Droll Stories

"This is a book of the highest flavour, full of right hearty merriment,
spiced to the palate of the illustrious and very precious tosspots and drinkers,
to whom our worthy compatriot, Francois Rabelais, the eternal honour of
Touraine, addressed himself. Be it nevertheless understood, the author has no
other desire than to be a good Touranian, and joyfully to chronicle the merry
doings of the famous people of this sweet and productive land, more fertile in
cuckolds, dandies and witty wags than any other, and which has furnished a good
share of men of renown in France, as witness the departed Courier of piquant
memory; Verville, author of Moyen de Parvenir , and others equally well known,
among whom we will specially mention the Sieur Descartes, because he was a
melancholy genius, and devoted himself more to brown studies than to drinks and
dainties, a man of whom all the cooks and confectioners of Tours have a wise
horror, whom they despise, and will not hear spoken of, and say, "Where does he
live?" if his name is mentioned. Now this work is the production of the joyous
leisure of good old monks, of whom there are many vestiges scattered about the
country, at Grenadiere-les-St.-Cyr, in the village of Sacche-les-Azay-le-Rideau,
at Marmoustiers, Veretz, Roche-Cobon, and the certain storehouses of good
stories, which storehouses are the upper stories of old canons and wise dames,
who remember the good old days when they could enjoy a hearty laugh without
looking to see if their hilarity disturbed the sit of your ruffle, as do the
young women of the present day, who wish to take their pleasure gravely--a
custom which suits our Gay France as much as a water jug would the head of a
queen. Since laughter is a privilege granted to man alone, and he has sufficient
causes for tears within his reach, without adding to them by books, I have
considered it a thing most patriotic to publish a drachm of merriment for these
times, when weariness falls like a fine rain, wetting us, soaking into us, and
dissolving those ancient customs which make the people to reap public amusement
from the Republic. But of those old pantagruelists who allowed God and the king
to conduct their own affairs without putting of their finger in the pie oftener
than they could help, being content to look on and laugh, there are very few
left. They are dying out day by day in such manner that I fear greatly to see
these illustrious fragments of the ancient breviary spat upon, staled upon, set
at naught, dishonoured, and blamed, the which I should be loath to see, since I
have and bear great respect for the refuse of our Gallic antiquities." 


- Excerpted from "Droll Stories"