No More Learning

Come
on! let us be of good cheer. Noble captain, returned the kitchen tribe,
this was spoken like yourself; bravely offered. Huzza! we are all at your
excellency's command, and we live and die by you. Live, live, said Friar
John, a God's name; but die by no means. That is the Chitterlings' lot;
they shall have their bellyful of it. Come on then, let us put ourselves
in order; Nabuzardan's the word.



Chapter 4. XL.

How Friar John fitted up the sow; and of the valiant cooks that went into
it.

Then, by Friar John's order, the engineers and their workmen fitted up the
great sow that was in the ship Leathern Bottle. It was a wonderful
machine, so contrived that, by means of large engines that were round about
it in rows, it throw'd forked iron bars and four-squared steel bolts; and
in its hold two hundred men at least could easily fight, and be sheltered.
It was made after the model of the sow of Riole, by the means of which
Bergerac was retaken from the English in the reign of Charles the Sixth.

Here are the names of the noble and valiant cooks who went into the sow, as
the Greeks did into the Trojan horse:

Sour-sauce. Crisp-pig. Carbonado.
Sweet-meat. Greasy-slouch. Sop-in-pan.
Greedy-gut. Fat-gut. Pick-fowl.
Liquorice-chops. Bray-mortar. Mustard-pot.
Soused-pork. Lick-sauce. Hog's-haslet.
Slap-sauce. Hog's-foot. Chopped-phiz.
Cock-broth. Hodge-podge. Gallimaufry.
Slipslop.

All these noble cooks in their coat-of-arms did bear, in a field gules, a
larding-pin vert, charged with a chevron argent.

Lard, hog's-lard. Pinch-lard. Snatch-lard.
Nibble-lard. Top-lard. Gnaw-lard.
Filch-lard. Pick-lard. Scrape-lard.
Fat-lard. Save-lard. Chew-lard.

Gaillard (by syncope) born near Rambouillet. The said culinary doctor's
name was Gaillardlard, in the same manner as you use to say idolatrous for
idololatrous.

Stiff-lard. Cut-lard. Waste-lard.
Watch-lard. Mince-lard. Ogle-lard.
Sweet-lard. Dainty-lard. Weigh-lard.
Eat-lard. Fresh-lard. Gulch-lard.
Snap-lard. Rusty-lard. Eye-lard.
Catch-lard.

Names unknown among the Marranes and Jews.

Ballocky. Thirsty. Porridge-pot.
Pick-sallat. Kitchen-stuff. Lick-dish.
Broil-rasher. Verjuice. Salt-gullet.
Coney-skin. Save-dripping. Snail-dresser.
Dainty-chops. Watercress. Soup-monger.
Pie-wright. Scrape-turnip. Brewis-belly.
Pudding-pan. Trivet. Chine-picker.
Toss-pot. Monsieur Ragout. Suck-gravy.
Mustard-sauce. Crack-pipkin. Macaroon.
Claret-sauce. Scrape-pot. Skewer-maker.
Swill-broth.

Smell-smock. He was afterwards taken from the kitchen and removed to
chamber-practice, for the service of the noble Cardinal Hunt-venison.

Rot-roast. Hog's gullet. Fox-tail.
Dish-clout. Sirloin. Fly-flap.
Save-suet. Spit-mutton. Old Grizzle.
Fire-fumbler. Fritter-frier. Ruff-belly.
Pillicock. Flesh-smith. Saffron-sauce.
Long-tool. Cram-gut. Strutting-tom.
Prick-pride. Tuzzy-mussy. Slashed-snout.
Prick-madam. Jacket-liner. Smutty-face.
Pricket. Guzzle-drink.

Mondam, that first invented madam's sauce, and for that discovery was thus
called in the Scotch-French dialect.

Loblolly. Sloven. Trencher-man.
Slabber-chops. Swallow-pitcher. Goodman Goosecap.
Scum-pot. Wafer-monger. Munch-turnip.
Gully-guts. Snap-gobbet. Pudding-bag.
Rinse-pot. Scurvy-phiz. Pig-sticker.
Drink-spiller.

