













THREE GOOD GIANTS

WHOSE FAMOUS DEEDS ARE RECORDED IN THE ANCIENT CHRONICLES

OF

FRANÇOIS RABELAIS


COMPILED FROM THE FRENCH

BY

JOHN DIMITRY, A.M.


Illustrated by Gustave Doré and A. Robida


BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

The Riverside Press Cambridge

Copyright, 1887

BY TICKNOR AND COMPANY

_All rights reserved_


[Illustration: GARGANTUA ON THE TOWER OF NÔTRE DÂME.]




AN EXPLANATION BY WAY OF PREFACE.

[Illustration: Portrait of François Rabelais]


I freely admit what all the world knows about FRANÇOIS RABELAIS.

Long before the day when Fielding and Smollett began to be read on the
sly, and before the comic Muse of Congreve and Wycherly began to be
looked at askance, that English moral sentiment, over which Macaulay
was to philosophize more than a century later, had solidified in
ignoring Rabelais. Nothing is to be said against the sentiment itself.
This has always been fairly righteous, if just a bit undiscriminating.
A great humorist, showing himself content to grovel in the dirt, is,
beyond question, deserving of black looks and shut doors. But more
than most old masters of a type, strong, albeit coarse, Rabelais--from
the distinctly marked physical attributes of his chief personages--may
claim certain good points which, drawn out and grouped together, ought
to fall within the circle of those tales which interest children.

I have read Rabelais twice in my life. Each time, I have read him
in that old French, which has no master quite so great as he; and
each time in Auguste Desrez's edition, which, in its careful _Table
des Matières_, learned glossary, quaint notes, Gallicized Latin and
Greek words, and a complete _Rabelaisiana_, shows the devotion of
the rare editor, who does not distort, because he understands, the
Master whom he edits. When I first peeped into his pages I was a lad,
altogether too young to be tainted by profanity, while I skipped,
true boy-fashion, whole pages to pick out the wondrous story of his
Giants. When I came back to him, after many years, I was both older
and, I hope, wiser. Being older, I had learned to gauge him better,
both in his strength and in his weakness. I had come to see wherein an
old prejudice was too just to be safely resisted; and, on the other
hand, wherein it had got to be so deeply set that it had hardened to
injustice. As I went on, it did not take me long to discover that
it was quite possible for my purpose--following, indeed, the path
unconsciously taken in my boyhood--to divide Rabelais sharply into
incident and philosophy. That this had not been thought of before
surprised, but did not daunt me. I said to myself: I shall limit
the incident strictly to his three Giants; I shall hold these, from
grandfather to grandson, well together; keep all that is sound in
them; cut away the impurity which is not so much _of_ as _around_
them; chisel them out as a sculptor might, and leave his philosophy
with face to the wall. This done, I turned the scouring hose, full and
strong, upon the incidents themselves, clearing out both dialectics and
profanity thoroughly. I did not stop until I had left the famous trio,
GRANDGOUSIER, GARGANTUA, and PANTAGRUEL where I had, from the first,
hoped to place them,--high and dry above the scum which had so long
clogged their rare good-fellowship, and which had made men of judgment
blind to the genuine worth that was in them.

In this way I believed that I saw the chance to free Rabelais' Giants,
so long kept in bonds, from a captivity which has dishonored them.
To do this was clearly running against that good old law which has
invariably made all Giants--far back from fairy-time--thunder-voiced,
great-toothed, rude-handed, hard-hearted, bloody-minded creatures
and truculent captors, never, on any account, pitiful captives. But,
to such, the Rabelaisian Giants are none of kin. No more are they of
blood to that Giant that Jack slew, or that Giant Despair, in whose
garden-court Bunyan dreamt that he saw the white bones of slaughtered
pilgrims.

Public sentiment has hitherto illogically retched at the name of
Rabelais, while it swallows without qualm "Tristram Shandy" and
"Gulliver's Travels." Shall it always retch? The time, I think, is
practically taking the answer into its own hands. Rabelais, through
some cotemporaneous influence, rising subtly in his favor among men
who are neither afraid nor ashamed to judge for themselves, is, in one
sense, slowly becoming a naturalized citizen of our modern Literary
Republic. Literature and Art are joining hands in his rehabilitation.
Mr. Walter Besant, a novelist, has been so good as to write his life;
to say bright words about him; and to quote clean things from him.
Mrs. Oliphant, a purist, has consented to admit him into her "Foreign
Classics for English Readers." Three years ago M. Emile Hébert's bronze
statue of him was unveiled at that Chinon, his birthplace, which he
lovingly calls "the most ancient city of the world." And, to crown
all, as the latest expression of a tardy recognition, his bust by M.
Truphème was, only the other day, uncovered at that Meudon of which he
was, for a time, the famous, if not always orthodox, Curé.

Rabelais himself never, it is clear, appreciated his Giants save for
the contrasted jollity which they lent to his satires.

    "_Mieulx est de ris que de larmes escripre,_
    _Pour ce que rire est le propre de lhomme,_"

was his maxim. But this maxim never rose to a creed. His Giants seem,
almost against his will, to stride beyond the territory of mere
burlesque. They are as easily free from theology as from science.
They have never been of La Bâmette. They are as far from Montpellier.
To these colossal creations, heroes fashioned in ridicule of the old
fantastico-chivalric deeds of their age, as they come down more and
more from the clouds, are more and more given the feelings common to
this earth's creatures. All three bear, from their birth, a sturdy
human sympathy not natural to their kind, as mediæval superstition
classed it. Two of them, in being brought to the level of humanity,
join with this a simple Christian manliness and a childlike faith under
all emergencies, not set on their own massive strength, but fixed on
God, whom they had been taught to know, and honor, and serve--and all
this by whom? Forsooth, by the same François Rabelais, laugher, mocker,
and "insensate reviler." From Grandgousier, the good-hearted guzzler,
through Gargantua, with his heady youth and wise old age, to "the noble
Pantagruel," the gain in purity and Christian manhood is steady. The
royal race of Chalbroth follows no track beaten down by other kingly
lines known to history. While their line descends from father to son,
it ascends in virtue.

One charge--a legacy from the narrow times when run-mad commentators
spied a plot in every folio--has followed, to this day, Rabelais and
his work. Wise men have, to their own satisfaction, proved the latter
to be an enigma filled with hidden meanings, dangerous to state and
morals; with mad attacks directed, from every chapter, against ordered
society; with satiric thrusts lurking, in every sentence, against
Pope, and King, and nobles; in brief, a Malay-muck run with a pen,
instead of a knife, against the moral foundations of the world. All
these, if not true, are certainly "like, very like" the Rabelais as
he is painted by purists in the gallery of great authors. If true,
they have wrought more subtly than all else in the forging of those
heavy chains which have been bound, coil upon coil, around his hapless
big men. It is not to be wondered at that even their mighty number of
cubits should have been smothered under the fine, slow-settling dust
of three centuries. Happily, however, fair play has been, of old, the
standing boast of all English-speaking men. François Rabelais--never
once deigning to ask for it at home, when living--has, in penalty
therefor, been ferociously denied it abroad, when dead. To that
sentiment--moved, it may be, by a concurrent testimony given, in this
age, to the memory of the author himself--I appeal now in behalf of his
Giants. That they have fared badly through all these centuries, mostly
by reason of him, cannot be gainsaid. That of themselves, however, they
have in no wise merited such ostracism, is what I have ventured to
claim in this compilation. Freed alike from that prejudice which has
hunted them down, and from those formidable

    "... points of ignorance
    Pertaining thereunto,"

which have, so far, blocked every avenue to modern sympathy, I would
have them honored, among all stout lovers of fair play, as I leave them
in this "Explanation by way of Preface."

 J. D.




CONTENTS


PREFACE.


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


CHAPTER I.

How the First Giants came into the World.


CHAPTER II.

Gargantua is Born.


CHAPTER III.

Gargantua as a Baby.

CHAPTER IV.

The Royal Tailor's Bill for Gargantua's Suit.


CHAPTER V.

The Year Gargantua had Wooden Horses, and what Use he made of them.


CHAPTER VI.

How Gargantua was taught Latin.


CHAPTER VII.

The new Master found for Gargantua.


CHAPTER VIII.

Gargantua goes to Paris, and the Big Mare that takes him there.


CHAPTER IX.

The Parisians laugh at Gargantua. He takes his Revenge by stealing the
Great Bells of Nôtre Dâme.


CHAPTER X.

Ponocrates, the new Teacher, desires Gargantua to show him how he used
to study with old Master Holofernes.


CHAPTER XI.

The Two Hundred and Fifteen Games of Cards Gargantua knew how to play.
What it was he said after he had gone through the List, and what it was
Ponocrates remarked.


CHAPTER XII.

Gargantua is dosed by Ponocrates, and forgets all that Holofernes had
taught him.


CHAPTER XIII.

How Gargantua was made not to lose one Hour of the Day.


CHAPTER XIV.

How the Awful War between the Bunmakers of Lerne and Gargantua's
Country was begun.


CHAPTER XV.

How old King Grandgousier received the News.


CHAPTER XVI.

How Grandgousier tried to buy Peace with Five Cart-loads of Buns.


CHAPTER XVII.

How Gargantua, with a Big Tree, broke down a Castle, and passed the
Ford of Vede.


CHAPTER XVIII.

How Gargantua combed Cannon-Balls out of his Hair, and how he ate Six
Pilgrims in a Salad before Supper.


CHAPTER XIX.

How Friar John comes to the Feast, and how King Grandgousier had
recruited his Army.


CHAPTER XX.

Gargantua's Mare scores a Victory.


CHAPTER XXI.

Showing what Gargantua did after the Battle, and how Grandgousier
welcomed him Home.


CHAPTER XXII.

Grandgousier's Death. Gargantua's Marriage. Pantagruel is Born.


CHAPTER XXIII.

The Strange Things Pantagruel did as a Baby.


CHAPTER XXIV.

After studying at several Universities, Pantagruel goes to Paris.


CHAPTER XXV.

Pantagruel finds Panurge, whom he loves all his life.


CHAPTER XXVI.

Pantagruel beats the Sorbonne in Argument, and Panurge proves that an
Englishman's fingers are not so nimble as a Frenchman's.


CHAPTER XXVII.

What sort of Man Panurge was, and the many Tricks he knew.


CHAPTER XXVIII.

Showing why the Leagues are so much shorter in France than in Germany.


CHAPTER XXIX.

How the Cunning of Panurge, with the Aid of Eusthenes and Carpalim,
discomfited Six Hundred and Sixty Horsemen.


CHAPTER XXX.

How Carpalim went hunting for Fresh Meat, and how a Trophy was set up.


CHAPTER XXXI.

The Strange Way in which Pantagruel obtained a Victory over the Thirsty
People.


CHAPTER XXXII.

The Wonderful Way in which Pantagruel disposed of the Giant Loupgarou
and his Two Hundred and Ninety-Nine Giants.


CHAPTER XXXIII.

How Pantagruel finally conquers the Thirsty People, and the strange
business Panurge finds for King Anarchus.


CHAPTER XXXIV.

Gargantua comes back from Fairy-land, after which Pantagruel prepares
for another Trip.


CHAPTER XXXV.

Pantagruel starts on his Travels, and lands at the Island of Pictures.


CHAPTER XXXVI.

Panurge bargains with Dindeno for a Ram, and throws his Ram overboard.


CHAPTER XXXVII.

The Island of Alliances.


CHAPTER XXXVIII.

How Pantagruel came to the Islands of Tohu and Bohu. The Strange Death
of Widenostrils, the Swallower of Windmills.


CHAPTER XXXIX.

A Great Storm, in which Panurge plays the Coward.


CHAPTER XL.

The Island of the Macreons and its Forest, in which the Heroes who are
tempted by Demons die.


CHAPTER XLI.

Pantagruel touches at the Wonderful Island of Ruach, where Giant
Widenostrils had found the Cocks and Hens which killed him. How the
People lived by Wind.


CHAPTER XLII.

Pantagruel, with his Darts, kills a Monster which Cannon-Balls could
not hurt. The Power of the Sign of the Cross.


CHAPTER XLIII.

Which tells of several Islands, and the Wonderful People who dwell in
them.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.


GARGANTUA ON THE TOWER OF NÔTRE DÂME.

FRIAR JOHN ATTACKS THE BUNMAKERS.

GARGANTUA DESTROYS THE CASTLE.

THE DEFEAT OF PICROCHOLE.

PANTAGRUEL ENTERS PARIS.

THE DISPUTATION.

THE DEATH OF LOUPGAROU.

PANTAGRUEL IN THE GRAVEYARD.

THE ISLE OF GANABIM.

THE QUEEN OF LANTERNS.



ENGRAVINGS IN THE TEXT.


PORTRAIT OF FRANÇOIS RABELAIS.

CASTLE GRANDGOUSIER.

THE GIANT CHALBROTH.

THE GIANT HURTALI ON THE ARK.

INITIAL K.

KING GRANDGOUSIER KEEPS OPEN HOUSE.

THE KING AND QUEEN LOVE TRIPES.

INITIAL W.

THE QUEEN LOOKED AT HER BABY.

AN UNCOMMON BABY CARRIAGE.

THE SERVANTS GOT TO BE SAD TOPERS.

INITIAL W.

MAKING GARGANTUA'S SUIT.

MEASURING GARGANTUA FOR HIS SUIT.

GARGANTUA AT PLAY.

GARGANTUA'S HORSE.

GARGANTUA'S RIDING LESSONS.

A NOBLE LORD CAME ON A VISIT.

