How we went down the tetradic steps, and of Panurge’s fear.
We went down one marble step under ground, where there was a resting, or,
as our workmen call it, a landing-place; then, turning to the left, we went
down two other steps, where there was another resting-place; after that we
came to three other steps, turning about, and met a third; and the like at
four steps which we met afterwards. There quoth Panurge, Is it here? How
many steps have you told? asked our magnificent lantern. One, two, three,
four, answered Pantagruel. How much is that? asked she. Ten, returned he.
Multiply that, said she, according to the same Pythagorical tetrad. That
is, ten, twenty, thirty, forty, cried Pantagruel. How much is the whole?
said she. One hundred, answered Pantagruel. Add, continued she, the first
cube--that’s eight. At the end of that fatal number you’ll find the temple
gate; and pray observe, this is the true psychogony of Plato, so celebrated
by the Academics, yet so little understood; one moiety of which consists of
the unity of the two first numbers full of two square and two cubic
numbers. We then went down those numerical stairs, all under ground, and I
can assure you, in the first place, that our legs stood us in good stead;
for had it not been for ‘em, we had rolled just like so many hogsheads into
a vault. Secondly, our radiant lantern gave us just so much light as is in
St. Patrick’s hole in Ireland, or Trophonius’s pit in Boeotia; which caused
Panurge to say to her, after we had got down some seventy-eight steps:
Dear madam, with a sorrowful, aching heart, I most humbly beseech your
lanternship to lead us back. May I be led to hell if I be not half dead
with fear; my heart is sunk down into my hose; I am afraid I shall make
buttered eggs in my breeches. I freely consent never to marry. You have
given yourself too much trouble on my account. The Lord shall reward you
in his great rewarder; neither will I be ungrateful when I come out of this
cave of Troglodytes. Let’s go back, I pray you. I’m very much afraid this
is Taenarus, the low way to hell, and methinks I already hear Cerberus
bark. Hark! I hear the cur, or my ears tingle. I have no manner of
kindness for the dog, for there never is a greater toothache than when dogs
bite us by the shins. And if this be only Trophonius’s pit, the lemures,
hobthrushes, and goblins will certainly swallow us alive, just as they
devoured formerly one of Demetrius’s halberdiers for want of bridles. Art
thou here, Friar John? Prithee, dear, dear cod, stay by me; I’m almost
dead with fear. Hast thou got thy bilbo? Alas! poor pilgarlic’s
defenceless. I’m a naked man, thou knowest; let’s go back. Zoons, fear
nothing, cried Friar John; I’m by thee, and have thee fast by the collar;
eighteen devils shan’t get thee out of my clutches, though I were unarmed.
Never did a man yet want weapons who had a good arm with as stout a heart.
Heaven would sooner send down a shower of them; even as in Provence, in the
fields of La Crau, near Mariannes, there rained stones (they are there to
this day) to help Hercules, who otherwise wanted wherewithal to fight
Neptune’s two bastards. But whither are we bound? Are we a-going to the
little children’s limbo? By Pluto, they’ll bepaw and conskite us all. Or
are we going to hell for orders? By cob’s body, I’ll hamper, bethwack, and
belabour all the devils, now I have some vine-leaves in my shoes. Thou
shalt see me lay about me like mad, old boy. Which way? where the devil
are they? I fear nothing but their damned horns; but cuckoldy Panurge’s
bull-feather will altogether secure me from ‘em. Lo! in a prophetic spirit
I already see him, like another Actaeon, horned, horny, hornified.
Prithee, quoth Panurge, take heed thyself, dear frater, lest, till monks
have leave to marry, thou weddest something thou dostn’t like, as some
cat-o’-nine-tails or the quartan ague; if thou dost, may I never come safe
and sound out of this hypogeum, this subterranean cave, if I don’t tup and
ram that disease merely for the sake of making thee a cornuted, corniferous
property; otherwise I fancy the quartan ague is but an indifferent
bedfellow. I remember Gripe-men-all threatened to wed thee to some such
thing; for which thou calledest him heretic.
Here our splendid lantern interrupted them, letting us know this was the
place where we were to have a taste of the creature, and be silent; bidding
us not despair of having the word of the Bottle before we went back, since
we had lined our shoes with vine-leaves.
Come on then, cried Panurge, let’s charge through and through all the
devils of hell; we can but perish, and that’s soon done. However, I
thought to have reserved my life for some mighty battle. Move, move, move
forwards; I am as stout as Hercules, my breeches are full of courage; my
heart trembles a little, I own, but that’s only an effect of the coldness
and dampness of this vault; ‘tis neither fear nor ague. Come on, move on,
piss, pish, push on. My name’s William Dreadnought.