JF Ptak Science Books Post 1278
Rabelais may be that man who lived under/in/over the volcano.
Francois Rabelais (1490-1553, writing under the anagram Alcofribas Nasier) was perhaps as gigantic a man in spirit, need, want and appetite as his greatest creations, Gargantua and Pantagreul, and may well be the greatest ex-monk of ex-monks, a bubbling Renaissance Humanist. I'm not saying that Rabelais spent 11 months in the womb or smoothed his hair with a 900' comb or drank the milk of 17,000 cows like his creation Gargantua, but he did have a staggering appetite for life. He ate life as Honore de Balzac ate food. Rabelais seemed to know no boundaries, and neither did Balzac, who would typically eat a hundred oysters, twelve lamb cutlets, a duckling, partridges, fish, fruits, assorted vegetables, coffee, liquor, liquer, wine and so on, at one sittng. Every day. Nor did Rabelais necessarily drink like Eugene O'Neill or F.Scott or Edgar Poe or Hart Crane or Jack London or Dylan Thomas, though he did drink beond the boundaries.Thomas, though he did drink beyond the boundaries.
One of my favorite writers--George Orwell--didn't have much use for Rabelais, repulsed by his abuses, but that was to be expected. So it goes.
The beginning and end of Epitaph for Rabelais, by Peirre de Ronsard:
If anything can sprout
From a dead man rotted out,
And if further generation
Arises from stagnation,
A grapevine will surely take birth
From the belly and the girth
Of good Rabelais, who contrived
Always to drink while alive...
All you who pass his grave,
Be you nobleman or knave,
Hang cups on this, his shrine
To vessels and sparkling wine;
Hang sausages and ham:
For if he still has sensation,
His soul prefers potation
To lilies as a gift,
And wine gives a better lift
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