"ONLY THREE LITTLE STEPS."

INITIAL O.

TUBAL HOLOFERNES.

THE FRIEND WHO KNEW LATIN.

FLIGHT OF THE TUTOR.

INITIAL W.

EUDEMON.

INITIAL T.

GARGANTUA'S MARE.

PONOCRATES.

INITIAL T.

GARGANTUA ENTERS PARIS.

THE CITY WAS EXCITED.

INITIAL G.

GARGANTUA GETS UP.

GARGANTUA BREAKFASTS.

GARGANTUA GOES TO CHURCH.

INITIAL T.

GARGANTUA LOOKS INTO THE KITCHEN.

INITIAL W.

PONOCRATES DOSES GARGANTUA.

GARGANTUA AT HIS LESSONS.

INITIAL E.

GARGANTUA LEARNS TO SHOOT.

GARGANTUA LEARNS TO CLIMB.

GARGANTUA STUDIES ASTRONOMY.

INITIAL W.

THE BUNMAKERS OF LERNE.

THE ANGER OF PICROCHOLE.

CAPTAIN SWILLWIND'S CAVALRY.

SPOILING THE MONKS.

FRIAR JOHN TO THE RESCUE.

INITIAL W.

PICROCHOLE'S ARMY.

GRANDGOUSIER WRITES TO GARGANTUA.

INITIAL K.

GRANDGOUSIER'S EMBASSY.

INITIAL G.

GARGANTUA HURRIES HOME.

GYMNASTE WARMS HIMSELF.

THE CASTLE OF ROCHE-CLERMAUD.

CANNONADING GARGANTUA.

INITIAL G.

GARGANTUA COMBS HIS HAIR.

AND SUCH A SUPPER!

THE PILGRIMS IN THE GARDEN.

INITIAL I.

FRIAR JOHN ARRIVES.

THE ADVANCE-GUARD STARTS.

GRANDGOUSIER'S ARMY.

INITIAL T.

MOUNTING FOR THE FRAY.

THE ASSAULT.

PICROCHOLE DEFENDS THE CASTLE.

THE FLIGHT OF PICROCHOLE.

INITIAL W.

GARGANTUA'S CAPTIVES.

GARGANTUA REWARDING THE ARMY.

THE WONDERFUL WINDING STAIRWAY.

INITIAL A.

THE DREADFUL DROUGHT.

INITIAL G.

THE FUNERAL OF QUEEN BADEBEC.

PANTAGRUEL'S PORRINGER.

PANTAGRUEL CARRIES HIS CRADLE.

INITIAL S.

THE GREAT CROSS-BOW OF CHANTELLE.

THE GREAT RAISED STONE.

PANTAGRUEL VISITS HIS ANCESTOR'S TOMB.

PANTAGRUEL SETTLES AT ORLEANS.

PANTAGRUEL IN THE LIBRARY.

INITIAL O.

PANTAGRUEL MEETS PANURGE.

INITIAL W.

AT THE GATES OF SORBONNE.

THAUMASTES VISITS PANTAGRUEL.

THE GREAT COLLEGE WAS PACKED.

PANURGE REPLIES.

INITIAL T.

PANURGE GETS MONEY.

PANURGE AND THE DIRT-CARTS.

PANURGE'S FUN.

INITIAL A.

PANTAGRUEL MARCHES TO ROUEN.

INITIAL S.

THE VOYAGE BEGINS.

PANURGE DISCOMFITS THE HORSEMEN.

INITIAL W.

CARPALIM CATCHES SOME FRESH MEAT.

THE TROPHY.

INITIAL W.

THE KING OF THE THIRSTY PEOPLE.

THE SOLDIERS TRY PANTAGRUEL'S PASTE.

INITIAL A.

THE FIGHT WITH LOUPGAROU.

INITIAL A.

WELCOME TO PANTAGRUEL.

GRANDER AND MIGHTIER THAN EVER.

PANTAGRUEL RETURNS.

INITIAL O.

INITIAL A.

PANTAGRUEL PICKS HIS SHIPS.

PANTAGRUEL SETS SAIL.

LANDING AT THE ISLE OF PICTURES.

PANTAGRUEL BUYS SOME STRANGE ANIMALS.

THE LAND OF SATIN.

INITIAL F.

PANURGE WANTS A SHEEP.

PANURGE BUYS A RAM.

PANURGE THROWS HIS RAM OVERBOARD.

THE SHEEP AND SHEPHERDS DROWN.

INITIAL A.

THE ACE-OF-CLUBS NOSES.

INITIAL P.

GIANT WIDENOSTRILS, THE SWALLOWER OF WINDMILLS.

INITIAL T.

A STORM COMES ON.

PANTAGRUEL HOLDS THE MAST.

A SEA BREAKS OVER PANURGE.

LAND IN SIGHT.

IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON.

INITIAL T.

PANURGE REVIVES.

THE DARK AND GLOOMY FOREST.

THE DEMONS AND THE HEROES.

"WE HAD LOST ANOTHER GOOD HERO."

INITIAL A.

THE LAND OF WIND.

"WITHOUT WIND WE MUST DIE."

INITIAL A.

PANTAGRUEL SPIES A MONSTER.

SHOOTING AT THE WHALE.

PANTAGRUEL TRIES HIS HAND.

DEATH OF THE MONSTER.

LANDING THE MONSTER.

ON WILD ISLAND.

INITIAL N.

THE HOSPITABLE FOLK OF PAPIMANY.

THE MAYOR RODE UP.

ENTERING THE FROZEN SEA.

A SHOWER OF FROZEN WORDS.

LANDING ON THE ROCKS.

MASTER GASTER.

SHARP ISLAND.

THE SHORES OF LANTERNLAND.




THREE GOOD GIANTS.

[Illustration: CASTLE GRANDGOUSIER.]


CHAPTER I.

HOW THE FIRST GIANTS CAME INTO THE WORLD.


At the beginning of the world the pure blood of Abel, shed by his
wicked brother Cain, made the soil very rich. Every fruit seemed
to grow that year to a dozen times its usual size. But the fruit
that seemed to thrive best, and to taste most toothsome, and to be
most eaten, was the medlar. So much of that fruit was eaten at that
particular time that the year came to be called the "Year of Medlars."

Now, in this "Year of Medlars," the good men and women who lived then
happened to eat a little too much of this fine fruit. It was all very
nice while it was being eaten; but, somehow, after a little time it was
found that terrible swellings, but not all in the same place, came out
on those who had shown themselves too fond of the fruit.

Some grew big and twisted in their shoulders, and became what were
afterwards called Hunch-backs.

Some found themselves with longer legs than others, which, being quite
as thin and bony as they were long, made malicious people, who had not
eaten of the fruit, shout, "Crane! Crane! Long-legged Crane!" whenever
one of the poor people showed himself.

Some there were who could boast of a nose as red as it was long and
knotty, which made evil-tongued men say they had been more among the
grapes than among the medlars. But this was, after all, the fault of
the medlars. There was no doubt of that.

Others, having a special love for picking out everybody's secrets,
found their medlars running into big ears, which grew so long that they
soon hung down to their breasts. And those who once had the Big Ear
lost, after that, all desire for other people's secrets, because their
ears were so large they caught everything bad their neighbors were
always saying about them.

Others--and now, listen--grew long in legs, but not longer in legs than
they grew stout in body, and it was from these people that the Giants
sprang. When those who grew so long in legs and so stout in body began
to walk on the earth, the neighbors did their best to please them. You
may be sure there was no talk about medlars then.

The first who became known as a giant was called CHALBROTH.

[Illustration: THE GIANT CHALBROTH.]

CHALBROTH was the father of all the Giants, and the great-grandfather
of Hurtali, who reigned in the time of the Deluge, and who was lucky
enough not to be drowned in the deep waters.

Doubtless, the eyes of some of my young readers are twinkling, and they
are ready to cry out very positively: "Oh, no! There was no Giant in
Noah's Ark, you know. How could there be? Only Noah and his family were
in the Ark. The Bible says that!"

There was one Wise Man, however, who lived a long time after the first
Giant had appeared, and after many great ones had been noticed, and who
had seen some with his own eyes. This Wise Man had thought, in a quiet
way, a great deal about the Big People, and, through much study, had
found out why it was they were not all drowned.

This Wise Man makes himself very clear on this point. He says that
Hurtali--the great-grandson of Chalbroth, the first Giant--escaped the
Deluge, not by getting _into_ the Ark,--it was altogether too small for
that,--but by getting _outside_ of it. In other words, he used it as
a man strides a horse, riding on top of it, with one huge leg hanging
over the right side and the other over the left. If Hurtali was very
heavy, the Blessed Ark was very stout. He got so used to his seat after
a while, that, being on the outside, and able to see everything around
him, he made his long legs do for the Ark just what the rudder of a
ship does for her. He must have saved it from many and many a rough
shock against jutting mountains and sharp rocks as the waters were
rising, and as, after covering the earth, they began to sink lower
and lower; but it may be relied on--since the Wise Man says so--that,
during the forty days and nights, Giant Hurtali was on the best of
terms with Noah and all his family. This might look strange; but it
appears that there was on the top of the Ark a chimney, and it was
through this chimney that Hurtali could always, for the asking, have
his share of his favorite pottage handed up to him.

[Illustration: THE GIANT HURTALI ON THE ARK.]

It would really be of no use to tell the names of all the Giants who
came between Hurtali and our merry old King Grandgousier. Some of
them you already know. Long after Hurtali came Goliath, the Giant,
whom young David slew with his sling and stone; Briareus, the Greek
Giant of a hundred hands; King Porus, the Indian Giant, who fought
with Alexander, and was defeated by him; and the famous Giant Bruyer,
slain by Ogier the Dane, Peer of France. There are so many of them
that I would soon grow tired of giving, and you of hearing, even their
names. All that we care about knowing is that, in a straight line from
Hurtali, the Giant who rode on the Blessed Ark, the fifty-fourth was
GRANDGOUSIER, who was the father of GARGANTUA, who, in his turn, was
the father of PANTAGRUEL.

These are the three Giants whose story I am about to tell, two of whom
will prove more wonderful heroes than are to be read of either in
ancient or modern history.




CHAPTER II.

GARGANTUA IS BORN.


[Illustration: INITIAL K.]

King Grandgousier--the fifty-seventh in a straight line from Chalbroth,
the first Giant--was a jovial King in his day. Although a Giant, he
was the pink of politeness and kindly feeling. His whole life was one
continual dinner. He was very fond of his own ease, this jovial King,
but he also loved to make those around him happy. He kept open house,
and the sun never rose on a day when there was not some high lord or
some poor pilgrim at his table, eating and drinking of his best. He had
a great horror of seeing people thirsty around him. "There is too much
good wine flowing in my kingdom for anybody to feel thirsty. Everybody
should drink before he is dry," he was fond of saying. So one of the
main duties of his Chief Butler Turelupin was to make all the servants,
all comers and goers, drink before they were dry. It was said to take
eighteen hundred pipes of wine yearly to do this. He never was known to
look at the clothes a guest wore,--oh, no, not he, that good, hearty
old King Grandgousier! And it was a pretty sight to see, whenever a
guest or a friend wished to say anything privately, how tenderly the
old Giant would pick him up, and put him on his knee, and bend his
great head and listen ever so carefully to try and find out what he had
to say. His head was lifted so far above the ground that, otherwise,
one would have had to shout out loud enough for all in the palace to
hear.

[Illustration: KING GRANDGOUSIER KEEPS OPEN HOUSE.]

King Grandgousier was very fond of his wine, and could drink,--being a
giant,--at a single meal, more than a dozen common men could manage
to swallow at a dozen meals each.[1] He was also very fond of salt
meat. He never failed to have on hand a good supply of French hams,
from Mayence and Bayonne,--the finest known in those days,--superb
smoked beef-tongues; an abundance of chitterlings, when in season,
and salt beef, with mustard to spice the whole. All these fine
things were reinforced by sausages from Bigorre, Longaulnay, and
Rouargue,--the very best in all France. But there was something which
King Grandgousier loved above everything in the way of eating, and that
was _tripes_. So fond was he of them that he had ordered all the royal
meadows to be searched, and all the fat beeves grazing in the royal
meadows, three hundred and sixty-seven thousand and fourteen of them,
to be killed, so that there might be plenty of powdered beef to flavor
the royal wine for the season. Then he had the Royal Herald, with great
flourish of trumpets, to name a day on which all his neighbors--brave
fellows and good players at ninepins--were to join him in a Great Feast
of Tripes.

[1] Children must remember that times have changed for the better since
the wild days of these old giants. To drink so hard and long that a
man, from too much wine, would fall under the table and lie there
because not able to move, was looked upon as a virtue then. Now, in
our happier days, we know it to be a virtue for a man to keep himself
sober, and a shame for him to be seen drunk.

[Illustration: THE KING AND QUEEN LOVE TRIPES.]

King Grandgousier had a fair and stately wife named Gargamelle. She was
a daughter of the King of the Parpaillons, and was herself a giantess,
but not quite so tall as her husband. Grandgousier and Gargamelle
dearly loved one another, and all that they wanted in this world was a
son to bear the father's name, and be King after him. Queen Gargamelle
liked to be in the open air, and see games of ninepins and ball and
leap-frog played by nimble men and women. And Grandgousier, at such
games, was always found seated at her side, like a good husband,
seeming to enjoy them as much as she did.

At last, one fine day, a little boy was born to them.