Robert. He invented Robert's sauce, so good and necessary for roasted
coneys, ducks, fresh pork, poached eggs, salt fish, and a thousand other
such dishes.

Cold-eel. Frying-pan. Big-snout.
Thornback. Man of dough. Lick-finger.
Gurnard. Sauce-doctor. Tit-bit.
Grumbling-gut. Waste-butter. Sauce-box.
Alms-scrip. Shitbreech. All-fours.
Taste-all. Thick-brawn. Whimwham.
Scrap-merchant. Tom T--d. Baste-roast.
Belly-timberman. Mouldy-crust. Gaping-hoyden.
Hashee. Hasty. Calf's-pluck.
Frig-palate. Red-herring. Leather-breeches.
Powdering-tub. Cheesecake.

All these noble cooks went into the sow, merry, cheery, hale, brisk, old
dogs at mischief, and ready to fight stoutly. Friar John ever and anon
waving his huge scimitar, brought up the rear, and double-locked the doors
on the inside.



Chapter 4. XLI.

How Pantagruel broke the Chitterlings at the knees.

The Chitterlings advanced so near that Pantagruel perceived that they
stretched their arms and already began to charge their lances, which caused
him to send Gymnast to know what they meant, and why they thus, without the
least provocation, came to fall upon their old trusty friends, who had
neither said nor done the least ill thing to them. Gymnast being advanced
near their front, bowed very low, and said to them as loud as ever he
could: We are friends, we are friends; all, all of us your friends, yours,
and at your command; we are for Carnival, your old confederate. Some have
since told me that he mistook, and said cavernal instead of carnival.

Whatever it was, the word was no sooner out of his mouth but a huge little
squab Sausage, starting out of the front of their main body, would have
griped him by the collar. By the helmet of Mars, said Gymnast, I will
swallow thee; but thou shalt only come in in chips and slices; for, big as
thou art, thou couldst never come in whole. This spoke, he lugs out his
trusty sword, Kiss-mine-arse (so he called it) with both his fists, and cut
the Sausage in twain. Bless me, how fat the foul thief was! it puts me in
mind of the huge bull of Berne, that was slain at Marignan when the drunken
Swiss were so mauled there. Believe me, it had little less than four
inches' lard on its paunch.

The Sausage's job being done, a crowd of others flew upon Gymnast, and had
most scurvily dragged him down when Pantagruel with his men came up to his
relief. Then began the martial fray, higgledy-piggledy. Maul-chitterling
did maul chitterlings; Cut-pudding did cut puddings; Pantagruel did break
the Chitterlings at the knees; Friar John played at least in sight within
his sow, viewing and observing all things; when the Pattipans that lay in
ambuscade most furiously sallied out upon Pantagruel.

Friar John, who lay snug all this while, by that time perceiving the rout
and hurlyburly, set open the doors of his sow and sallied out with his
merry Greeks, some of them armed with iron spits, others with andirons,
racks, fire-shovels, frying-pans, kettles, grid-irons, oven forks, tongs,
dripping pans, brooms, iron pots, mortars, pestles, all in battle array,
like so many housebreakers, hallooing and roaring out all together most
frightfully, Nabuzardan, Nabuzardan, Nabuzardan. Thus shouting and hooting
they fought like dragons, and charged through the Pattipans and Sausages.
The Chitterlings perceiving this fresh reinforcement, and that the others
would be too hard for 'em, betook themselves to their heels, scampering off
with full speed, as if the devil had come for them. Friar John, with an
iron crow, knocked them down as fast as hops; his men, too, were not
sparing on their side. Oh, what a woeful sight it was!
the field was all
over strewed with heaps of dead or wounded Chitterlings; and history
relates that had not heaven had a hand in it, the Chitterling tribe had
been totally routed out of the world by the culinary champions. But there
happened a wonderful thing, you may believe as little or as much of it as
you please.

