kitchen.’27

  [‘I can huff you on that,’ said Panurge, ‘by citing you what Breton Villandry replied one day to my lord the Duc de Guise. They were discussing some battle or other of King François against the Emperor Charles the Fifth; Breton had been resplendently armoured, especially with greaves and shoes of steel; he was well mounted yet had never seen any of the fighting.

  ‘“Upon my faith,” said Breton, “I was there all right, and it is easy for me to prove that I was in fact in a place where you would never have dared to go.”

  ‘His lord the Duke took offence at those words as being too arrogantly and insolently uttered. He raised the tone. Breton easily quietened him down amongst general laughter:

  ‘“I was,” he said, “with the baggage-train: where your sense of honour would never have allowed you to hide as I was doing.”’]

  With such small-talk they came to their ships, and lingered no longer on that island of Cheli.

  How Pantagruel passed Procuration; and of the strange way of life amongst the Chicanous

  CHAPTER 12

  [On this island dwell ‘Procureers’ (pejoratively named ‘Procurators’, adepts at wrangling) and ‘Chicanous’ (litigious lawyers, adepts in chicanery, who serve their writs aggressively in the hope of earning damages for assault and battery). There is a sustained play on the expression passer procuration, to ‘pass’ procuration, that is to grant power of attorney. Here Procuration is an island which can be ‘passed’ (that is, visited en route).

  In ‘48 this is Chapter 6. It is entitled How we passed Procuration… etc., and begins: Full and replete after the good treatment by King Panigon, we continued on our route. The next day we passed Procuration, which is a land all scrabbled up…

  Over half this chapter (beginning ‘“What was it?” asked Pantagruel’) and all of Chapters 13, 14, 15 and the beginning of Chapter 16 were added in ‘52. There is about to begin a superb example of the comedy of cruelty: its laughter depends on the dehumanizing of the Chicanous.

  Many cultures use painful practices to impress events on people’s minds. Choirboys used not to beat the bounds but to be beaten at them; a sharp pinch-and-a-punch marks the start of a new month. Blows and buffets reminded men that the newly wed bride was indeed a bride, to be treated from now on as a matron.

  Basché is a real place and the Seigneur de Basché was a real man who apparently had a quarrel with the Prior of Saint-Louand. Behind the conte and the laughter lie real events.]

  Continuing on our way, the next day we passed Procuration, which is a land all pawed over and scrabbled up. I could make nothing of it. There we saw Procureers and Chicanous – a hairy tribe. They never invited us to eat or to drink: after a multiplicity of learned bows they simply told us that they were ours to command – for a fee.

  One of our interpreters told Pantagruel how these people earn their living in a very odd way. It is diametrically opposed to that of the inhabitants of Rome. In Rome an infinite number of people earn their living by poisoning, beating and killing: it is by being beaten that the Chicanous earn theirs, in such a manner that were they to go for long without a beating they would die of starvation, they, their wives and their children.

  ‘They,’ said Panurge, ‘are like those men who, as Galen reports, cannot get their vena cava up above the belt of the equator without a good whipping! On the contrary: if anyone were to whip me like that he would, by Saint Thibault, unsaddle me [by all the devils].’

  ‘This is how they do it,’ said the interpreter. ‘Whenever a [monk,] priest, usurer or lawyer has it in for some local nobleman, he despatches one of those Chicanous to him. Chicanous, following his written instructions, will issue him with a summons, serve a writ on him, insolently affront him and outrageously abuse him so that the nobleman (unless he is suffering from paralysis of the brain and is as dull as a tadpole) will be constrained to batter him about the head with the flat of his sword or thwack him on the back of his thighs, or (better still) chuck him down from the battlements or windows of his château.

  ‘Once that is achieved, Chicanous is rich for the next four months as though beatings were for him Nature’s harvest, for he will have such a good fee from his monk, usurer or lawyer,28 together with damages so huge and excessive against the nobleman, that the said nobleman may lose everything he possesses, running the risk of wretchedly rotting away in prison as though he had struck the king.’

  ‘Against such a misfortune,’ said Panurge, ‘I know a very good remedy. It was used by the Seigneur de Basché.’

  [‘What was it?’ asked Pantagruel.

  ‘The Seigneur de Basché,’ said Panurge, ‘was a courageous man, virtuous, great-souled and chivalrous. On his return from a certain long war in which the Duke of Ferrara, with the aid of the French, valiantly defended himself against the fury of Pope Julius the Second, he was daily summoned, cited and chicaneered to serve as a pleasant pastime for the fat prior of Saint-Louand.