He must have been a wonderful baby; because just as soon as he was
born, instead of crying "_Mie! mie! mie!_" as any other baby would have
done, he shouted out at the top of his lungs, "Drink! drink! drink!"
There never were such lungs as his, everybody said. The old Doctor
himself, and the Three Wise Old Women who were there, all declared that
he had the biggest throat ever known,--not even excepting his father's.
Now it happened that, of all the days of the year, the very day the
Royal Herald had proclaimed, with flourish of trumpets, for the famous
Feast of Tripes, was the very day on which the baby Prince was born.
When the great news was carried to King Grandgousier, who was drinking
and making merry with his friends, that he had a son, and that the
young Prince was already bawling for his drink, his joy almost choked
him, and he could only find breath to say in French:--

"_Que grand tu as!_"--meaning "What a big throat thou hast!"

Everybody, including Queen Gargamelle, when she heard of it, the
family Doctor, and the Three Old Wise Women, laughed at this joke of
the King, and declared that it was the very best name that could be
given to the royal babe. From that moment, they began, when talking to
him or speaking of him, to call him little Prince _Que-grand-tu-as!_
Although they ran these four words trippingly together, and nobody not
in the secret would have thought it more than a very strange name, yet,
somehow, it was too long; and so, little by little, they kept changing
till the very oldest of the Three Old Wise Women, who had been, one hot
day, half-dozing over the cradle, started up suddenly, crying:--

"I have it!"

"Well, what have you?" called the second oldest, who was wide awake,
sharply.

"The name for our dear little Prince!"

"Don't be too sure of that, gossip. But why don't you say what it is?"
she snapped in an awful curiosity, and just the least bit jealous.

"GARGANTUA!"

"Oh, my!" said the third oldest, who was a mild sort of old lady.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some say that it was the lords and neighbors who were feasting on the
tripes, when the old King cried out, _Que grand tu as!_ who had shouted
back that the young Prince ought to be called "Gargantua." I am rather
afraid that the oldest of the Three Wise Old Women had been listening
at the door of the royal banqueting hall, when she ought to have been
in Queen Gargamelle's chamber.




CHAPTER III.

GARGANTUA AS A BABY.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

When Father Grandgousier heard that the name which the very oldest
of the Wise Women had found for his son had been fixed for all time,
he was delighted beyond measure, and said to Queen Gargamelle, while
rubbing the palms of his great hands together:--

"So the witch has fastened 'Gargantua' on my boy after all. By my
crown! what we have to do now is never to let Master Great Throat be
empty. Now, tell me, my dear, where are we to get milk enough for that
throat?"

The Queen looked at her baby; then she looked at her husband; then she
looked into herself, and, finding nothing there to say, smiled, and
said nothing.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN LOOKED AT HER BABY.]

When Father Grandgousier called into the Queen's chamber, for a secret
conference, his Royal Butler, who, first asking permission of their
Majesties, called the Royal Steward, who called the Royal Dairyman,
who called the Chief Milkman. After a long talk behind closed doors,
the whole party filed out of the royal apartments, the Chief Milkman
holding in his hand a scroll, showing a large, red seal, and tied many
times around with a broad, red ribbon, the Royal Butler closing the
line and looking wise as a privy-councillor.

The scroll contained an order, authorizing the Chief Milkman--as
there were not cows enough in the whole kingdom to give such milk as
was needed for the young Prince--to furnish the remainder. So there
were brought to the royal cattle-yard seventeen thousand nine hundred
and thirteen cows, all famed for the richness of their milk. Master
Gargantua had, luckily, with the milk of these cows, enough to keep
him alive until he was a year and ten months old. Then the wise old
Doctor thought that the child ought to be taken more into the fresh
air. In fact, what the Doctor really wanted, and was half crazy about
not finding, was a carriage suited to the young Prince. A common baby
carriage would not do at all. At last a youthful page, who dearly loved
the strong oxen he had seen during the frequent visits he was fond of
making to the royal stables, thought a fine large cart, not too pretty
but very strong, and drawn by oxen, might do. The oxen were ready, but
they could not be used until the Royal Carpenter had measured and made
a cart that would hold the young giant.

[Illustration: AN UNCOMMON BABY CARRIAGE.]

There never was a happier baby than Gargantua the first time he was
placed in the cart. He was, in truth, a marvel of a baby, both because
his body was so big and his face was so broad that, from much drinking
of milk and good wines, he could boast of several chins,--some said
nine; others swore there were ten,--which lapped each one over the
other, as if they felt they were good company. Every day he would be
taken out to ride. Then when he was tired he would cry, "Drink! drink!
drink!" Whenever that cry was heard, presto! the cart would come to a
stand-still, the oxen would begin to munch, and everybody would make a
rush to the wine-cellar. Of course, the King's son always had the best
wines, and the lackey who was lucky enough to reach him first when he
cried for drink always had the right to a cupful for himself. So it is
quite certain that never was a baby so well waited on as was Gargantua.
He cried "_Drink! drink! drink!_" so often that all the servants got
to be sad topers from skipping off to the cellars whenever he called;
and it turned out at last that even the tinkling of an empty glass, as
a knife would strike against it, or the sight of a flagon or a bottle,
would make him jump up and dance with joy, and start him afresh to
bawling for "Drink! drink! drink!" and the lackeys to scampering to the
wine-cellar after the wine.

[Illustration: THE SERVANTS GOT TO BE SAD TOPERS.]




CHAPTER IV.

THE ROYAL TAILOR'S BILL FOR GARGANTUA'S SUIT.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

When Gargantua had outgrown the age for riding in his ox-cart, and was
just beginning to toddle round the palace-walks, it occurred to Father
Grandgousier that he was getting to be a big boy. So he ordered the
Royal Tailor into his Royal Presence.

"So ho! Thou art the clothes-maker, art thou? Now, measure my son, and
make a suit for him. His mother says he looks best in blue and white,"
was all he said.

The Royal Tailor bowed humbly, while all the time he was shivering
in his fine velvets and silks, at the honor of making clothes for a
Giant Prince. For the old King, who simply wanted everything loose and
easy-like, it was all well enough; but how would it be when he began
to fit the royal heir? was what he kept asking himself. A royal tailor
believes in his heart that he is a sort of king-maker, because he makes
the clothes that give to a King that grand, imperial air which compels
all men to kneel before him. He never will appear the least bit ruffled
at the most impossible order given him, provided the order come from a
King; but bows and smiles, no matter how sick and angry he may be at
heart.

To do the Royal Tailor justice, he did his best with the order given
him. He made the clothes--and his bill.

That bill is still kept at Montsoreau. It is really a curiosity, and
runs in this way:--

      HIS MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY,
           TO THE ROYAL TAILOR,      DR.

    For His Royal Highness' shirt with gusset      1,100
      Doublet of white satin                         813
      Breeches of white broadcloth                 1,105½
      Shoes of blue and crimson velvet               406
      Coat of blue velvet                          1,800
      Girdle of silk serge                           300½
      Cap of velvet, half white and half blue        300½
      Gown of blue velvet                          9,600

                                    Ells          15,425½

[Illustration: MAKING GARGANTUA'S SUIT.]

Besides all this quantity of rich cloth for Gargantua's full
court-suit, there was brought from Hyrcania the Wild a bright blue
feather for his plume. This plume was held in place by a handsome
enameled clasp of gold, weighing sixty-eight marks, which the Crown
Jewellers, by his father's orders, with great care, made for him; also
a ring for the forefinger of his left hand, with a carbuncle in it as
large as an ostrich-egg; and a great chain of gold berries to wear
around his neck, weighing twenty-five thousand and sixty-three marks.

[Illustration: MEASURING GARGANTUA FOR HIS SUIT.]




CHAPTER V.

THE YEAR GARGANTUA HAD WOODEN HORSES, AND WHAT USE HE MADE OF THEM.


[Illustration: GARGANTUA AT PLAY.]

From the time he was three years old to the time he had grown to be a
boy of five, Gargantua was brought up, by the strict command of his
father, just like all the other children of the Kingdom. His education
was very simple. It was:

    Drinking, eating, and sleeping;
    Eating, sleeping, and drinking;
    Sleeping, drinking, and eating.

If he loved any one thing more than to play in the mud, that was to
roll and wallow about in the mire. He would go home with his shoes all
run down at the heels, and his face and clothes well streaked with
dirt. Gargantua, therefore, was not more favored than the other little
boys of the kingdom who were not so rich as he was; but there was one
advantage which he did have. From his earliest babyhood he saw so many
horses in the Royal Stables that he got to know a fine horse almost
as well as his father did. Whenever he saw a horse he would clap his
fat hands together, and shout at the top of his lungs. It was thought
that--being a Prince who was, in time, to become a King--he should be
taught to ride well. So they made him, when he was a little fellow of
four years, so fine, so strong, and so wonderful a wooden horse that
there had never been seen its like up to that date, and there never has
been found in any young prince's play-house or toy-shop since.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA'S HORSE.]

This surprising horse must have been a piece of rare workmanship,
because, whenever its young master wanted it to do anything, it was
bound to do it. He could make it leap forward, jump backward, rear
skyward, and waltz, all at one time. He could make it trot, gallop,
rack, pace, gambol, and amble, just as the humor took him. But this was
only half of what that horse could do. Gargantua, at a word, could make
it change the color of its hair. One day its hide would be milk-white;
the next day, bay; the next, black; the next, sorrel; the next,
dapple-gray; the next, mouse-color; the next, piebald; the next, a soft
brown deer-color.

But this was not all.

Gargantua learned to be so skilful that he thought that he might just
as well make a horse to suit himself as to have a horse bought for
him. So he sat knitting his great eyebrows till he finally found how
he could make a hunting-nag out of a big post; one for every day, out
of the beam of a wine-press; one with housings for his room, out of a
great oak-tree; and, out of different kinds of wood in his father's
kingdom, he made ten or twelve spare horses, and had seven for the mail.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA'S RIDING LESSONS.]

It was a rare sight to see all these wooden horses--bigger toys
than had ever been made before--lying piled up, side by side, near
Gargantua's bed, and the young Giant sleeping in their midst.

One day, Gargantua had a fine chance for having some sport of his own
making.

It was on the day a noble lord came on a visit to his old friend, King
Grandgousier. The Royal Stables proved rather small for such a number
of horses as came with the noble lord. The Chief Equerry of the Lord of
Breadinbag--which was the name of the great nobleman--was bothered out
of his head because he could not find stable-room for all the horses
brought with them. By good luck he and the Grand Steward happened to
meet Gargantua at the foot of the great staircase.

[Illustration: A NOBLE LORD CAME ON A VISIT.]

"Hello, youngster, what is thy name?"

"Prince Gargantua."

"Is that so?" they cried. "Then say, little Giant, tell us where we are
to put our horses. The stables of thy Royal Father are all full."

"Yes, I know they are," said Gargantua, slily; "all you have to do is
to follow me, and I will show you a beautiful stable, where there are
bigger horses than ever yours can grow to be. Where have you left your
horses?"

"Out in the court-yard, little Giant."

"Follow me, then, and I will show you the stables."

The Chief Equerry and the Grand Steward went after him, up the great
staircase of the palace, through the second hall, into a great stone
gallery, by which they entered into a huge stone tower, the steps to
which they mounted, along with the Prince, but breathing very heavily
indeed.

"I am afraid that big child is laughing at us," whispered the Grand
Steward, behind his hand, to the Chief Equerry. "Nobody ever puts a
stable at the top of a house."

"You are wrong there," whispered back the Chief Equerry; "because I
happen to know of places, in Lyons and elsewhere, where there are
stables in the attic. But, to make sure, let us ask him again."

Turning to Gargantua, he said:--

"My little Prince, art thou sure thou art taking us right?"

"Haven't I already told you? Isn't this my father's palace, and don't
I know the way to the stables of my big horses? Don't gasp so much,
gentlemen. Only three little steps and we are there!"

[Illustration: "ONLY THREE LITTLE STEPS."]

Once up the steps, which made the Chief Equerry and the Grand Steward
blow worse than ever, and passing through another great hall, the
mischievous Prince, opening wide a door,--that of his own room,--cried,
triumphantly:--

"Here are the finest horses, gentlemen, in the world. This one next the
door is my favorite riding-horse. That one near the fireplace is my
pacer,--a good one, I assure you. Now, just look at that one leaning
against yonder window. I rode it rather hard yesterday, and it is
tired. That's my hunting-nag. I had it at a great price from Frankfort;
but I am willing to make you a present of it. Don't refuse me, I beg.
Once on it, you can bag all the partridges and hares you may come
across for the whole winter. Now, choose; which of you will ride my
hunting-nag?"

The Chief Equerry and the Grand Steward, knowing that all these fine
names of "riding-horse," and "pacer," and "hunting-nag," were for mere
blocks of wood, were, for a moment, stupefied. They looked at each
other slily, and half ashamed; but the joke was too good when they
thought of the long stairs they had toiled up, and of their horses
below waiting all this time to be stabled and fed. They couldn't help
it; it was too rich; so they laughed till they were tired, and then
began to laugh again till they were tired again.

"A rare bird is this young scamp," panted the Chief Equerry, as he
lifted one end of the great beam which Gargantua called his hunting-nag.

"A prime joker is this young rogue, if he is a Prince," panted the
Grand Steward, in echo, as he stumbled along with the other end into
the hall.

There was no use in being mad at the trick young Gargantua had played
on them. So they left him stroking the fastest horses in the world,
while they went laughing all the way across the first hall, down the
small steps, across the other halls, along the corridors, past the
stone gallery, down the long stairway as far as the great arch, where
they let the famous hunting-nag roll to the bottom.