From the north flew towards us a huge, fat, thick, grizzly swine, with long
and large wings, like those of a windmill; its plumes red crimson, like
those of a phenicoptere (which in Languedoc they call flaman); its eyes
were red, and flaming like a carbuncle; its ears green, like a Prasin
emerald; its teeth like a topaz; its tail long and black, like jet; its
feet white, diaphanous and transparent like a diamond, somewhat broad, and
of the splay kind, like those of geese, and as Queen Dick's used to be at
Toulouse in the days of yore. About its neck it wore a gold collar, round
which were some Ionian characters, whereof I could pick out but two words,
US ATHENAN, hog-teaching Minerva.

The sky was clear before; but at that monster's appearance it changed so
mightily for the worse that we were all amazed at it. As soon as the
Chitterlings perceived the flying hog, down they all threw their weapons
and fell on their knees, lifting up their hands joined together, without
speaking one word, in a posture of adoration. Friar John and his party
kept on mincing, felling, braining, mangling, and spitting the Chitterlings
like mad; but Pantagruel sounded a retreat, and all hostility ceased.

The monster having several times hovered backwards and forwards between the
two armies, with a tail-shot voided above twenty-seven butts of mustard on
the ground; then flew away through the air, crying all the while, Carnival,
Carnival, Carnival.



Chapter 4. XLII.

How Pantagruel held a treaty with Niphleseth, Queen of the Chitterlings.

The monster being out of sight, and the two armies remaining silent,
Pantagruel demanded a parley with the lady Niphleseth, Queen of the
Chitterlings, who was in her chariot by the standards; and it was easily
granted. The queen alighted, courteously received Pantagruel, and was glad
to see him. Pantagruel complained to her of this breach of peace; but she
civilly made her excuse, telling him that a false information had caused
all this mischief; her spies having brought her word that Shrovetide, their
mortal foe, was landed, and spent his time in examining the urine of
physeters.

She therefore entreated him to pardon them their offence, telling him that
sir-reverence was sooner found in Chitterlings than gall; and offering, for
herself and all her successors, to hold of him and his the whole island and
country; to obey him in all his commands, be friends to his friends, and
foes to his foes; and also to send every year, as an acknowledgment of
their homage, a tribute of seventy-eight thousand royal Chitterlings, to
serve him at his first course at table six months in the year; which was
punctually performed. For the next day she sent the aforesaid quantity of
royal Chitterlings to the good Gargantua, under the conduct of young
Niphleseth, infanta of the island.

The good Gargantua made a present of them to the great King of Paris. But
by change of air, and for want of mustard (the natural balsam and restorer
of Chitterlings), most of them died. By the great king's particular grant
they were buried in heaps in a part of Paris to this day called La Rue
pavee d'Andouilles, the street paved with Chitterlings. At the request of
the ladies at his court young Niphleseth was preserved, honourably used,
and since that married to heart's content; and was the mother of many
children, for which heaven be praised.

Pantagruel civilly thanked the queen, forgave all offences, refused the
offer she had made of her country, and gave her a pretty little knife.
After that he asked several nice questions concerning the apparition of
that flying hog. She answered that it was the idea of Carnival, their
tutelary god in time of war, first founder and original of all the
Chitterling race; for which reason he resembled a hog, for Chitterlings
drew their extraction from hogs.

Pantagruel asking to what purpose and curative indication he had voided so
much mustard on the earth, the queen replied that mustard was their
sanc-greal and celestial balsam, of which, laying but a little in the wounds
of the fallen Chitterlings, in a very short time the wounded were healed and
the dead restored to life. Pantagruel held no further discourse with the
queen, but retired a-shipboard. The like did all the boon companions, with
their implements of destruction and their huge sow.



Chapter 4. XLIII.

How Pantagruel went into the island of Ruach.

Two days after we arrived at the island of Ruach; and I swear to you, by
the celestial hen and chickens, that I found the way of living of the
people so strange and wonderful that I can't, for the heart's blood of me,
half tell it you. They live on nothing but wind, eat nothing but wind, and
drink nothing but wind. They have no other houses but weathercocks. They
sow no other seeds but the three sorts of windflowers, rue, and herbs that
may make one break wind to the purpose; these scour them off carefully.
The common sort of people to feed themselves make use of feather, paper, or
linen fans, according to their abilities. As for the rich, they live by
the means of windmills.

