READINGS FROM RABELAIS.

BOOK I.

THE MOST HORRIFIC LIFE OF THE

GREAT GARGANTUA,

FATHER OF PANTAGRUEL.

THE AUTHOR'S PROLOGUE.

MOST illustrious drinkers-for to you, and none else, do I dedicate my writings-Alcibiades, in that dialogue of Plato's, which is entitled "The Banquet," whilst he was setting forth the praises of his master Socrates, without all question the prince of philosophers, amongst other things, said that he resembled the Sileni. Sileni of old were little boxes, like those we now may see in the shops of apothecaries, painted on the upper part with wanton toyish figures, as harpies, satyrs,

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bridled geese, horned hares, ducks with packsaddles, flying goats, harts in shafts, and other such pictures counterfeited at pleasure to excite people unto laughter, as Silenus himself, who was the master of the good Bacchus, was wont to do; but within were carefully preserved fine drugs, such as balm, ambergris, amomon, musk, civet, with precious stones, and other things of great price. Such, he said, was Socrates: for to have eyed his outside, and esteemed him by his exterior appearance, you would not have given the beard of an onion for him, so ugly he was in body, and ridiculous in his mien. He had a sharp-pointed nose, the look of a bull, and countenance of a fool; he was in his manners simple, boorish in his apparel, in fortune poor, unhappy in his wife, unfit for all offices in the commonwealth; always drinking, always carousing with every one, always mocking, always dissimulating his divine knowledge. But, opening this box, you would have found within it a heavenly and inestimable drug, a more than human understanding, admirable virtues, invincible courage, unequalled sobriety, certain contentment, perfect assurance, an incredible disregard of all that for which men commonly do so much watch, run, toil, navigate, and do battle.

Whereunto, in your opinion, doth this little flourish of a preamble tend? Forasmuch as you, my good disciples, and some other fools of leisure,

reading the joyous titles of some books of our invention, as 'Gargantua,' ' Pantagruel,'' Whippot,'

Pease and Bacon, with a commentary,' are too ready to judge, that there is nothing in them but jests, mockeries, and recreative lies; because the outside ensign-which is the title is commonly received without further inquiry with scoffing and derision. But truly it is unbeseeming with such frivolity to estimate the works of men, seeing yourselves avouch that it is not the habit that makes the monk, and such an one is accoutred in habit monachal who inwardly is nothing less than monachal; and such an one is clothed in Spanish cape, who in valour in no way belongs to Spain. Therefore is it that you must open the book, and seriously weigh the matter treated in it. Then shall you find that the drug therein contained is of far higher value than the box did promise; that is to say, that the matters herein treated are not so foolish as the title above might pretend.

And put the case, that in the literal sense you meet with matters merry enough, and correspondent to the title; yet must not you stop there as at the song of the Sirens, but interpret in a higher sense that which possibly you thought said in gaiety of heart. Did you ever pick the lock of a bottle? Call to mind the countenance which then you had. Or, did you ever see a dog when he met with a marrow-bone? He is the beast