When they at last reached the great dining-room, where all their
friends were gathered, they made everybody laugh like a swarm of flies
at the trick played on them by the little Prince with his wooden
horses.




CHAPTER VI.

HOW GARGANTUA WAS TAUGHT LATIN.


[Illustration: Initial O.]

Old Father Grandgousier had a very large body of his own; and, after
the fashion of all good-natured giants that have ever lived, when
he was pleased he was hugely pleased. So it happened that, when his
friends came around him to drink his good wine, and eat his rich
dinners, and to tell him how bright his boy was, he shook all over with
mighty laughter. "Ho! ho! ho! ho!" he shouted, till the big strong
bottles that stood on his table jingled, and the very rafters of the
dining-hall seemed to laugh with them.

"You say that my little Gargantua is quick? Ho! ho! Now, my good lords,
Philip of Macedon had a son who was quick too. Yes, they said that
he was as quick as that," snapping his fingers together so that they
went cric-crac like a pistol shot. "You have heard of the lad, and
that wild Bucephalus of his? Bah! I am sure my little brigand upstairs
would never have waited to turn the head of Bucephalus to the sun
before riding him, but would have mounted and ridden him before all the
people, with his tail turned straight to the sun, and his shadow thrown
plain before him! You have decided me, my friends. Gargantua is already
five years old. He is only a baby; but he is a Giant's child with more
wit than age,--that makes a difference. I have been thinking seriously
lately; and it is high time that I should give my youngster to some
wise man to make him wise according to his capacity."

And this Father Grandgousier began to do at once. He called, the very
next day, upon one of his subjects, worthy Master Tubal Holofernes,
a man famed for wisdom the country round, to teach Gargantua his A B
C's. I am sorry to say that Master Holofernes seemed, from the first
hour, to be just a little afraid of his small pupil, who, although only
a baby, could easily have studied his alphabet on his teacher's bald
pate, and had to bend his head even to do that. But Father Grandgousier
was, on the whole, well satisfied with his son. Gargantua could, after
five years and three months, actually recite his alphabet from A to Z;
then from Z to A; then catch it sharply up in the middle, bunching M
and N together; naming the letters in fours, in eights, and in twelves,
as quickly as you can think, forward and back again, and again, till
all the old friends--whose noses, from good living, had become very
red, and whose paunches were very big--swore, over their wine, that he
was the smartest child of ten years they _ever_ had seen. Of course,
Father Grandgousier thought all this something wonderful. He ho-ho'ed
and he ha-ha'ed! with great swelling laughter, after the fashion of
Giants, until he was all out of breath, and his friends had to beg him
to stop for fear of choking.

[Illustration: TUBAL HOLOFERNES.]

But Father Grandgousier could not rest here. He declared that
Gargantua must now learn Latin. The young Giant was made, not only to
study Latin, but to write, besides that, his own books of study in
Gothic letters, there being no printing-presses in those days.

To learn all this took him thirteen years, six months, and two weeks.

By this time, Gargantua had grown so tall that, when called upon to
recite, he could not make his answer heard by Master Holofernes, who
was rather deaf, unless by bending down and whispering it, because his
voice was so strong that his ordinary tone would have, at that close
distance, broken the drums of the old man's ears. What he thought he
needed, therefore, was a writing-desk. It was very hard to find a desk
quite suited to him for writing down what he had to say. They hunted
near and far for one. At last one was found in the possession of a
stunted old giant, living in a cave near by, who all his life had been
hoping to grow as tall as King Grandgousier himself. This poor giant
had, however, been thrown into despair because he had suddenly stopped
growing, and still lacked a dozen feet or so of being as tall as he
wanted to be. He gave up the desk he had used so long, with a great
sob that shook the mountain in the caves of which he lived. Gargantua,
although not full-grown, did not find a desk of seven hundred thousand
pounds' weight at all in his way, for it was just suited to his size.

His ink-horn, weighing as much as a ton of merchandise, swung by
heavy iron chains from the side of the desk. From it Gargantua, with
a pen-holder as large as the great Pillar of Enay, used to write his
Latin exercises. Master Holofernes kept him at all this for eighteen
years and eleven months, and so thorough did he become that he could
recite his Latin exercises by heart, backwards. He went on studying
after this some of the harder books for sixteen years and two months,
when he had the misfortune of losing his old teacher very suddenly.

One day, unexpectedly, Father Grandgousier called his friends around
him,--who had, by this time, gained redder noses and bigger paunches
than ever,--to see how strong his son was in Latin. He also invited a
friend of his who, he was sure, did know Latin.

[Illustration: THE FRIEND WHO KNEW LATIN.]

Then he shouted out, "Come, my little one, and show these friends of
thy father what thou hast learned of Latin. See, here is a gentleman
who knows it as he does his breviary. He shall examine thee, and tell
us how much thou hast learned under faithful Master Holofernes, whom we
all honor."

And the learned friend began on poor Gargantua, and poured on him
question after question for six mortal hours. Father Grandgousier, who,
by the way, had understood not one word of it all, turned to him at the
end triumphantly:--

"Now, good sir, art thou not convinced that my boy knows his Latin?"

Then, that learned friend, although just a little trembling, to be
sure, answered quietly enough:--

"With my Liege's permission, Prince Gargantua does not know any more
Latin than Your own Gracious Majesty."

    "_What!_
             WHAT!
                   WHAT!!!"

roared Father Grandgousier, each time making that very short word
longer and louder and fiercer, and jumping to his feet he fairly kicked
learned Master Holofernes out of the palace; meanwhile, rolling his
eyes around in his rage, and gnashing his teeth in so horrible a way
that the noses of his old friends who had sat at his table for sixty
years, and more, turned pale for once, through fright; and there
were those of the household who said that, as they fled from the
dining-room, in terror, even the paunches of these old friends seemed,
somehow, to have grown as flat as the royal pancakes they had just been
eating.

[Illustration: FLIGHT OF THE TUTOR.]




CHAPTER VII.

THE NEW MASTER FOUND FOR GARGANTUA.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

"What! not know thy Latin! After forty-eight years, seven months, and
two days! Then, my little rogue, it is to Paris thou must go."

This is what Grandgousier said to Gargantua just one week after that
luckless dinner. I will tell you how it all happened. The first thing
the old King did the next morning was to send, post-haste, to his good
friend, Don Philip of the Marshes, Viceroy of Papeligosse, who knew
Latin, and who had told him, years and years before, that poor Master
Holofernes was nothing but a bit of an old humbug (humbug was not quite
the word used at that time, but the meaning was all the same). "Come
to me, my friend," he wrote, "thou art always prating of thy Latin
scholars. Now bring one of thy wonders along with thee."

So Don Philip came in great state, as befitted a visit to his King,
accompanied by the prettiest, the jauntiest, the sharpest, the
politest, the sweetest-voiced little fellow ever seen. Don Philip
introduced the curled darling as Master Eudemon, his page.

"Your Majesty sees this child?" he asked. "He is not yet twelve years
old; yet I dare promise that he will prove to Your Majesty, if it be
your pleasure, what difference there really is between the old dreamers
of the past and the lads of the present."

"So be it," cried the old Giant, gaily, as he put on his glasses, to
see the better.

When his eyes first fell on the young page, he swore under his
breath--which sounded for all the world like stifled thunder--that
he resembled rather "a little angel than a human child." As soon as
Eudemon was called to show what he knew, he rose with youthful modesty,
and bowed with charming grace to the King, then to his master, and
then to Gargantua, who was frowning at him, and wondering within
himself what all those pretty ways meant. Then the young page opened
in a Latin so good, so pure, and so musical that what he said sounded
rather like a speech made by a Gracchus, or a Cicero, or an Emilius,
in the old days of Roman glory, than one made by a youth of that day.
After a little, Eudemon--cunning rogue that he was!--began to praise
Gargantua to the skies. He spoke first of his young Prince's virtue
and good manners; secondly, of his knowledge; thirdly, of his noble
birth; fourthly, of his personal beauty; and fifthly, the little fellow
exhorted him so movingly to revere his great father in all things that
Gargantua was so ashamed at not understanding a word of what he was
saying, and at not being able to Latin away as he did, forgetting that
a dwarf had no business whatever to criticise a young Giant, that he
began to _moo-moo_ like a cow, and to hide his face in his cap without
having ever a word to say for himself.

[Illustration: EUDEMON.]

Here it was that Father Grandgousier grew really angry. He praised
Eudemon and scolded Gargantua by turns, until at last he fell asleep
among all the big bottles that had been emptied during the pretty tale
of the learned little angel, which nobody around the table understood
but Don Philip of the Marshes and the pretty little angel himself. It
is a bold thing at all times to awake a King without his own orders;
but when that King is a Giant, it is a bolder thing to do than ever.
No one dares, for his head, disturb him, and yet, he has to be waked,
or else the next morning his sneezes will make all the houses around
tumble down, as Giant's colds in the head are just about as big as
their bodies. Now, Gargantua being a young Giant himself, was the only
one who could venture upon the liberty of waking his Father, and I have
already said what he got for his pains:--

"What! not know thy Latin! After forty-eight years, seven months, and
two days, too! Then, my little rogue, it is to Paris thou shalt go."




CHAPTER VIII.

GARGANTUA GOES TO PARIS, AND THE BIG MARE THAT TAKES HIM THERE.


[Illustration: Initial T.]

The trip to Paris being settled, the first thing to be agreed on was a
horse large enough to carry Gargantua at his ease. There was no trouble
here; for, by good luck, it happened that there had arrived, only a
few days before, the most gigantic Mare that had ever eaten hay in the
Royal Stables. She had come all the way from Africa, a present from
Fayolles, the fourth king of Numidia. When Father Grandgousier went to
look at the Mare, he found her a marvellous animal, indeed. She was as
big as six elephants, with her hoofs split into toes. Her ears hung
downward like the great ears of the goats of Languedoc. The mare was
not alone in her split toes, because history tells us that the steed
of Julius Cæsar had the self-same toes if he hadn't the ears. But she
was alone in her tail! Oh, how mighty that tail was! It was as big as
the Pillar of Saint-Mars near Langes, and just as square. If the boys
and girls who are reading this are surprised, they will only have to
think of what they have already read of the tails of those Scythian
rams which weighed more than thirty pounds each; and of the sheep of
Syria, the tails of which were so long and so heavy that they had to be
rested on a cart to be carried in comfort. The Mare, in short, was so
extraordinary a creature that, on seeing her for the first time, Father
Grandgousier could only whistle beneath his breath.

"That's the very beast to carry my son to Paris! With her, all things
will go well. He will be a great scholar one of these days."

[Illustration: GARGANTUA'S MARE.]

The next day, after breakfast, the party started on their journey.
First, there was Gargantua on his gigantic mare, and wearing boots
which his father had just given him, made out of the skin of the red
deer; then his new teacher, Ponocrates; then his servants, among whom
was the young page, Eudemon. There never was a gayer party. In the
highest spirits, and laughing loudly, they jogged on, day after day,
until they reached a point just above the City of Orleans. At this
point, they found a great forest thirty-five leagues long and seventeen
wide, or thereabout. The forest was very fertile in some ugly insects,
known as gadflies and hornets. These flies were so large and so fierce,
and so sharp-tongued and so poisonous besides, that they were the
terror of all the poor horses and asses which had to pass through the
forest. But Gargantua's Mare was equal to both flies and hornets. She
resolved to avenge all her kindred, even though they were mere dwarfs,
which had ever suffered from gadflies and hornets, and which, if she
did not help them, would continue to suffer from them. The moment she
got well into the forest, and the gadflies began to plague her, she
first shook her tail slowly and lazily to see whether or not it was in
good working order. This did not in the least frighten the insects,
which kept on plaguing and stinging her more than ever. Then it was
that she loosed that tail of hers to the right and the left. So well
did she do this, whisking it wildly here and there, far up in the air
and low down on the ground, that she whipped down the biggest trees,
one after the other, with a crash that made the hearts of the others
tremble within their very bark, with all the ease that a mower cuts
down the grass. So well did she do her work that, since she passed
through that forest, there never has been seen in it a single tree or
a single gadfly, or a single hornet, for the whole wood on that day
became the open country, and has been open country ever since.

[Illustration: PONOCRATES.]

When Gargantua, who hadn't noticed what his Mare had been doing, saw
this, he only laughed, while he said to Ponocrates in his old-time
French:--

"_Je trouve beau-ce!_"

which, translated freely into English, would mean:--

"I find this fine."

And, from that day to this, the country above the City of Orleans, in
France, has been called _La Beauce_.




CHAPTER IX.

THE PARISIANS LAUGH AT GARGANTUA.--HE TAKES HIS REVENGE BY STEALING THE
GREAT BELLS OF NÔTRE-DÂME.


[Illustration: Initial T.]