When they would have some noble treat, the tables are spread under one or
two windmills. There they feast as merry as beggars, and during the meal
their whole talk is commonly of the goodness, excellency, salubrity, and
rarity of winds; as you, jolly topers, in your cups philosophize and argue
upon wines. The one praises the south-east, the other the south-west; this
the west and by south, and this the east and by north; another the west,
and another the east; and so of the rest. As for lovers and amorous
sparks, no gale for them like a smock-gale. For the sick they use bellows
as we use clysters among us.

Oh! said to me a little diminutive swollen bubble, that I had now but a
bladderful of that same Languedoc wind which they call Cierce. The famous
physician, Scurron, passing one day by this country, was telling us that it
is so strong that it will make nothing of overturning a loaded waggon. Oh!
what good would it not do my Oedipodic leg. The biggest are not the best;
but, said Panurge, rather would I had here a large butt of that same good
Languedoc wine that grows at Mirevaux, Canteperdrix, and Frontignan.

I saw a good likely sort of a man there, much resembling Ventrose, tearing
and fuming in a grievous fret with a tall burly groom and a pimping little
page of his, laying them on, like the devil, with a buskin. Not knowing
the cause of his anger, at first I thought that all this was by the
doctor's advice, as being a thing very healthy to the master to be in a
passion and to his man to be banged for it. But at last I heard him taxing
his man with stealing from him, like a rogue as he was, the better half of
a large leathern bag of an excellent southerly wind, which he had carefully
laid up, like a hidden reserve, against the cold weather.

They neither exonerate, dung, piss, nor spit in that island; but, to make
amends, they belch, fizzle, funk, and give tail-shots in abundance. They
are troubled with all manner of distempers; and, indeed, all distempers are
engendered and proceed from ventosities, as Hippocrates demonstrates, lib.
De Flatibus. But the most epidemical among them is the wind-cholic. The
remedies which they use are large clysters, whereby they void store of
windiness. They all die of dropsies and tympanies, the men farting and the
women fizzling; so that their soul takes her leave at the back-door.

Some time after, walking in the island, we met three hairbrained airy
fellows, who seemed mightily puffed up, and went to take their pastime and
view the plovers, who live on the same diet as themselves, and abound in
the island. I observed that, as your true topers when they travel carry
flasks, leathern bottles, and small runlets along with them, so each of
them had at his girdle a pretty little pair of bellows. If they happened
to want wind, by the help of those pretty bellows they immediately drew
some, fresh and cool, by attraction and reciprocal expulsion; for, as you
well know, wind essentially defined is nothing but fluctuating and agitated
air.

A while after, we were commanded, in the king's name, not to receive for
three hours any man or woman of the country on board our ships; some having
stolen from him a rousing fart, of the very individual wind which old
goodman Aeolus the snorer gave Ulysses to conduct his ship whenever it
should happen to be becalmed. Which fart the king kept religiously, like
another sanc-greal, and performed a world of wonderful cures with it in
many dangerous diseases, letting loose and distributing to the patient only
as much of it as might frame a virginal fart; which is, if you must know,
what our sanctimonials, alias nuns, in their dialect call ringing
backwards.



Chapter 4. XLIV.

How small rain lays a high wind.

Pantagruel commended their government and way of living, and said to their
hypenemian mayor: If you approve Epicurus's opinion, placing the summum
bonum in pleasure (I mean pleasure that's easy and free from toil), I
esteem you happy; for your food being wind, costs you little or nothing,
since you need but blow. True, sir, returned the mayor; but, alas! nothing
is perfect here below; for too often when we are at table, feeding on some
good blessed wind of God as on celestial manna, merry as so many friars,
down drops on a sudden some small rain, which lays our wind, and so robs us
of it. Thus many a meal's lost for want of meat.

