IN WHICH WE MEET TWO IMPORTANT PERSONAGES WHOM WE HAVE LOST SIGHT
OF FOR SOME TIME.
There are two of the personages mentioned in this story, about
whom the reader has the right to ask for information. We mean an
enormous monk, with thick eyebrows and large lips, whose neck was
diminishing every day; and a large donkey whose sides were gradually
swelling out like a balloon. The monk resembled a hogshead; and
the ass was like a child’s cradle, supported by four posts.
The one inhabited a cell at St. Genevieve, and the other the
stable at the same convent. The one was called Gorenflot, and
the other Panurge. Both were enjoying the most prosperous lot
that ever fell to a monk and an ass.
The monks surrounded their illustrious brother with cares and
attentions, and Panurge fared well for his master’s sake.
If a missionary arrived from foreign countries, or a secret legate
from the Pope, they pointed out to him Brother Gorenflot, that
double model of the church preaching and militant; they showed
Gorenflot in all his glory, that is to say, in the midst of a
feast, seated at a table in which a hollow had been cut on purpose
for his sacred stomach, and they related with a noble pride that
Gorenflot consumed the rations of eight ordinary monks. And when
the newcomer had piously contemplated this spectacle, the prior
would say, “See how he eats! And if you had but heard his sermon
one famous night, in which he offered to devote himself for the
triumph of the faith. It is a mouth which speaks like that of
St. Chrysostom, and swallows like that of Gargantua.”
Every time that any one spoke of the sermon, Gorenflot sighed
and said:
“What a pity I did not write it!
“A man like you has no need to write,” the prior would reply.
“No, you speak from inspiration; you open your mouth, and the
words of God flow from your lips.”
“Do you think so?” sighed Gorenflot.
However, Gorenflot was not perfectly happy. He, who at first
thought his banishment from the convent an immense misfortune,
discovered in his exile infinite joys before unknown to him. He
sighed for liberty; liberty with Chicot, the joyous companion,
with Chicot, whom he loved without knowing why. Since his return
to the convent, he had never been allowed to go out. He never
attempted to combat this decision, but he grew sadder from day
to day. The prior saw this, and at last said to him:
“My dear brother, no one can fight against his vocation; yours
is to fight for the faith; go then, fulfil your mission, only
watch well over your precious life, and return for the great
day.”
“What great day?”
“That of the Fête Dieu.”
“Ita,” replied Gorenflot; it was the only Latin word he knew,
and used it on all occasions. “But give me some money to bestow
in alms in a Christian manner.”
“You have your text, have you not, dear brother?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Confide it to me.”
“Willingly, but to you alone; it is this: ‘The flail which threshes
the corn.’”
“Oh, magnificent! sublime!” cried the prior.
“Now, my father, am I free?”
“Yes, my son, go and walk in the way of the Lord.”
Gorenflot saddled Panurge, mounted him with the aid of two vigorous
monks, and left the convent about seven in the evening. It was
the same day on which St. Luc arrived at Paris from Méridor.
Gorenflot, having passed through the Rue St. Etienne, was going
to have turned to the right, when suddenly Panurge stopped; a
strong hand was laid on his croup.
“Who is there?” cried Gorenflot, in terror.
“A friend.”
Gorenflot tried to turn, but he could not.
“What do you want?” said he.
“Will my venerable brother show me the way to the Corne d’Abondance?”
“Morbleu! it is M. Chicot,” cried Gorenflot, joyfully.
“Just so; I was going to seek you at the convent, when I saw
you come out, and followed you until we were alone. Ventre de
biche! how thin you are!”
“But what are you carrying, M. Chicot?” said the monk, “you appear
laden.”
“It is some venison which I have stolen from the king.”
“Dear M. Chicot! and under the other arm?”
“A bottle of Cyprus wine sent by a king to my king.”
“Let me see!”
“It is my wine, and I love it much; do not you, brother?”
“Oh! oh!” cried Gorenflot, raising his eyes and hands to Heaven,
and beginning to sing in a voice which shook the neighboring
windows. It was the first time he had sung for a month.