الفصل الفصل 61 · Of the grief wherewith Garga

Chapter 2.III.

Of the grief wherewith Gargantua was moved at the decease of his wife

Badebec.

When Pantagruel was born, there was none more astonished and perplexed than

was his father Gargantua; for of the one side seeing his wife Badebec dead,

and on the other side his son Pantagruel born, so fair and so great, he

knew not what to say nor what to do. And the doubt that troubled his brain

was to know whether he should cry for the death of his wife or laugh for

the joy of his son. He was hinc inde choked with sophistical arguments,

for he framed them very well in modo et figura, but he could not resolve

them, remaining pestered and entangled by this means, like a mouse caught

in a trap or kite snared in a gin. Shall I weep? said he. Yes, for why?

My so good wife is dead, who was the most this, the most that, that ever

was in the world. Never shall I see her, never shall I recover such

another; it is unto me an inestimable loss! O my good God, what had I done

that thou shouldest thus punish me? Why didst thou not take me away before

her, seeing for me to live without her is but to languish? Ah, Badebec,

Badebec, my minion, my dear heart, my sugar, my sweeting, my honey, my

little c-- (yet it had in circumference full six acres, three rods, five

poles, four yards, two foot, one inch and a half of good woodland measure),

my tender peggy, my codpiece darling, my bob and hit, my slipshoe-lovey,

never shall I see thee! Ah, poor Pantagruel, thou hast lost thy good

mother, thy sweet nurse, thy well-beloved lady! O false death, how

injurious and despiteful hast thou been to me! How malicious and

outrageous have I found thee in taking her from me, my well-beloved wife,

to whom immortality did of right belong!

With these words he did cry like a cow, but on a sudden fell a-laughing

like a calf, when Pantagruel came into his mind. Ha, my little son, said

he, my childilolly, fedlifondy, dandlichucky, my ballocky, my pretty rogue!

O how jolly thou art, and how much am I bound to my gracious God, that hath

been pleased to bestow on me a son so fair, so spriteful, so lively, so

smiling, so pleasant, and so gentle! Ho, ho, ho, ho, how glad I am! Let

us drink, ho, and put away melancholy! Bring of the best, rinse the

glasses, lay the cloth, drive out these dogs, blow this fire, light

candles, shut that door there, cut this bread in sippets for brewis, send

away these poor folks in giving them what they ask, hold my gown. I will

strip myself into my doublet (en cuerpo), to make the gossips merry, and

keep them company.

As he spake this, he heard the litanies and the mementos of the priests

that carried his wife to be buried, upon which he left the good purpose he

was in, and was suddenly ravished another way, saying, Lord God! must I

again contrist myself? This grieves me. I am no longer young, I grow old,

the weather is dangerous; I may perhaps take an ague, then shall I be

foiled, if not quite undone. By the faith of a gentleman, it were better

to cry less, and drink more. My wife is dead, well, by G--! (da jurandi) I

shall not raise her again by my crying: she is well, she is in paradise at

least, if she be no higher: she prayeth to God for us, she is happy, she

is above the sense of our miseries, nor can our calamities reach her. What

though she be dead, must not we also die? The same debt which she hath

paid hangs over our heads; nature will require it of us, and we must all of

us some day taste of the same sauce. Let her pass then, and the Lord

preserve the survivors; for I must now cast about how to get another wife.

But I will tell you what you shall do, said he to the midwives, in France

called wise women (where be they, good folks? I cannot see them): Go you

to my wife’s interment, and I will the while rock my son; for I find myself

somewhat altered and distempered, and should otherwise be in danger of

falling sick; but drink one good draught first, you will be the better for

it. And believe me, upon mine honour, they at his request went to her

burial and funeral obsequies. In the meanwhile, poor Gargantua staying at

home, and willing to have somewhat in remembrance of her to be engraven

upon her tomb, made this epitaph in the manner as followeth.

Dead is the noble Badebec,

Who had a face like a rebeck;

A Spanish body, and a belly

Of Switzerland; she died, I tell ye,

In childbirth. Pray to God, that her

He pardon wherein she did err.

Here lies her body, which did live

Free from all vice, as I believe,

And did decease at my bedside,

The year and day in which she died.