Just so, quoth Panurge, Jenin Toss-pot of Quinquenais, evacuating some wine
of his own burning on his wife's posteriors, laid the ill-fumed wind that
blowed out of their centre as out of some magisterial Aeolipile. Here is a
kind of a whim on that subject which I made formerly:

One evening when Toss-pot had been at his butts,
And Joan his fat spouse crammed with turnips her guts,
Together they pigged, nor did drink so besot him
But he did what was done when his daddy begot him.
Now when to recruit he'd fain have been snoring,
Joan's back-door was filthily puffing and roaring;
So for spite he bepissed her, and quickly did find
That a very small rain lays a very high wind.

We are also plagued yearly with a very great calamity, cried the mayor; for
a giant called Wide-nostrils, who lives in the island of Tohu, comes hither
every spring to purge, by the advice of his physicians, and swallows us,
like so many pills, a great number of windmills, and of bellows also, at
which his mouth waters exceedingly.

Now this is a sad mortification to us here, who are fain to fast over three
or four whole Lents every year for this, besides certain petty Lents, ember
weeks, and other orison and starving tides. And have you no remedy for
this? asked Pantagruel. By the advice of our Mezarims, replied the mayor,
about the time that he uses to give us a visit, we garrison our windmills
with good store of cocks and hens. The first time that the greedy thief
swallowed them, they had like to have done his business at once; for they
crowed and cackled in his maw, and fluttered up and down athwart and along
in his stomach, which threw the glutton into a lipothymy cardiac passion
and dreadful and dangerous convulsions, as if some serpent, creeping in at
his mouth, had been frisking in his stomach.

Here is a comparative as altogether incongruous and impertinent, cried
Friar John, interrupting them; for I have formerly heard that if a serpent
chance to get into a man's stomach it will not do him the least hurt, but
will immediately get out if you do but hang the patient by the heels and
lay a panful of warm milk near his mouth. You were told this, said
Pantagruel, and so were those who gave you this account; but none ever saw
or read of such a cure. On the contrary, Hippocrates, in his fifth book of
Epidem, writes that such a case happening in his time the patient presently
died of a spasm and convulsion.

Besides the cocks and hens, said the mayor, continuing his story, all the
foxes in the country whipped into Wide-nostril's mouth, posting after the
poultry; which made such a stir with Reynard at their heels, that he
grievously fell into fits each minute of an hour.

At last, by the advice of a Baden enchanter, at the time of the paroxysm he
used to flay a fox by way of antidote and counter-poison. Since that he
took better advice, and eases himself with taking a clyster made with a
decoction of wheat and barley corns, and of livers of goslings; to the
first of which the poultry run, and the foxes to the latter. Besides, he
swallows some of your badgers or fox-dogs by the way of pills and boluses.
This is our misfortune.

Cease to fear, good people, cried Pantagruel; this huge Wide-nostrils, this
same swallower of windmills, is no more, I will assure you; he died, being
stifled and choked with a lump of fresh butter at the mouth of a hot oven,
by the advice of his physicians.



Chapter 4. XLV.

How Pantagruel went ashore in the island of Pope-Figland.

The next morning we arrived at the island of Pope-figs; formerly a rich and
free people, called the Gaillardets, but now, alas! miserably poor, and
under the yoke of the Papimen. The occasion of it was this:

On a certain yearly high holiday, the burgomaster, syndics, and topping
rabbies of the Gaillardets chanced to go into the neighbouring island
Papimany to see the festival and pass away the time. Now one of them
having espied the pope's picture (with the sight of which, according to a
laudable custom, the people were blessed on high-offering holidays), made
mouths at it, and cried, A fig for it! as a sign of manifest contempt and
derision. To be revenged of this affront, the Papimen, some days after,
without giving the others the least warning, took arms, and surprised,
destroyed, and ruined the whole island of the Gaillardets; putting the men
to the sword, and sparing none but the women and children, and those too
only on condition to do what the inhabitants of Milan were condemned to by
the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa.

