How the birds are crammed in the Ringing Island.
Pantagruel looked I don’t know howish, and seemed not very well pleased
with the four days’ junketting which Aedituus enjoined us. Aedituus, who
soon found it out, said to him, You know, sir, that seven days before
winter, and seven days after, there is no storm at sea; for then the
elements are still out of respect for the halcyons, or king-fishers, birds
sacred to Thetis, which then lay their eggs and hatch their young near the
shore. Now here the sea makes itself amends for this long calm; and
whenever any foreigners come hither it grows boisterous and stormy for four
days together. We can give no other reason for it but that it is a piece
of its civility, that those who come among us may stay whether they will or
no, and be copiously feasted all the while with the incomes of the ringing.
Therefore pray don’t think your time lost; for, willing, nilling, you’ll be
forced to stay, unless you are resolved to encounter Juno, Neptune, Doris,
Aeolus, and his fluster-busters, and, in short, all the pack of ill-natured
left-handed godlings and vejoves. Do but resolve to be cheery, and fall-to
briskly.
After we had pretty well stayed our stomachs with some tight snatches,
Friar John said to Aedituus, For aught I see, you have none but a parcel of
birds and cages in this island of yours, and the devil a bit of one of them
all that sets his hand to the plough, or tills the land whose fat he
devours; their whole business is to be frolic, to chirp it, to whistle it,
to warble it, tossing it, and roar it merrily night and day. Pray then, if
I may be so bold, whence comes this plenty and overflowing of all dainty
bits and good things which we see among you? From all the other world,
returned Aedituus, if you except some part of the northern regions, who of
late years have stirred up the jakes. Mum! they may chance ere long to rue
the day they did so; their cows shall have porridge, and their dogs oats;
there will be work made among them, that there will. Come, a fig for’t,
let’s drink. But pray what countrymen are you? Touraine is our country,
answered Panurge. Cod so, cried Aedituus, you were not then hatched of an
ill bird, I will say that for you, since the blessed Touraine is your
mother; for from thence there comes hither every year such a vast store of
good things, that we were told by some folks of the place that happened to
touch at this island, that your Duke of Touraine’s income will not afford
him to eat his bellyful of beans and bacon (a good dish spoiled between
Moses and Pythagoras) because his predecessors have been more than liberal
to these most holy birds of ours, that we might here munch it, twist it,
cram it, gorge it, craw it, riot it, junket it, and tickle it off, stuffing
our puddings with dainty pheasants, partridges, pullets with eggs, fat
capons of Loudunois, and all sorts of venison and wild fowl. Come, box it
about; tope on, my friends. Pray do you see yon jolly birds that are
perched together, how fat, how plump, and in good case they look, with the
income that Touraine yields us! And in faith they sing rarely for their
good founders, that is the truth on’t. You never saw any Arcadian birds
mumble more fairly than they do over a dish when they see these two gilt
batons, or when I ring for them those great bells that you see above their
cages. Drink on, sirs, whip it away. Verily, friends, ‘tis very fine
drinking to-day, and so ‘tis every day o’ the week; then drink on, toss it
about, here’s to you with all my soul. You are most heartily welcome;
never spare it, I pray you; fear not we should ever want good bub and
belly-timber; for, look here, though the sky were of brass, and the earth
of iron, we should not want wherewithal to stuff the gut, though they were
to continue so seven or eight years longer than the famine in Egypt. Let
us then, with brotherly love and charity, refresh ourselves here with the
creature.
Woons, man, cried Panurge, what a rare time you have on’t in this world!
Psha, returned Aedituus, this is nothing to what we shall have in t’other;
the Elysian fields will be the least that can fall to our lot. Come, in
the meantime let us drink here; come, here’s to thee, old fuddlecap.
Your first Siticines, said I, were superlatively wise in devising thus a
means for you to compass whatever all men naturally covet so much, and so
few, or, to speak more properly, none can enjoy together--I mean, a
paradise in this life, and another in the next. Sure you were born wrapt
in your mother’s smickets! O happy creatures! O more than men! Would I
had the luck to fare like you! (Motteux inserts Chapter XVI. after Chapter
VI.)