The first thing Gargantua did, on reaching Paris, was to make a resolve
that he and his people should have a gay time. Some days after, when
they had all rested well and had feasted until they were full of good
eating and drinking, Gargantua started on a stroll through the town to
find what was to be seen. The Paris Gargantua saw was not the Paris of
to-day,--not nearly so mighty a city as it has since become. But its
people then were every bit as fond of merry-making and of seeing shows
as they are now. One who lived in those days, and who boasted that he
knew the Parisians better than they did themselves, says that they
were so silly and so stupid by nature that it only took a rope-dancer,
dancing on his rope, or a Merry-Andrew playing at his tricks, or a
bawler of old scraps, or a blind fiddler, or a hurdy-gurdy in the
market-place, to appear, to draw a bigger crowd than the holiest and
most eloquent preacher. Now, a Giant like Gargantua was himself such a
show as the people of Paris had never before set their silly eyes on.
Of course they swarmed around him with staring eyes and open mouths,
pushing against him here, and knocking against him there, in their
strong desire to see as much of him as they could. They troubled him
almost as much as the flies and hornets of _La Beauce_ had troubled
his mare. Some, bolder than the rest, even ran in and out between his
legs as he strode along the street. At first, Gargantua took the crowd
good-naturedly enough. By and by, he began to think that all this
squeezing and tickling were getting just a little tiresome. He looked
around in a helpless sort of way, until, by good luck, his eyes fell
on the tall towers of _Nôtre Dâme_ Cathedral, near by. "Ha! ha! that's
the very place for me," he cried, and, without further ado, resting one
hand on the top of the roof to steady himself, he went whizzing with a
great leap past the statues of Adam and Eve, that looked wonderingly
out from their stony niches. The idle crowd was afraid to follow
Gargantua; but it stood packed up close together in the open space
which surrounded the old church, gazing at him as he went through the
air, and wondering all the time what the Giant was going to do with
their famous towers. It was not long before they found out. No sooner
was he on the roof than Gargantua caught sight of the great tanks
filled with water which were then to be found there. Chuckling to
himself, he cried: "Now for some fun! I shall pledge this good people
of Paris in a glass of wine." Up he caught one of the tanks, poised
it for a moment in the air, and then shouting out: "_To your health,
good folks!_" tipped it just a bit. Down poured its water in a full
stream. Then he threw the tank after it. Quick, before one could think
or breathe, the others followed. So sudden was the down-pour of water
that the people thought a tremendous water-spout, in passing over their
city, had burst upon them. Two hundred and sixty thousand, four hundred
and eighteen persons were drowned on that day by the water, or crushed
by the tanks, or killed by being run over by those seeking to escape.
Those who were lucky got away as fast as they could. In less than three
minutes the square was empty, for the water, as it rolled out into the
streets, washed all the dead away.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA ENTERS PARIS.]

Gargantua, who was a good-hearted Giant, little knew what mischief he
had done. After he had emptied all the tanks, and thrown them away,
he ceased to think about the people. He had only gone on the roof to
rid himself of the buzzing and nudging of the crowd; and, not hearing
any more from them, he set about amusing himself. When he caught sight
of the great bells of _Nôtre Dâme_, a happy idea struck him. He would
set them to ringing and pealing! Ah, how he was charmed! their notes
were so soft, so rich, so mellow, so tender, so golden! He wanted to
have the bells about him all the time. Just then he thought: "These
Parisians deserve a lesson for their bad manners, and I am going to
revenge myself." So he at once began to pick up the bells, one after
the other, as if they were so many buckets. When he had gathered them
all, he leaped down from the roof and strode across the city in the
direction of his hotel. Once there, a merry thought came to him, which
made him drop the bells and clap his thighs with a sound that brought
all the good wives of Paris--or those that remained after the affair of
the tanks--to their windows.

"Ho! ho! ho! I have it now! I shall keep my beautiful bells to please
my father, and pay the Parisians, all at the same time. I send my
mare home to-morrow. Every little donkey nowadays wears a collar with
jingling bells. _My_ Mare shall carry at her neck the bells of _Nôtre
Dâme!_"

[Illustration: THE CITY WAS EXCITED.]

Gargantua went straight to the stable where his Mare had already found
her fodder, and, with great care, while Gymnaste, his squire, held the
candle, placed the bells of _Nôtre Dâme_, one by one, around her neck.
The city was greatly excited at the loss of the bells; and, the next
day, there came a long line of grave, black-robed men who proved to him
in learned speeches that the holy church of _Nôtre Dâme_ had a right to
her own bells. Gargantua, now that all the excitement had passed, felt
that he had done a very silly thing, and could only say that the bells
were not lost; but that if their worships would go to the stable, they
would find them still hanging from the neck of his great Mare. After
further talk, and much good drinking, the grave, black-robed men--who,
if the whole truth were to be told, were not a little afraid of the
Giant--picked up heart to say: "Give us back our bells, and we shall
bind ourselves to give your Mare free grazing in the forest of Bière,
so long as Your Highness honors us with your presence."

Gargantua was very willing to accept this offer. The bells were taken
back in great state to _Nôtre Dâme_, where--God bless them!--they may
be seen, and heard too, when the sun shines and when the rain falls, to
this very day.




CHAPTER X.

PONOCRATES, THE NEW TEACHER, DESIRES GARGANTUA TO SHOW HIM HOW HE USED
TO STUDY WITH OLD MASTER HOLOFERNES.


[Illustration: Initial G.]

Gargantua was a good son, as we have already seen. He knew that he had
been sent to Paris to learn Latin. So, after a few days of pleasure,
he dutifully offered to begin a course of study with his new teacher,
Ponocrates. But Ponocrates himself was just a little curious to know
how old Master Holofernes had managed to teach his big pupil so as to
leave him, after fifty-three years, ten months, and ten days, just as
much a booby as he had found him. "Let Your Highness," Ponocrates said,
"do precisely as you used to do with your old master." And Gargantua,
greatly relieved, as you may imagine, began to live in Paris the very
life he used to live at home. And this is the way he lived. He woke
up between eight and nine o'clock every morning, whether it was light
or not. The first thing he did after waking was to make a tent of the
sheets of the bed, raising one of his tall legs as the centre-pole and
watching how the big sheet fell on either side. After the tent was
brought down, Gargantua would begin to gambol and roll around in his
bed, to stand on his head, to twist his huge limbs in every sort of
twirl, and to turn any number of somersaults, single, double, treble,
and quadruple, in a way that would make one of our modern acrobats turn
green with envy. After that he would rise and dress himself according
to the season. But, in the old home days, he generally wore a large
robe of rough cloth, lined with fox-skins, and so he brought out of
his trunk the very garment itself, looking rather worn and shabby.
The next thing was to comb his head with a "German comb," which was
the name given in those days to the easiest way of combing, since it
meant a comb made by the four fingers and the thumb. For old Master
Holofernes had always enjoined this habit on him, saying that it was a
waste of time for him to smooth his hair in any other way, and with any
better comb.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA GETS UP.]

Being now dressed, Gargantua went through a series of performances
which--considering that they came from a Giant--must have been very
startling, indeed. He gaped, stretched, coughed, spit, groaned,
sneezed, hiccoughed, and then, with a broad smile, declared himself
ready to breakfast on fried tripe, grilled steaks, colossal hams,
magnificent roast, and a noble soup. All this feast was made hot with
mustard, shovelled down his throat by four of his servants.

Master Ponocrates, one day, thought it his duty, as the teacher charged
with the education of his royal pupil, to suggest that it was hardly
right for him to eat so heavy a breakfast without having already taken
some exercise. Gargantua was ready with his answer.

"How can you say so, Master?" he asked; "have I not exercised enough?
Have I not stretched myself on the bed in all sorts of ways until my
muscles are sore? Isn't that enough? Pope Alexander the V. used to do
the same, by the advice of his Jewish doctor, and he lived, as you
know, until he died. I feel very well from my breakfast, and am already
beginning to think of my dinner."

[Illustration: GARGANTUA BREAKFASTS.]

Ponocrates must have been satisfied with this little speech of his
pupil; for, after grumbling a bit under his breath, all that he did was
to stroke his long beard in deep thought, while he asked himself in
wonder: "How did the Prince ever happen to hear about Pope Alexander?"
and let the young Giant continue his course, while he himself continued
to wonder.

After breakfast Gargantua went to church,--you may be sure he kept away
from _Nôtre Dâme!_ Behind him, on his way to church, went nine of the
stoutest lackeys, who bore, as if they would have liked to be doing
anything rather than that, a big basket, which contained a breviary
worthy of a Giant, since it was so heavy that, by actual weight, it was
found to weigh just eleven hundred and six pounds. With that breviary,
the devout young Prince entered the church and heard the Holy Mass from
beginning to end. On leaving the church, he always thought it the
proper thing for his breviary to be carried by oxen to his hotel. Once
there, Gargantua began to study during a short half hour, with his eyes
like good Saint Anthony's in the story,

    "firmly fixed upon his book;"

while all the time, "his soul," as the clown of Paris, in his day, used
to say, "was down in the _kitchen_."

[Illustration: GARGANTUA GOES TO CHURCH.]

The dinner came soon enough after his return home to satisfy even
Gargantua, who was a great glutton. He used to smile as he saw the
table at his new lodging-house laden with a dozen rich hams, with the
best of smoked tongues, with puddings, with; fine chitterlings; and his
great throat took them all down one after the other. Every day, after
the meals, it was his practice to wash his hands with fresh wine, and
to pick his teeth with a dry pig-bone.

After that he declared himself ready for his games.




CHAPTER XI.

THE TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN GAMES OF CARDS GARGANTUA KNEW HOW TO
PLAY.--WHAT IT WAS HE SAID AFTER HE HAD GONE THROUGH THE LIST, AND WHAT
IT WAS PONOCRATES REMARKED.


[Illustration: Initial T.]

The first thing Gargantua did, on rising from the dinner table, would
be to call out in a cheery voice:--

"SPREAD THE CARPET!"

The servants understood what that meant very well. Gaily they would
unroll a large carpet, stretch it free from wrinkles, and then, in a
twinkling, lay a pack of cards in the very middle of it. Then the Giant
and his friends would sit down on the carpet, and begin playing cards.
There were just two hundred and fifteen of these games which Gargantua
knew how to play. Their names would sound odd to the card-players of
this day, and I give some of the oddest on the list, so that you may
know what queer games were then the fashion with the Giant and his
friends:--

    The Bamboozler.
    The Potatoes.
    Scotch Hoppens.
    The Cows.
    The Tables.
    To Steal Mustard.
    Skin the Fox.
    Sow the Hay.
    Sell the Hay.
    The Monkey.
    The Combs.
    The Coat-brush.
    Nine Hands.
    Partridges.
    The Keys.
    The Birch Tree.
    Ninepins.
    I pinch thee without laughing.
    Figs of Marseilles.
    Draw the Spit.

Each of these games took a whole day, lasting between dinner and the
time to enjoy a nap. Gargantua always thought it necessary to prepare
for his afternoon sleep by taking a little drink. His companions
must have been heavy drinkers,--regular old topers of the jolly
order,--because the allowance every day called for eleven pots of wine
for each man. After drinking such a quantity they would naturally feel
drowsy. They would then stretch themselves on the carpet, and snore
away, each snorer playing a different tune through his nose, in the
midst of the cards lying loosely around, and the emptied pots,--all
except Gargantua, whose breathing on such occasions was always of the
hurricane fashion, whether awake or asleep. He would sleep for two or
three hours like a good Christian, without thinking of any evil thing,
and without muttering a single bad word in his dreams. On waking, he
had a trick of giving his great ears a half-dozen shakes,--why, I don't
know,--and then bawling out for fresh wine, which he drank down in one
great gulp. Then came the only study for the day, which was rather a
mystery for all parties. Nobody could say exactly what it was, and
Master Ponocrates only smiled when asked about it. It lasted for a few
minutes only, after which Gargantua would mount, in high state, an old
mule which had already served nine kings, and briskly ride away to see
where the good people of Paris caught their rabbits.

On his return, he had a habit of running in and out of the kitchen,
with his broad nostrils swollen out like balloons, to find out what
particular roast was on the spit, until the cook, already in a stew,
was ready to tear his hair in despair. But cooks may be ever so vexed,
the meat will roast on the spit all the same, and at last get done to
a turn. All things being ready, Gargantua would sit down at table. He
always managed to have a large company of gentlemen present, who were
only too willing, for the honor of being invited to dinner by a Prince,
to serve as his attendants, should he ever need their services. Among
those of high birth who usually dined with him at this time were the
Lords De Fou, De Gourville, De Grignaut, and De Marigny.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA LOOKS INTO THE KITCHEN.]

After supper, Gargantua--being in the liveliest humor, and disposed to
look on the world with a broad laugh, showing the largest and whitest
of teeth--would play a little, or else pay an open-air visit to some of
the many pretty young ladies living in the neighborhood,--their houses
being too small for him to enter,--and, on such nights, he would not
get home until midnight. Sometimes, when he did not go out, he would
take another little supper about eight o'clock, and still another
before midnight. Then he would sleep without snoring until eight
o'clock next morning.

It was a great day for Gargantua when he reached the end of his two
hundred and fifteen games; or, rather, he intended that it should be
a great day. He had said nothing to any one; but, when he woke that
particular morning, he was noticed to be in a gayer mood than usual
while he was dressing himself, and after he had gamboled and rolled
around his bed, and stretched his limbs on it, and made his own
great tent with one leg and the sheet, and given a neat turn to his
long locks with his German comb, and gone through his usual gaping,
coughing, spitting, groaning, sneezing, and hiccoughing. But, being in
some things a very simple Giant, indeed, he had not noticed that his
teacher, Ponocrates, had very keen eyes, and could use them too. Why,
Ponocrates knew when the last game was to be played just as well as
Gargantua himself did, and he had made up his mind to be somewhere in
the room when it closed. Sure enough, listening in a corner of the big
chamber, he heard some one say: "_Here we are on our last game!_" To
which Gargantua shouted in reply: "Ho! ho! The _last_ game! Don't be
too sure of that. Gentlemen, to-morrow we shall play just as well as
to-day."

"How, Prince?" asked Ponocrates, softly, coming out of his corner.

"How, good Master? Why, by beginning our games over again."

"Not so fast; not so fast, Prince. To-morrow Your Highness will begin
with ME!"