These had rebelled against him in his absence, and ignominiously turned the
empress out of the city, mounting her a-horseback on a mule called Thacor,
with her breech foremost towards the old jaded mule's head, and her face
turned towards the crupper. Now Frederick being returned, mastered them,
and caused so careful a search to be made that he found out and got the
famous mule Thacor. Then the hangman by his order clapped a fig into the
mule's jimcrack, in the presence of the enslaved cits that were brought
into the middle of the great market-place, and proclaimed in the emperor's
name, with trumpets, that whosoever of them would save his own life should
publicly pull the fig out with his teeth, and after that put it in again in
the very individual cranny whence he had draw'd it without using his hands,
and that whoever refused to do this should presently swing for it and die
in his shoes. Some sturdy fools, standing upon their punctilio, chose
honourably to be hanged rather than submit to so shameful and abominable a
disgrace; and others, less nice in point of ceremony, took heart of grace,
and even resolved to have at the fig, and a fig for't, rather than make a
worse figure with a hempen collar, and die in the air at so short warning.
Accordingly, when they had neatly picked out the fig with their teeth from
old Thacor's snatch-blatch, they plainly showed it the headsman, saying,
Ecco lo fico, Behold the fig!

By the same ignominy the rest of these poor distressed Gaillardets saved
their bacon, becoming tributaries and slaves, and the name of Pope-figs was
given them, because they said, A fig for the pope's image. Since this, the
poor wretches never prospered, but every year the devil was at their doors,
and they were plagued with hail, storms, famine, and all manner of woes, as
an everlasting punishment for the sin of their ancestors and relations.
Perceiving the misery and calamity of that generation, we did not care to
go further up into the country, contenting ourselves with going into a
little chapel near the haven to take some holy water. It was dilapidated
and ruined, wanting also a cover--like Saint Peter at Rome. When we were
in, as we dipped our fingers in the sanctified cistern, we spied in the
middle of that holy pickle a fellow muffled up with stoles, all under
water, like a diving duck, except the tip of his snout to draw his breath.
About him stood three priests, true shavelings, clean shorn and polled, who
were muttering strange words to the devils out of a conjuring book.

Pantagruel was not a little amazed at this, and inquiring what kind of
sport these were at, was told that for three years last past the plague had
so dreadfully raged in the island that the better half of it had been
utterly depopulated, and the lands lay fallow and unoccupied. Now, the
mortality being over, this same fellow who had crept into the holy tub,
having a large piece of ground, chanced to be sowing it with white winter
wheat at the very minute of an hour that a kind of a silly sucking devil,
who could not yet write or read, or hail and thunder, unless it were on
parsley or coleworts, and got leave of his master Lucifer to go into this
island of Pope-figs, where the devils were very familiar with the men and
women, and often went to take their pastime.

This same devil being got thither, directed his discourse to the
husbandman, and asked him what he was doing. The poor man told him that he
was sowing the ground with corn to help him to subsist the next year. Ay,
but the ground is none of thine, Mr. Plough-jobber, cried the devil, but
mine; for since the time that you mocked the pope all this land has been
proscribed, adjudged, and abandoned to us. However, to sow corn is not my
province; therefore I will give thee leave to sow the field, that is to
say, provided we share the profit. I will, replied the farmer. I mean,
said the devil, that of what the land shall bear, two lots shall be made,
one of what shall grow above ground, the other of what shall be covered
with earth. The right of choosing belongs to me; for I am a devil of noble
and ancient race; thou art a base clown. I therefore choose what shall lie
under ground, take thou what shall be above. When dost thou reckon to
reap, hah? About the middle of July, quoth the farmer. Well, said the
devil, I'll not fail thee then; in the meantime, slave as thou oughtest.
Work, clown, work. I am going to tempt to the pleasing sin of whoring the
nuns of Dryfart, the sham saints of the cowl, and the gluttonish crew. I
am more than sure of these. They need but meet, and the job is done; true
fire and tinder, touch and take; down falls nun, and up gets friar.



Chapter 4. XLVI.

How a junior devil was fooled by a husbandman of Pope-Figland.