  ‘Basché, being gracious and debonair, was breakfasting one day with his people when he sent for his baker (whose name was Loyre) and his wife as well as for as the curé of his parish (whose name was Oudart and who served as his wine-steward, as was then the custom in France). Then in the presence of the noblemen and others of his household he said:

  ‘“You can see, my dears, into what exasperation I am daily provoked by those good-for-nothing Chicanous. I’ve made up my mind: unless you help me I shall leave the country and, damme, join the Sultan! From now on, whenever they come in, you Loyre and your wife must be ready to appear in my Great Hall clad in your fine wedding garments as though you were being married, exactly as when you were actually married. Take this: here are a hundred gold crowns which I give to you to maintain your robes in good condition. And you, Sir Oudart, do not fail to be there with them in your best surplice and stole and with holy water as though to marry them. And you, Trudon – that was the name of his drummer-boy – you must be there with your fife and tabor. When the declaration is pronounced and the bride duly kissed to the sound of the tabor, you will all give each other those little buffets with the fist which are reminders of wedlock. You will sup all the better for it. But when it comes to Chicanous, thrash him like green rye! Don’t spare him. Beat him, I pray. Biff him. Bash him. Look: I give you here and now these brand-new jousting-gauntlets, covered with goatskin. Don’t c
ount your blows: rain them down on him from right and left. Whoever plasters him best I will declare to be the one who loves me most. Have no fear of being arraigned for it. I shall vouch for you all. Following the custom honoured at weddings, such blows shall be given in jest!”

  ‘“Indeed yes,” said Oudart; “but how shall we recognize Chicanous, for people arrive in your house every day from all over the place.”

  ‘“I have seen to that,” replied Basché. “Whenever there arrives at our gates a fellow, on foot or ill-enough mounted, wearing a big, fat silver signet-ring on his thumb, that will be Chicanous. Once he has courteously ushered him in the gate-keeper will toll the bell. Be ready then and come into Hall in order to act out the tragic-comedy which I have outlined to you.”

  ‘Now, as God so willed, there arrived that very day an ancient, portly, red-faced Chicanous. As he rang the bell at the gate he was recognized by the gate-keeper by his thick, dirty stockings, his wretched mare, the linen-bag full of summonses attached to his belt, and notably by the big silver signet-ring on his left thumb. The gate-keeper was most courteous; he ushered him in most honourably and then merrily tolled the bell. At the sound of which Loyre and his wife donned their fine vestments and, with a straight face, appeared in Hall. Oudart put on his surplice and his stole. As he came out of his buttery he encountered Chicanous. He brought him back into the buttery for a lengthy drink while people on all sides were pulling on gauntlets; he then said to him: “You could not have come at a better time. Master is in the best of moods: soon we shall have plenty of good cheer. They’ll be ladling it out. We’re in the midst of a wedding. Here. Have a drink and be merry.”

  ‘Whilst Chicanous was downing his drinks, Basché, seeing his people in Hall all duly equipped, sent for Oudart.

  ‘Oudart arrived, bearing the holy water.

  ‘Chicanous followed after him. Coming into the Hall he did not forget to make several humble bows. He served his writ on Basché; Basché gave him the warmest of welcomes, bestowed on him a gold coin (an angelot) and prayed him to be present at the contract and the marriage. Which was done.

  ‘Towards the end, buffets from fists began to fly about; but when it came to the turn of Chicanous they regaled him so thoroughly with great biffs from their gauntlets that he stood there all battered and bruised, with one eye poached in black butter, eight fractured ribs, his breast-plate stoven in, his shoulder-blades in four quarters and his lower jaw in three pieces.

  ‘And all done with a laugh.

  ‘God only knows how Oudart operated, hiding under the sleeve of his surplice a heavy steel gauntlet covered with ermine, for he was a mighty fellow.

  ‘And thus did Chicanous return to l’Ile-Bouchart, striped like a tiger yet most pleased and satisfied with the Seigneur de Basché. And thanks to the care of the good local surgeons he lived… as long as you like. Never again was he spoken of. All memory of him died away with the sound of the bells which tolled as he was laid in the ground.’

  How, following the example of François Villon, the Seigneur de Basché lauds his people

  CHAPTER 13

  [The macaronic verse is not translated by Rabelais: it is translated here.

  Rabelais’ tale of Villon is fanciful, but, insofar as the refusal to lend church vestments is concerned, quite realistic. There were known quarrels on the subject.

  Rabelais treats us to more comedy of cruelty.]

  ‘Once Chicanous had left the château and mounted his monocular steed (as he called his one-eyed mare), Basché, sitting beneath the arbour of his private garden, sent servants to find his wife, her ladies and all his household; he ordered up dessert wines accompanied by a number of pasties, hams, fruits and cheeses; then, light-heartedly drinking with his folk, he said to them:

  ‘“When he was getting on, Maître François Villon retired to Saint-Maixent-en-Poitou under the patronage of a good man, the local abbot. There, to entertain the people, he took on the task of producing a Passion-play following the traditions and patois of Poitou. The parts were distributed, the players rehearsed and the theatre made ready; he then told the mayor and the magistrates that the mystery-play could be ready by the end of the Niort Fair; all that remained was to find the right costumes for the characters. The mayor and the magistrates made the arrangements. Villon, to dress up an elderly peasant who was playing God the Father, begged Frère Etienne Tappecoue, the sacristan of the local Franciscans, to lend him a cope and a stole. Tappecoue refused, maintaining that it was rigorously forbidden in their provincial statutes to give or lend anything to actors. Villon contended that the statute applies merely to farces, mummeries and licentious plays, and that he had seen it so interpreted in Brussels and elsewhere. Tappecoue nevertheless peremptorily told him that he could get them from somebody else if he liked but might hope for nothing from the sacristy: he would get nothing from there, and that was flat.