CHAPTER XII.

GARGANTUA IS DOSED BY PONOCRATES, AND FORGETS ALL THAT HOLOFERNES HAD
TAUGHT HIM.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

While the two hundred and fifteen games, taking up just that number of
days, were being played, Master Ponocrates had not been at all idle. He
had already consulted with Master Theodore--a wise physician of that
time--and knew just what he was going to do when he had said:--

"To-morrow Your Highness will begin with ME."

The first thing was to dose Gargantua with a mysterious herb,
which made him forget all that he had ever learned under his old
teacher. This was not an original idea at all with either Theodore
or Ponocrates, for Thimotes, the music-master of Miletus, had long
before dosed, in the same way, such disciples of his as had been
unlucky enough to have first learned their notes under other musicians.
Gargantua, when asked by Ponocrates to meet certain scientific
gentlemen of Paris who had been specially invited to inspire the royal
Giant with love of knowledge, was so weak and pale after his dose that
he could only bow his head, while wondering lazily to himself what all
these heavy talks about Science had to do with the Latin, which his
good old Father Grandgousier had been so anxious for him to learn.

[Illustration: PONOCRATES DOSES GARGANTUA.]

When he had been dosed enough to forget his old studies, and even to
look up with a mild surprise when his dearly-loved Master Holofernes
was mentioned, Gargantua was put through a course of study, in which
he did not lose a single hour of the day. Only think how much he must
have learned each day! First, he was roused up, whether he wanted or
not, at four o'clock every morning, when he said his prayers. While the
attendants were rubbing his body down, a young page would read, in a
loud voice, so as to be heard above the scrubbing, some extracts from
a book of good doctrine. After this, being not more than half-dressed
yet, his practice was to visit each of his companions in his room,
and with a gentle "Get thee up, my boy! get thee up!" awake the lazy
fellow from his slumbers. Then he returned to his room, where he found
Ponocrates always ready to explain what was doubtful in the chapters
that had been read to him, and to ask him whether he had noted, as he
should, what signs the sun was entering that morning, and what aspect
he thought the moon would have that night.

It was only after this that his attendants began to dress him, to
perfume him, to curl him, and to powder him--Gargantua all the while
not once venturing to use that large, well-thumbed German comb of which
he had once been so proud. While all this was going on, the same page
would repeat the lesson of the day. Gargantua, thoroughly dosed and
brought down to a most anxious desire for study, learned after two or
three days to repeat the lessons by heart. Everybody looked glad at
this--none more so than good Master Ponocrates himself--especially when
the debate touched on such a question as the "Human State," which was
made the special lesson for two or three hours. While Gargantua was
still puzzling over the reading of the "Human State," and learning all
around the best talk about it, the big clock would strike eleven; and
then he would, with all his friends, walk soberly to the ground where
they would play at the good old game of ball, exercising their bodies
till all their muscles grew tired. From the field it was an easy way to
the house, where Gargantua, being first rubbed down and after a change
of shirt, would walk meekly, surrounded by his friends, towards the
kitchen to ask if the dinner was ready. While waiting for the cook--now
no longer in a stew, and therefore growing fatter and greasier than
ever--to send up the meal, they would recite clearly and eloquently
such sentences as had been retained from the morning-lecture. However,
Mister Appetite is stronger than Knowledge; and when dinner was ready,
they soon dropped their wise talk and began to look with eyes as big
as their stomachs towards the dining-room. Once seated at table some
one would begin to read a pleasant history of ancient heroism, and
continue reading until the wine was served. Then, if the party seemed
in a mood for it, Ponocrates would set them to chatting merrily about
the nature of all that they had before them on the table, the bread,
the wine, the water, the salt, the meats, the fish, the fruits, herbs,
roots and the mode of preparing all these. Doing this every day,
Gargantua soon learned all the passages relating to them to be found
in old classic writers, who were as dry as they were wise. Sometimes,
when the quotation did not run smooth, the old, musty, yellow parchment
itself, with its nearly rubbed-out Gothic letters, would be brought in
to settle the question; and the result was that, in a marvelously short
time, no learned doctor was Gargantua's equal in all this--no, not by
one-half.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA AT HIS LESSONS.]

They would once more take up in an easy talk the lessons read during
the morning, and, after finishing their dinner with some well-made
marmalade of quinces, would clean their teeth with a twig of the
mastic tree, and wash their hands and eyes with fresh water. Which
being done, cards were brought, not to play with, but to teach a
thousand fresh tricks and inventions which sprang directly, not only
from Architecture, but from Geometry, Astronomy, and Music. After
that, with a word from the good Master, Gargantua would make himself
merry in singing with his comrades some songs selected by himself,
accompanied by such instruments as the lute, the spinet, the harp, the
German nine-holed flute, the viol, and the sackbut, when would come
three hours given to exercises in writing antique and Roman letters,
and, lastly, to the main study, which would have made old Father
Grandgousier's heart swell with gladness if he could only have known
it.




CHAPTER XIII.

HOW GARGANTUA WAS MADE NOT TO LOSE ONE HOUR OF THE DAY.


[Illustration: Initial E.]

Everybody knows that Giants are very queer people and require a great
deal of care, even when they are the mildest, and Gargantua was such
a Giant that the measures of all the Tailors of Paris at that time
couldn't have told him how tall he was, and all the weights known in
his day couldn't possibly have balanced his big body.

Master Ponocrates, who had no idea of making the Prince's mind
strong at the expense of his body,--being too good a teacher for
that,--arranged it in such a way that, every day after the Latin
lesson, Gargantua was allowed, after changing his clothes, to leave his
hotel with his Squire Gymnaste, who had been chosen specially to teach
him the noble art of horsemanship. Once on horseback, Gargantua would
first give his steed full rein; then make him leap high in air; then
jump a ditch; then scale a fence; then turn quickly in one half of a
circle, and back again around the other half, before one could count
thirty seconds. Then calling for a lance--the keenest, the sharpest,
and the strongest that could be had--he would ride full-tilt against
the heaviest door or the stoutest oak, piercing the one through and
through, or uprooting the other by sheer force with as much ease as a
common man would tear up a sapling. As for the flourishes on horseback,
no one could compete with Gargantua. The great acrobat of Ferrara was
only a monkey in comparison with him. Gargantua was taught to leap from
one horse to another while both were at full gallop, without touching
the ground, or, with lance at rest, mounting each horse without
stirrup or bridle, and guiding it as he pleased. As Ponocrates said,
"all these things help to make a good soldier."

Yet this was only a trifle. Every fine day the Prince would go hunting.
He would shine as brightly there as he had done in horsemanship. He
would always be the first when the chasing the deer, the doe, the boar,
the partridge, the pheasant, and the bustard.

Next to hunting came swimming. Gargantua, being so bulky, never would
strike a stroke unless he was in deep waters. He would play such tricks
in the water as only good swimmers know--swimming on his back, or
sideways, or with all his body, or sometimes with his feet only. He
laughed at the idea of crossing the Seine. It was his daily pastime,
holding a book with one hand high above the water, to reach the other
side without wetting a single page of it. One day, Gargantua, being
praised for all this, was asked if he had any model. All he said was:--

"Perhaps, Julius Cæsar used to do something of the same kind."

[Illustration: GARGANTUA LEARNS TO SHOOT.]

On coming out of the water, he would of course feel chilled through,
and then to get well warmed he would run up a hill, and then rush
down, taking the trees on the way, up which he would dart like a cat,
leaping from one branch to the other like a squirrel, and breaking down
great limbs to the right and left like Milo of old. He would next pay
his attention to the houses which, with the aid of two steel poniards,
he would climb, jumping down from them without ever being the worse for
it. After this he would exercise with the bow, often strongest bows in
drawing, shooting at targets from below upwards, from above downwards,
sideways, and at last behind him, like the Parthians.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA LEARNS TO CLIMB.]

But there was something more. Every day after these feats were over,
they would drop a big cable from some high tower to the ground.
Gargantua would go hand over hand up this chain, and descend it with
so sure a grip that, among the active men of Paris, there could not
be found his equal. Then came what Ponocrates called strengthening
his nerves. For this purpose, two great weights of lead had been
specially made--each one weighing eight hundred and seventy thousand
pounds--which Gargantua would take up, one in each hand, raise them
above his head, and keep them there, without moving, three quarters
of an hour and more. All who saw this great feat wondered, and swore
that the like of it had not been seen in the world. Being still out in
the open air, he would exercise his throat and his lungs by shouting
like a wild man. Why, he was one day heard calling Eudemon from the
Gate of Saint Victor, by a man who was standing in the street at
Montmartre,--any map of Paris will show you how far that is. Everybody
has heard about Stentor and his great voice. Well, Stentor never had
such a voice at the siege of Troy as Gargantua had at the gate of St.
Victor.

When the weather was bright, he would play a game in which he would
imitate Milo, the famous strong man, by standing on his feet, and
daring any number of the strongest men to make him move. This was the
last of the hard work for the day. He would be allowed to rest time
enough to be bathed, rubbed down, and given clean clothes. He and
his companions would return very slowly home, stopping on the way by
certain fields or grassy plains, where they examined the trees and
plants, consulting over them with the books of old-time greybeards who
had written about them, their arms full of specimens which they would
throw to the page Rhizotome, who was charged to take good care of them,
together with the pickaxes, hoes, spades, scrapers, pruning-knives, and
other implements which his master had used in the work.

Of course this had brought them home, where they had to wait sometimes
for supper. If they happened to wait, they would repeat certain
passages from what had been read or spoken of at dinner. At the
supper-table, they would continue their wise talk. After supper they
used to sing musically, to play on harmonious instruments, and to pass
the time away in those little games which wise men know how to play
with cards, dice, and goblets. His companions never found these very
interesting. No more did Gargantua.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA STUDIES ASTRONOMY.]

When bed-time came, Gargantua used to walk with Ponocrates as far as
the lodge, looking upon the open street, whence they could better
see the face of the sky. There he watched the comet--there happened
to be one then--and the figure, situation and aspect, opposition and
conjunction of the stars. Then, with his good teacher, he would briefly
sum up in the way of the Pythagoreans all that he had read, seen,
known, thought, and done in the course of the day.

Then the tired young Giant, tucking his bedclothes lazily around him,
would commend himself to Heaven, and stretch his big limbs out on a bed
that I am afraid was rather short for him.




CHAPTER XIV.

HOW THE AWFUL WAR BETWEEN THE BUNMAKERS OF LERNE AND GARGANTUA'S
COUNTRY WAS BEGUN.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

While Gargantua, studying day after day, was finding out that the tasks
he had at first thought to be so hard were so easy that they became
more a pastime than anything else, and while he was growing to be a
skilful soldier and a most learned gentleman, his old father, King
Grandgousier, without his knowing it, had got into a terrible muss with
certain Bunmakers of Lerne.

This is how it happened.

It was vintage-time, when the great purple grapes, bursting with their
ripeness, were to be gathered, and when the Shepherds of Grandgousier's
kingdom used to watch the vines like hawks to prevent the starlings
from pecking at the juicy clusters. This vintage-time always made
business for the Bunmakers of Lerne. Even when in the best of humor,
however, they were always a peppery-touch-me-if-you-dare sort of
fellows. They brought their buns to market along the great highway,
in ten or eleven big carts, which filled the air around them with the
sweetest odors. Of course, trudging along through the white dust of the
road, they were sure to meet King Grandgousier's Shepherds watching
their vines, who always made it a rule to step out politely to the edge
of the highway, hats in hand, to beg the Bunmakers to give them some of
their fine, smoking buns in exchange for their money.

I dare say the Shepherds knew what they were doing. Never were there
such buns as the Bunmakers of Lerne had the fame, all around that
region, of making. Taken at breakfast with ripe grapes they were a dish
fit for a King's table!

By ill luck, this year above all other years, the Bunmakers chose to
show how hot and peppery they could be. Being asked by the Shepherds
in the usual polite way to sell their buns, they not only refused
outright, but they began to call the honest Shepherds all the bad names
they could think of. There was one Shepherd named Forgier,--a good man,
and a gay one besides,--who, stepping forward, said in a mild voice to
the Bunmakers:--

[Illustration: THE BUNMAKERS OF LERNE.]

"Friends, this is not acting like neighbors. Haven't you always come by
the highway? Haven't you always found us ready to give you good silver
and copper for your buns? And haven't you always had from us in return
our fine cheeses, which give their richness to your buns?"

It is an old saying that oil will make troubled waters still. But old
sayings are not always true. This particular saying proved false, for,
when the Bunmakers received Forgier's oil, it only set _their_ water
on fire. "Come here, sirrah!" shouted Marquet, the chief Bunmaker, to
Forgier, "and _I_ will give you your buns."

Forgier, being a very worthy, unsuspecting fellow, came near with his
money in his hand, like an honest man, thinking all the time that
Marquet really would let him have the buns, in spite of his rough voice
and sneering tones. What did Marquet do but, with his long whip, cut
the good Forgier about his body and legs so as to make him dance more
nimbly than he had ever danced before! After that, Marquet got a little
frightened and wanted to slip away; but Forgier, while he was bawling
for everybody to come to his rescue, took from under his arm a big
cudgel, with which he hit the bad Bunmaker such a blow on his head as
to make him fall from his horse more like a dead man than a living one.

But this was not the end. The good Shepherds, hearing Forgier's cries
for help, rushed from their grape-vines to the white, dusty road,
holding their poles in their hands ready to avenge their comrade. The
Bunmakers, peppery as they might be, were just then trying to get off
as fast as their horses could carry their carts away; but they were not
fast enough to prevent the Shepherds from taking from them four or five
dozen delicious buns, for which they offered, like honest men, to pay
the usual price. But the Bunmakers were in too great a hurry for that.
They laughed angrily at all these offers, and bore Marquet's body, in a
dead faint, away with them.