In the middle of July the devil came to the place aforesaid with all his
crew at his heels, a whole choir of the younger fry of hell; and having met
the farmer, said to him, Well, clodpate, how hast thou done since I went?
Thou and I must share the concern. Ay, master devil, quoth the clown; it
is but reason we should. Then he and his men began to cut and reap the
corn; and, on the other side, the devil's imps fell to work, grubbing up
and pulling out the stubble by the root.

The countryman had his corn thrashed, winnowed it, put in into sacks, and
went with it to market. The same did the devil's servants, and sat them
down there by the man to sell their straw. The countryman sold off his
corn at a good rate, and with the money filled an old kind of a demi-buskin
which was fastened to his girdle. But the devil a sou the devils took; far
from taking handsel, they were flouted and jeered by the country louts.

Market being over, quoth the devil to the farmer, Well, clown, thou hast
choused me once, it is thy fault; chouse me twice, 'twill be mine. Nay,
good sir devil, replied the farmer; how can I be said to have choused you,
since it was your worship that chose first? The truth is, that by this
trick you thought to cheat me, hoping that nothing would spring out of the
earth for my share, and that you should find whole underground the corn
which I had sowed, and with it tempt the poor and needy, the close
hypocrite, or the covetous griper; thus making them fall into your snares.
But troth, you must e'en go to school yet; you are no conjurer, for aught I
see; for the corn that was sow'd is dead and rotten, its corruption having
caused the generation of that which you saw me sell. So you chose the
worst, and therefore are cursed in the gospel. Well, talk no more of it,
quoth the devil; what canst thou sow our field with for next year? If a
man would make the best of it, answered the ploughman, 'twere fit he sow it
with radish. Now, cried the devil, thou talkest like an honest fellow,
bumpkin. Well, sow me good store of radish, I'll see and keep them safe
from storms, and will not hail a bit on them. But hark ye me, this time I
bespeak for my share what shall be above ground; what's under shall be
thine. Drudge on, looby, drudge on. I am going to tempt heretics; their
souls are dainty victuals when broiled in rashers and well powdered. My
Lord Lucifer has the griping in the guts; they'll make a dainty warm dish
for his honour's maw.

When the season of radishes was come, our devil failed not to meet in the
field, with a train of rascally underlings, all waiting devils, and finding
there the farmer and his men, he began to cut and gather the leaves of the
radishes. After him the farmer with his spade dug up the radishes, and
clapped them up into pouches. This done, the devil, the farmer, and their
gangs, hied them to market, and there the farmer presently made good money
of his radishes; but the poor devil took nothing; nay, what was worse, he
was made a common laughing-stock by the gaping hoidens. I see thou hast
played me a scurvy trick, thou villainous fellow, cried the angry devil; at
last I am fully resolved even to make an end of the business betwixt thee
and myself about the ground, and these shall be the terms: we will
clapperclaw each other, and whoever of us two shall first cry Hold, shall
quit his share of the field, which shall wholly belong to the conqueror. I
fix the time for this trial of skill on this day seven-night; assure
thyself that I'll claw thee off like a devil. I was going to tempt your
fornicators, bailiffs, perplexers of causes, scriveners, forgers of deeds,
two-handed counsellors, prevaricating solicitors, and other such vermin;
but they were so civil as to send me word by an interpreter that they are
all mine already. Besides, our master Lucifer is so cloyed with their
souls that he often sends them back to the smutty scullions and slovenly
devils of his kitchen, and they scarce go down with them, unless now and
then, when they are high-seasoned.

Some say there is no breakfast like a student's, no dinner like a lawyer's,
no afternoon's nunchion like a vine-dresser's, no supper like a
tradesman's, no second supper like a serving-wench's, and none of these
meals equal to a frockified hobgoblin's. All this is true enough.
Accordingly, at my Lord Lucifer's first course, hobgoblins, alias imps in
cowls, are a standing dish. He willingly used to breakfast on students;
but, alas! I do not know by what ill luck they have of late years joined
the Holy Bible to their studies; so the devil a one we can get down among
us; and I verily believe that unless the hypocrites of the tribe of Levi
help us in it, taking from the enlightened book-mongers their St. Paul,
either by threats, revilings, force, violence, fire, and faggot, we shall
not be able to hook in any more of them to nibble at below. He dines
commonly on counsellors, mischief-mongers, multipliers of lawsuits, such as
wrest and pervert right and law and grind and fleece the poor; he never
fears to want any of these. But who can endure to be wedded to a dish?