  ‘“Villon reported that to the players with great disgust, adding that God would very soon inflict on Tappecoue exemplary punishment and retribution. On the following Saturday Villon was advised that Tappecoue, mounted on Foal – that was their name in the convent for a mare not yet leapt – had gone to Saint-Ligaire in quest of alms and would be on his way back by about two o’clock in the afternoon. Whereupon he paraded all his devils through the town and marketplace. Those devils of his were all bedizened with wolf-skins, veal-skins and goatskins enhanced by sheep’s-heads, cow’s horns and great pothooks from the kitchen; they were girded about with stout leathern belts from which dangled great cow-bells and mule-jingles making a frightening din. Some held in their hands black staves studded with squibs; others carried long, lighted torches on to which, at every cross-road, they flung handfuls of powdered resin from which issued terrifying fire and smoke. After having thus paraded them to the delight of the townsfolk and the terror of the little children, Villon eventually led them off to feast in a country inn outside of gates on the road to Saint-Ligaire. As they arrived at the inn, Villon caught sight of Tappecoue on his way back from his alms-raising and said to them in macaronic verse:

  Hic est de patria, natus de gente belistra

  Qui solet antiquo bribas portare bisacco.

  (Here comes a fellow, true born of the race of the Cadgers: A man who bears old scraps in his battered old wallet.)

  ‘“By the death of Gosh,” the devils then said, “he refused to lend a wretched cope to God the Father. Let’s give him a fright!”

  ‘“Well said,” answered Villon, “but let’s hide until he comes by. And prepare your squibs and fire-brands.”

  ‘When Tappecoue did arrive at the spot, they all sprang into the road in front of him, making a great hullabaloo, chucking fireworks at him and his mule from every side, clashing their cymbals and yelling like the devil:

  ‘“Hho, hho, hho, hho. Brrrourrrourrr, rrrourrrs, rrrourrrs. Hou, hou, hou. Hho, hho, hho. We make fine devils, don’t we, Frère Etienne!”

  ‘Foal was quite terrified; she proceeded to trot and fart and bound and gallop, lashing out, bucking about and kicking out with her heels while letting off a great volley of farts, so much so that she threw Tappecoue, who nevertheless clung on to the pommel of the saddle with ah his might. Now his stirrups were made of plaited cord, and one of his open-work sandals got so tangled up in the off-side stirrup that he could not tug it free. And thus was he dragged behind, skinning his bum, while the terrified Foal doubled and redoubled her kicks as she took the wrong track through hedge, bush and ditch so that she battered in his entire skull: his brains fell out near the Hosanna Cross, followed by his shattered arms, one here, one there, and likewise his legs; then she made a long fleshy trail of his guts, with the result that when Foal arrived at the convent all she bore of him was his right foot entangled in its sandal. Villon, seeing that it had turned out as he had intended, said to the devils, “You will act well, Messieurs les Diables, you will act well, I assure you. Oh, how well you will do it! I defy all the actor-devils of Saumur, Doué, Montmorillon
, Langeais, Saint-Espin, Angers and indeed by God those of the Great Hall of Poitiers, should they ever chance to be compared with you. Oh, how well you will act!”

  ‘“I can foresee,” said Basché, “that from now on you too, my good friends, will act well in this tragic farce, seeing that at our first try-out and run-through Chicanous was so thoroughly bashed, whacked and clobbered by you. I here and now double all your wages. You, my dear,” he said to his wife, “distribute any presents you like. All my worldly goods are in your hands and looked after by you. As for me: first, I drink to you all, my good friends. Well, now, this wine is nice and cool. Second: you, my Steward can take this silver basin. I give it to you. And you, Esquires, take these two silver-gilt goblets. You pages: no beatings for the next three months! My dear, give them those beautiful white plumes of mine with the golden pendants. To you, Sir Oudart, I give this silver flagon; and the other one I give to the cooks. To the chamber-lads I give this silver basket; to the stable-boys this silver-gilt sauce-boat; to the gate-keepers I give these two plates; to the mule-boys, these ten spoons. Trudon: you take all these silver spoons and this confit-dish. And you lackeys, take this great salt-cellar.

  ‘“Serve me well my friends and I shall never forget it. And, God almighty! believe you me, I would rather endure in the wars a hundred blows from maces on my helmet in the interests of such a good king as ours than be served with one writ by those dogs of Chicanous to provide a pastime for our fat Prior.”’

  Chicanous drubbed in the house of Basché: continued

  CHAPTER 14