And this was how the great and bloody war between the Bunmakers of
Lerne and Gargantua's country began.

The first thing the Bunmakers did, on getting safe home at Lerne, even
before taking a bit of food or a sup of wine, was to hasten to the
palace, where, bowing low before their King Picrochole, they spread out
their broken baskets, torn robes, crushed buns, and, at last, with a
grand flourish, displayed Marquet himself all covered with dry blood,
and groaning dreadfully.

"Who has dared do this?" shouted King Picrochole, getting very red in
the face.

[Illustration: THE ANGER OF PICROCHOLE.]

"The Shepherds and vine-watchers of that old Giant Grandgousier, may it
please Your Majesty," answered the Bunmakers.

"Oh! oh! oh!" roared Picrochole furiously.

Without asking for further information or a single proof, Picrochole
ordered the drum to be beat around his city, commanding everybody,
under pain of the halter, to appear at broad noon in the great
square. Then he went to dinner. While he was dining, he gave out his
commissions to his officers in the army, which, when gathered together,
was found to consist of sixteen thousand and fourteen bowmen, and
thirty thousand and eleven infantry. To the great Equerry Touquedillon
was given the command of the artillery, which, when mustered, numbered
nine hundred and fourteen great brass cannon, culverins, catapults, and
other pieces of artillery.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN SWILLWIND'S CAVALRY.]

When the army was all got together, a troop of Light Cavalry, three
hundred strong, under Captain Swillwind, was sent forward to scour the
country of the enemy, and find out what ambuscades had been laid; but
they could find none. Grandgousier's Shepherds were still peacefully
watching their grape-vines, and looking out only for the bad starlings.
When the report was made that the land was clear, Picrochole, all of
a sudden bold, ordered a quick advance, each company marching under
its own captain. Without any order or discipline, the army swept over
King Grandgousier's fields, meeting no opposition; laying them waste;
sparing neither rich nor poor; respecting no holy place; carrying away
the bellowing oxen, mooing cows, roaring bulls, crying calves, bleating
lambs, ewes, rams, goats, cackling hens, crowing cocks, piping chicks,
goslings, ganders, geese, grunting swine, and suckling pigs; beating
down the ripe walnuts; tearing up the vines, and pulling all the fruit
from the trees. Now and then, a frightened Shepherd would crawl from
his hiding-place and beg for mercy, on the ground that he and the
Bunmakers had always been the best neighbors together, and that it
would be a shame to treat him like a foe. All the Bunmakers did was to
laugh at so mean-spirited a fellow, while shouting that they were bound
to teach him how to eat their buns. So, like a great wave of blood,
they rolled on till they reached Seuilly. Then the mighty army, after
sacking the town, rushed, shouting like madmen, to the very walls of
the great and venerable Abbey of Seuilly, which they found very thick,
and strengthened by a huge gate made fast against them. The main body
marched away towards the Ford of Vede, leaving seven bodies of infantry
with their standards, and two hundred lancers, to break down the wall,
which they did very soon, with fierce cries of "Let us spoil the monks!"

[Illustration: SPOILING THE MONKS.]

Of course, the poor monks were not fighting men. And when they found
their convent walls broken through and their fields at the mercy of the
Bunmakers, all they could think of doing was to go to their Chapel,
from which they intended to come forth in a solemn procession to
entreat the wicked men to leave them alone. While the monks, headed by
their Prior himself, were singing psalms and getting ready to leave
the Chapel, in rushed a young monk, with flaming eyes, who had seen
what was going on in the vineyard.

"That's very well sung, brethren!" he shouted; "very well sung, indeed!
But why don't you sing, 'Good-by, basket, the vintage is over'? Don't
you know that those fellows are breaking down our vines, and that we
shall have no good wine this year?"

Now this young monk, who was called Friar John, was, I am afraid,
looked upon by his pious brethren as rather a black sheep. He was tall,
straight as an arrow, strong as a bull, a little quick of speech,
skilful in all games, and as brave as a lion. So, when he looked in
upon the singing monks, and found them ready to give up everything,
off came his frock, and catching up a great staff near by, which was
as long as a lance and as big around as the fist, he rushed out and
fell upon the enemy, who were thinking of everything save the praying
monks in the Abbey. The flag-bearers had piled their flags all along
the walls to work the better, the drummers had opened one end of their
drums and stuffed them with grapes, and the very trumpets were running
over with juice.

[Illustration: FRIAR JOHN ATTACKS THE BUNMAKERS.]

Then it was that Friar John--holding his staff high in the air--swept
down upon the scattered Bunmakers like a hurricane! It was "first come,
first served" with Friar John. The first thwack crashed through the
crown of a big-headed bun-man, and brought him down. Then the staff,
with just a little blood on it now, went spinning around to the right
and left--up and down, first on one, then another--in fact, everywhere.
It broke the legs of this one, the arms of that one, and the neck of
still another. It gouged the eyes, drove teeth down throats, smashed
in ribs, and made jaws crack. If any one wanted to hide between the
thick vines, Friar John was sure to spy him out and bring him to the
ground with a broken back. If any one wanted to run away, the terrible
staff would reach him, and he would fall, shouting: "I surrender!" When
the slaughter had gone on for some time, Friar John stopped, and for
good reason; for, looking around him, he could no longer see a single
Bunmaker standing on his feet, and he was only giving wild blows in the
air. Then he rested, and it was found that he had, with his single
arm, killed the whole army which had remained behind in the vineyards
of the convent, numbering thirteen thousand six hundred and twenty-two
men. But Friar John had struck down some other things besides the army,
and these were the purple vines loaded with the rich and juicy grapes,
which made the delicious convent wine famous throughout all the land.

After all, the rascal Bunmakers _had_ spoiled the vintage!

[Illustration: FRIAR JOHN TO THE RESCUE.]




CHAPTER XV.

HOW OLD KING GRANDGOUSIER RECEIVED THE NEWS.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

While Friar John was cracking skulls, and breaking limbs, and
flattening noses, and ramming teeth down throats, Picrochole, King of
Lerne, had, with his Bunmakers and in the greatest haste, crossed the
Ford of Vede and ordered the town of Roche-Clermaud to surrender, which
did not make him wait long before opening its gates to him. We shall
leave him there while we see how King Grandgousier had received the
news of this sudden war.

One rainy evening, the fine old gentleman happened to be in a very good
humor. He was, as usual after supper, seated warming his knees, which
were somewhat rheumatic, before a blazing fire; and, while waiting for
the chestnuts to be roasted to a turn, was passing the time by writing
on the red hearth with a burnt stick and making Queen Gargamelle
laugh by telling his funny stories of old times. While he was in the
very midst of one of these funny old stories, and the chestnuts were
smelling as if they wanted to be eaten, here comes a servant to tell
King Grandgousier that one of his Shepherds was down in the court-yard
begging to see him.

"What does the varlet want?" asked the old King. He didn't mean to be
angry, but his surprise made his big voice sound very loud and very
gruff.

"To see Your Majesty."

"And what does he want to see My Majesty for? But bring him up. I
shan't know any sooner by waiting for thee to tell me."

Who should it be but one of the very Shepherds, who had been watching
the vines and the rich purple grapes when the trouble began? He was
full of it,--so brimming full that he could hardly speak for his
eagerness to tell all he knew. At last, he managed to let the King know
what the bad Bunmakers of Lerne had done with his subjects' vineyards;
how the wicked King Picrochole had been running over his lands, doing
pretty much what he liked in the way of burning houses, sacking towns,
and tramping down vines; and how he was, just at this time, shutting
the gates of Roche-Clermaud against His Majesty.

[Illustration: PICROCHOLE'S ARMY.]

It was sad to see how the old Giant received this bad news. He was the
kindest and friendliest of neighbors to all the Kings around him. He
had never been known to go to war with any of them, and no neighbor
had ever once thought before of going to war with him. What the good
old man liked was peace, so that he could, every day after supper, eat
roasted chestnuts, and tell fine stories of old times, while writing
with a burnt stick on the red hearth.

"_Holos! holos!_" cried Grandgousier; "what is all this, good people?
Am I dreaming? Or is this really true that I hear? Can Picrochole, the
dear friend of my youth, close to me in blood and alliance, mean to
war against me and my people? Who leads him on? Who has induced him
to do this? Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! May he believe me when I say that I
have never done any harm to him or his people! On the contrary, I have
helped him whenever he wanted money; and that was very often. Ho! ho
ho! my good people, my friends, and all my faithful servants, I cannot
prevent your coming to my aid. _Las!_ I am getting old. All my life I
have worked for peace. Now I must have war. _Las! Las!_"

While saying all this, he roared in his despair, without knowing it,
so fiercely that the chestnut-roasters ran away in their fright,
leaving their chestnuts to pop and burn on the griddles. Only the
Council remained, who always made it a point to be present at supper.
King Grandgousier at once called the Council together for special
deliberation, by inviting them to sit at the supper-table without
eating, and talk about affairs. After three hours of close debate, two
points were fully agreed on:--

1. To send an army to Picrochole to treat about matters.

2. To write to Prince Gargantua.

It was further resolved to send Ulrich Gallet, the very next day, with
five carts full of buns, with instructions to tell Picrochole that the
old King was willing to give these _five cart-loads_ of buns to make
good those _five dozen buns_ which had been taken by his Shepherds.

[Illustration: GRANDGOUSIER WRITES TO GARGANTUA.]

Then Grandgousier wrote a letter to Gargantua, telling about the war
on his hands, in which he said: "My resolve is not to provoke, rather
to pacify; but, if assailed, to defend myself. Come, my Gargantua, my
well-beloved, come! Thy Father wants thee!"

By this time the chestnuts were all burnt black, and there wasn't a
single spark to be seen among the ashes.




CHAPTER XVI.

HOW GRANDGOUSIER TRIED TO BUY PEACE WITH FIVE CART-LOADS OF BUNS.


[Illustration: Initial K.]

King Picrochole must have been a very mean man. You will begin to
think so when you know how he treated Ulrich Gallet, who was sent by
good old Father Grandgousier to make peace. Ulrich left the palace
with five cart-loads of splendid buns, four of these carts being for
the Bunmakers, and the fifth and last cart being filled to the brim
with buns good enough to make any one's mouth water, being made of the
purest butter, the most delicious honey, the freshest eggs, and the
richest saffron and other spices ever known. As Ulrich went along the
high-road, people would curl up their noses in delight, take two or
three long sniffs, and then cry out: "Ah! that last cart is the best of
all."

"Yes," Ulrich would answer; "the buns in that cart are sent by King
Grandgousier to Marquet himself."

"Who is Marquet?"

"Why, don't you know that he is the man who struck our friend Forgier
across the shins and got beaten by our Shepherds? His Majesty has given
me seven hundred thousand and three gold crowns for him to pay the
surgeon who nursed his wounds."

"Oh! how good a King we have!"

"Yes, and, what is more, His Majesty offers to give Marquet and his
heirs an apple-orchard forever, so dearly does he love peace."

"Was there ever such a King as ours!" cried the people on the road,
sending Ulrich on with another cart-load of blessings for each mile,
so that by the time he reached King Picrochole's Court there must have
been quite a train of carts.

[Illustration: GRANDGOUSIER'S EMBASSY.]

When Ulrich got near Roche-Clermaud, he began to fear that he wouldn't
be allowed to get into it unless he could first show that he and his
carts were the best of friends. So, just before reaching the limits,
he placed all around his carts a great store of reeds, canes, and
willow-boughs, and took good care to have every one of the drivers
decorated with the same, which made them look very friendly, indeed. So
great was Ulrich's desire to appear like a friend that he even held a
branch of each in his own hand. At this sight, the people of Lerne did
not curl up their noses with quite so much delight, nor take quite so
many sniffs, as the good Shepherds who had already been enjoying the
fragrance of the buns. But, without minding cross words and sour looks,
Master Ulrich Gallet at last reached the gates of King Picrochole's
Palace.

Picrochole did not want either to let him come in, or go out to meet
him, but sent word to him, instead, to tell what he had to say to
Captain Touquedillon. Then the good man, clearing his throat, said:--

"My lord, to take away all cause for any further trouble, and to remove
any excuse for your master and mine not becoming once more the best of
friends, I have brought with me the buns about which all this trouble
began. Our people took from yours five dozen buns. Good!--your people
were well paid for them. We love peace so dearly that we bring you five
carts full of buns for the five dozen which we took. One of these is
for Marquet, and, besides that, here are seven hundred thousand and
three gold crowns for him, and also a deed to him and his heirs forever
of one of our best apple-orchards. Let us live in peace hereafter, and
do you return to your own country and leave this city, to which you
have no right, as you yourself know."

Now, this Captain Touquedillon was a snakish sort of man; and when he
heard honest Ulrich talk he went straight to Picrochole, and coiled and
twisted what he had heard in such a way that poor Ulrich, could he have
heard it, wouldn't have known it to be his own. The snakish Captain
added that they had got into a trap in Roche-Clermaud, and that those
five carts had come in the very nick of time for the starving soldiers.

"You say well," cried Picrochole, "seize the buns the rascal has
brought!"

"And the money?"

"Seize that too!"

Then Captain Touquedillon, without further ado, sent his men out of the
gate to take the money, the buns, the oxen, and the carts.