He said t'other day, at a full chapter, that he had a great mind to eat the
soul of one of the fraternity of the cowl that had forgot to speak for
himself in his sermon, and he promised double pay and a large pension to
anyone that should bring him such a titbit piping hot. We all went
a-hunting after such a rarity, but came home without the prey; for they all
admonish the good women to remember their convent. As for afternoon
nunchions, he has left them off since he was so woefully griped with the
colic; his fosterers, sutlers, charcoal-men, and boiling cooks having been
sadly mauled and peppered off in the northern countries.

His high devilship sups very well on tradesmen, usurers, apothecaries,
cheats, coiners, and adulterers of wares. Now and then, when he is on the
merry pin, his second supper is of serving-wenches who, after they have by
stealth soaked their faces with their master's good liquor, fill up the
vessel with it at second hand, or with other stinking water.

Well, drudge on, boor, drudge on; I am going to tempt the students of
Trebisonde to leave father and mother, forego for ever the established and
common rule of living, disclaim and free themselves from obeying their
lawful sovereign's edicts, live in absolute liberty, proudly despise
everyone, laugh at all mankind, and taking the fine jovial little cap of
poetic licence, become so many pretty hobgoblins.



Chapter 4. XLVII.

How the devil was deceived by an old woman of Pope-Figland.

The country lob trudged home very much concerned and thoughtful, you may
swear; insomuch that his good woman, seeing him thus look moping, weened
that something had been stolen from him at market; but when she had heard
the cause of his affliction and seen his budget well lined with coin, she
bade him be of good cheer, assuring him that he would be never the worse
for the scratching bout in question; wishing him only to leave her to
manage that business, and not trouble his head about it; for she had
already contrived how to bring him off cleverly. Let the worst come to the
worst, said the husbandman, it will be but a scratch; for I'll yield at the
first stroke, and quit the field. Quit a fart, replied the wife; he shall
have none of the field. Rely upon me, and be quiet; let me alone to deal
with him. You say he is a pimping little devil, that is enough; I will
soon make him give up the field, I will warrant you. Indeed, had he been a
great devil, it had been somewhat.

The day that we landed in the island happened to be that which the devil
had fixed for the combat. Now the countryman having, like a good Catholic,
very fairly confessed himself, and received betimes in the morning, by the
advice of the vicar had hid himself, all but the snout, in the holy-water
pot, in the posture in which we found him; and just as they were telling us
this story, news came that the old woman had fooled the devil and gained
the field. You may not be sorry, perhaps, to hear how this happened.

The devil, you must know, came to the poor man's door, and rapping there,
cried, So ho! ho, the house! ho, clodpate! where art thou? Come out with a
vengeance; come out with a wannion; come out and be damned; now for
clawing. Then briskly and resolutely entering the house, and not finding
the countryman there, he spied his wife lying on the ground, piteously
weeping and howling. What is the matter? asked the devil. Where is he?
what does he? Oh! that I knew where he is, replied threescore and five;
the wicked rogue, the butcherly dog, the murderer! He has spoiled me; I am
undone; I die of what he has done me. How, cried the devil, what is it?
I'll tickle him off for you by-and-by. Alas! cried the old dissembler, he
told me, the butcher, the tyrant, the tearer of devils told me that he had
made a match to scratch with you this day, and to try his claws he did but
just touch me with his little finger here betwixt the legs, and has spoiled
me for ever. Oh! I am a dead woman; I shall never be myself again; do but
see! Nay, and besides, he talked of going to the smith's to have his
pounces sharpened and pointed. Alas!