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Letters to Dead Authors-Part5_ANDREW LANG(1844-1912)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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and, in your Greek, of the mother of Philinna, and marvels that

eighteen hundred years have not in one single trifle altered the



mould. Still the old shabby light-loves, the old greed, the old

luxury and squalor. Still the unconquerable superstition that now



seeks to tell fortunes by the cards, and, in your time, resorted to

the sorceress with her magical "bull-roarer" or turndun. {6}



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!

LETTER--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!"






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