How Panurge solved Gripe-men-all’s riddle.
Gripe-men-all, as if he had not heard what Friar John said, directed his
discourse to Panurge, saying to him, Well, what have you to say for
yourself, Mr. Rogue-enough, hah? Give, give me out of hand--an answer.
Say? quoth Panurge; why, what would you have me say? I say that we are
damnably beshit, since you give no heed at all to the equity of the plea,
and the devil sings among you. Let this answer serve for all, I beseech
you, and let us go out about our business; I am no longer able to hold out,
as gad shall judge me.
Go to, go to, cried Gripe-men-all; when did you ever hear that for these
three hundred years last past anybody ever got out of this weel without
leaving something of his behind him? No, no, get out of the trap if you
can without losing leather, life, or at least some hair, and you will have
done more than ever was done yet. For why, this would bring the wisdom of
the court into question, as if we had took you up for nothing, and dealt
wrongfully by you. Well, by hook or by crook, we must have something out
of you. Look ye, it is a folly to make a rout for a fart and ado; one word
is as good as twenty. I have no more to say to thee, but that, as thou
likest thy former entertainment, thou wilt tell me more of the next; for it
will go ten times worse with thee unless, by gold, you give me--a solution
to the riddle I propounded. Give, give--it, without any more ado.
By gold, quoth Panurge, ‘tis a black mite or weevil which is born of a
white bean, and sallies out at the hole which he makes gnawing it; the mite
being turned into a kind of fly, sometimes walks and sometimes flies over
hills and dales. Now Pythagoras, the philosopher, and his sect, besides
many others, wondering at its birth in such a place (which makes some argue
for equivocal generation), thought that by a metempsychosis the body of
that insect was the lodging of a human soul. Now, were you men here, after
your welcomed death, according to his opinion, your souls would most
certainly enter into the body of mites or weevils; for in your present
state of life you are good for nothing in the world but to gnaw, bite, eat,
and devour all things, so in the next you’ll e’en gnaw and devour your
mother’s very sides, as the vipers do. Now, by gold, I think I have fairly
solved and resolved your riddle.
May my bauble be turned into a nutcracker, quoth Friar John, if I could not
almost find in my heart to wish that what comes out at my bunghole were
beans, that these evil weevils might feed as they deserve.
Panurge then, without any more ado, threw a large leathern purse stuffed
with gold crowns (ecus au soleil) among them.
The Furred Law-cats no sooner heard the jingling of the chink but they all
began to bestir their claws, like a parcel of fiddlers running a division;
and then fell to’t, squimble, squamble, catch that catch can. They all
said aloud, These are the fees, these are the gloves; now, this is somewhat
like a tansy. Oh! ‘twas a pretty trial, a sweet trial, a dainty trial. O’
my word, they did not starve the cause. These are none of your snivelling
forma pauperis’s; no, they are noble clients, gentlemen every inch of them.
By gold, it is gold, quoth Panurge, good old gold, I’ll assure you.
Saith Gripe-men-all, The court, upon a full hearing (of the gold, quoth
Panurge), and weighty reasons given, finds the prisoners not guilty, and
accordingly orders them to be discharged out of custody, paying their fees.
Now, gentlemen, proceed, go forwards, said he to us; we have not so much of
the devil in us as we have of his hue; though we are stout, we are
merciful.
As we came out at the wicket, we were conducted to the port by a detachment
of certain highland griffins, scribere cum dashoes, who advised us before
we came to our ships not to offer to leave the place until we had made the
usual presents, first to the Lady Gripe-men-all, then to all the Furred
Law-pusses; otherwise we must return to the place from whence we came.
Well, well, said Friar John, we’ll fumble in our fobs, examine every one of
us his concern, and e’en give the women their due; we’ll ne’er boggle or
stick out on that account; as we tickled the men in the palm, we’ll tickle
the women in the right place. Pray, gentlemen, added they, don’t forget to
leave somewhat behind you for us poor devils to drink your healths. O
lawd! never fear, answered Friar John, I don’t remember that I ever went
anywhere yet where the poor devils are not remembered and encouraged.