Good Ulrich returned to Grandgousier, and told him all these things.
This made the gentle old Giant very sad. He stopped telling stories
of old times, and took no more pleasure in roasted chestnuts. He saw
that there must be a war, and a bitter one. He ceased to talk, and was
always sighing. All that he ever would say, after long hours of silence
and sighs, was:--

"Ho, there! Has my boy Gargantua come yet?"




CHAPTER XVII.

HOW GARGANTUA, WITH A BIG TREE, BROKE DOWN A CASTLE AND PASSED THE FORD
OF VEDE.


[Illustration: Initial G.]

Gargantua was a good son if ever there was one. The minute he read his
Father's letter begging him to come home, he ordered his great Mare
to be bridled and saddled. It was less than thirty minutes after this
that he was galloping on the road along with wise old Ponocrates, his
faithful Squire Gymnaste, and the pretty little page Eudemon. This
certainly was not a very strong escort, but Gargantua's single arm was
worth an army.

The servants followed slowly with his baggage, books, and philosophical
instruments.

Having got as far as Parillé, they were told how Picrochole had
taken Roche-Clermaud, and how his men had been robbing and pillaging
everywhere, and had been frightening everybody so much that nobody was
brave enough to tell on them. Another piece of news Gargantua heard at
Parillé. This was that one of Picrochole's fiercest officers, Captain
Tripet, had been sent to take possession of several points near the
Ford of Vede.

"Ho! ho! ho!" cried Gargantua. "Let us ride, then, as fast as we can to
the Ford of Vede."

"No, Prince," said Ponocrates; "what I would advise you to do is to
ride on a few miles farther, to the house of the Lord of Vauguyon. He
is an old friend of your royal Father, and can give us better counsel
than we can get in this place."

"Well, then, so be it," said Gargantua.

The whole party galloped swiftly to Vauguyon, where they were received
with open gates and a steaming supper. After wine had been drunk, and
the Lord of Vauguyon had settled down to talk, Gargantua was told that
all that had been said was true. Picrochole's soldiers were both at
Roche-Clermaud and the Ford of Vede. On hearing this, the Prince would
not wait to sleep, so anxious was he to rush to the help of his good
old Father. The Lord of Vauguyon tried to keep him in the Castle until
after a great storm, which then threatened, was over. It was of no use,
Gargantua would hear nothing.

"To your saddles, gentlemen!" he cried. "It is at the Ford we shall
hunt Picrochole's mannikins!"

[Illustration: GARGANTUA HURRIES HOME.]

Once more mounted on his great Mare he started for the Ford. His lips
were pressed close, and his eyes glared fiercely down from a height
greater than that of the tallest trees. "His Highness is very angry,"
Ponocrates whispered to Gymnaste. (For the first time he was afraid of
his pupil.) "His Highness is awful mad," Gymnaste whispered to Eudemon.
On getting near the Ford, what should Gargantua do but tear up a fine
and stately tree which he found growing by the roadside, stripping its
branches and leaves till he made it a bare pole of enormous length
and strength. "Just what I have been looking for!" he said to himself;
"this tree will serve me both as staff and lance."

All this was being done under a fearful tempest of rain. The storm
had burst, as the Lord of Vauguyon had foreseen. Ponocrates could
hardly sit on his horse, for the heavy drops fell like so much lead;
dainty little Eudemon was quite crushed, and could only keep himself
from falling by clasping his horse's neck; and all Gymnaste could do
to keep his spirits up and his blood warm was, every now and then, to
turn somersaults on the back of his horse, stand on his head, on the
tip of his thumb, and skip from side to side like a monkey. All this
time Gargantua, seated on his great Mare, did not feel the rain any
more than if it was not roaring and hissing around him, filling all the
streams along the road, and making a deluge around the Ford.

[Illustration: GYMNASTE WARMS HIMSELF.]

He was soon to see, however, that if he himself, being a Giant, could
stand this sudden flood, smaller men could not. The first thing he
heard on going a little farther, from some people who were running to
the high grounds for safety, was that the Ford was all swollen, and
that thousands of men had been drowned in it.

He could not understand this,--of course he could not, being a
Giant,--but what he did understand better was what that sly little page
Eudemon, who had galloped ahead to get shelter from the rain, told him.
The news Eudemon brought was that Picrochole's men were in a Castle
this side of the Ford, and that before his master could hope to reach
it he must take the Castle, or they would take him.

[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF ROCHE-CLERMAUD.]

In a little while they came near the Castle. The great, gloomy building
seemed deserted. Not a face was to be seen either from window or
turret. Riding alone to the front of it, Gargantua shouted out at the
top of his voice to those inside:--

"Are you there, or are you not? If you are there, don't stay! If you
are not there, I shall have all this trouble for nothing."

All the answer a bold cannoneer, who had not been seen, and who was
watching behind the ramparts, gave, was, after taking aim point-blank,
to fire his cannon off, the ball furiously striking Gargantua on the
right temple, but for all that not hurting him in the least.

[Illustration: CANNONADING GARGANTUA.]

"What is that?" he shouted. "How, are those fellows throwing
grape-seeds at us? If they are, the harvest will cost them dear,"
thinking that the balls were only grape-seeds.

On hearing his words--they could have been heard a mile off--those in
the Castle rushed pell-mell to the towers and ramparts, and fired
more than nine thousand and twenty-five shots from their falcons and
arquebuses, aiming each shot straight at Gargantua's head, which
towered high above the ramparts. The guns were well pointed, and the
balls hit the Giant so often that they began to bother him.

"Look here, Ponocrates, my friend," he called to Ponocrates, who had
just come up; "these flies are blinding my eyes! Jump down, please, and
get me the biggest branch you can find to drive them away."

All this time, he was fully convinced that the leaden balls and the big
stones hurled from the artillery were so many flies.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA DESTROYS THE CASTLE.]

Giants are always very hard-headed, and sometimes as simple as they are
hard-headed. Ponocrates, who knew better than that, told him what it
was that was falling around him. Then, for the first time, Gargantua
got really mad. He raised his big tree in proper position, and, turning
the head of his Mare well towards the Castle, rushed furiously against
the walls, tearing down all the towers and buttresses, and laying them
in ruins on the ground. Not one of all those in the Castle, who had
been laughing and making Gargantua their target from the ramparts,
escaped. Paying no more attention to the ruins he went on to the
mill-bridge, and found all the Ford, swollen by the rain, covered over
with corpses, and in such number that the dead bodies had actually
caused the water of the mill to stop running. Standing on the bank
the party waited a bit, not at all liking to ride over dead men. That
skipping monkey, Gymnaste, was the first to cross. He loudly swore that
his horse was afraid of nothing, and that at home the beast never could
get his feed without first stepping over a stuffed body, always put for
that purpose in his way.

This satisfied the others, who soon crossed after Gymnaste, and
Gargantua and his great Mare slowly followed, last of all.




CHAPTER XVIII.

HOW GARGANTUA COMBED CANNON-BALLS OUT OF HIS HAIR, AND HOW HE ATE SIX
PILGRIMS IN A SALAD BEFORE SUPPER.


[Illustration: Initial G.]

Grandgousier's Palace was not far from the Ford. In a very short time
after leaving the river Gargantua galloped into the court-yard, where
he was joyfully welcomed by the old King himself. You may imagine how
he laughed, and then cried, and then laughed once more, loud and long,
over his big son, for whom he had been so anxiously waiting. But the
laughter lived after the tears. A queer thing happened after everybody
had got comfortably seated. Gargantua, feeling a little warm after his
ride, had already washed himself and put on some clean clothes, for he
had learned to be a neat man ever since Ponocrates had given him that
mysterious dose. He was now combing his thick hair, in a lazy sort of
a way, with his own comb, which had been specially made in Africa for
the young Prince on his tenth birthday. It was very large,--larger, in
fact, than any comb that had ever before passed through a Giant's hair.
Each tooth was an elephant's tusk, taken just as it had stood in the
elephant's jaw. Every time Gargantua passed the comb through his locks,
half a dozen of those balls which had stuck there when he was going
through the wood of Vede would drop on the floor with a clattering
noise.

The amazement of good Father Grandgousier, who had his glasses off
and was nearly blind without them, when he heard these cannon-balls
tumbling down from his son's head on the floor, was something worth
seeing.

[Illustration: GARGANTUA COMBS HIS HAIR.]

"Ho! ho! ho! my good son, hast thou brought fleas all this way from
Paris? Didst thou think we had none of our own here?"

When Gargantua, on looking down, saw several balls at his feet, he did
not know what to say. He had not felt them, and was even more puzzled
than his father. But wise Master Ponocrates was always ready to give
the best answer, in the best place, and in the wisest way, to any
question asked. Stooping and picking up one of the balls, he said,
bowing respectfully:--

"This, Your Majesty, is one of the cannon-balls which your son, while
he was passing the wood of Vede, received through the treachery of your
enemies."

"So that's it, is it?" cried Father Grandgousier. "Oh! the audacious
vermin, to try and shoot my only son! Ho! ho! I hope not one of the
rascals was allowed to escape."

"All of them," answered Ponocrates solemnly, "perished in the ruins."

"That is just as it should be," the old King said. "Now, my lords, to
supper!"

There never was a supper so soon ready! For, when the order had been
first given, the three Very Fat Cooks--Snapsauce, Hotchpotch, and
Braverjuice--all came forward gravely, and with their right hands on
their hearts swore they would soon have the finest supper that had ever
been eaten, even in the Palace which was famed throughout the world for
the perfection of its feasts.

And such a supper as they did make!

When the Chief Cook Snapsauce was asked for an account of what he had
sent up, here is the list he gave, all the while strutting like a
turkey-cock; and he was just as red as one, too, as he read it,--so
full of pride and of the kitchen-fire was he:--

    Sixteen roasted beeves,
    Three heifers,
    Thirty-two calves,
    Sixty-three kids,
    Ninety-five sheep,
    Two hundred and twenty partridges,
    Seven hundred snipe,
    Four hundred capons of Loudunois,
    Six thousand pullets,
    The same number of pigeons,
    Six hundred young, but specially fat, pullets,
    Fourteen hundred young hares,
    Three hundred and three bustards.

Besides these domestic birds and beasts there were to be found at this
wonderful feast, eleven wild boars, kindly sent by the good Abbé de
Turpenay; eighteen red deer, the gift of the Lord of Grandmont; one
hundred and forty pheasants, from the Lord of Essars; and such a number
of nice things in the shape of turkeys, birds, ducks, wild geese,
swans, varied by the best vegetables that could be found, the country
round, as had never been known to be brought together on the same
table.

[Illustration: AND SUCH A SUPPER!]

I have not yet told something that took place a little while before
this great supper. While all were waiting for it, Gargantua suddenly
cried out: "Ho! I feel dreadfully thirsty! Somebody bring me a lettuce."

Father Grandgousier, well pleased to grant whatever his son asked, but
wanting to see him work a little for his own pleasure, answered him
gaily:--

"There are some very fine lettuces growing in yonder garden, my boy. If
thou wantest them the best thing thou canst do is to seek them thyself.
Thou canst find none so tall as they in all this country."

Sure enough, when Gargantua walked into the garden he found lettuces
of all sizes; some as high as plum-trees, and others again quite as
tall as walnut-trees. He cut and whacked away at his will, and picked
them up in his big arms, without, for a moment, troubling himself about
what might be hidden in them. Now, it happened that six pilgrims, who,
in coming all the way from St. Sebastian, had decided to rest for the
night, had chanced, unfortunately, to be taking a quiet little nap
between the cabbages and lettuces of the Royal Garden. When they were
snatched up by Gargantua along with the lettuces, the poor pilgrims,
only half-awake, were so frightened that they didn't dare even cough,
much less say a word.

[Illustration: THE PILGRIMS IN THE GARDEN.]

Gargantua, being a fine, hearty fellow, was rather pleased with the
idea of waiting on himself, and so, after carrying his lettuces to the
fountain, he thought he might as well wash them, while his merry old
father looked on, laughing at the joke. All this time the pilgrims,
being half-drowned and in an awful fright, were whispering softly
whenever they could get a chance to do so, one to the other:--

"Oh! what is this monster going to do with us? What is to become of us?
That fountain is drowning us among all these lettuces! Shall we speak?
But, if we say a word, that big fellow will kill us all as spies, sure.
Oh! we are undone!"

While the pilgrims were thus giving way to their fears, Gargantua
would, every now and then, whirl them around in the water along with
his lettuces. Then he put the mess, just as it stood, into the biggest
dish in the royal household, adding oil and vinegar and salt, and mixed
them all well together. He had no sooner done so than he began to eat
the lettuces, and, of course, with the lettuces, to gobble up the poor
pilgrims. He had already taken five of them. The sixth was still in the
great dish hidden away under a lettuce and, what from the water, and
what from fear, was in a cold sweat. All that appeared of him was his
pilgrim's staff, which he had never stopped clutching and which peered
outside of the green herbs. When Father Grandgousier saw the staff, he
cried out to Gargantua:--

"I do believe that is a snail's horn under that lettuce! Don't eat it."

"Why not, father?" answered Gargantua; "thou knowest snails are good
all this month."

What should he do then but draw out the staff and, with it, the unhappy
pilgrim, whom, without seeing,--or, for that matter, feeling,--he
swallowed with the greatest ease! Then he poured down his great throat
a horrible draught of country wine, while saying: "That salad has given
me a famous appetite! Is supper ready?"

We already know how the supper went off; and, of course, what we want
to know now is how the pilgrims could possibly get out of a Giant's
mouth, having once got into it. The first thing they did, on being
gobbled up, was to draw themselves out from Gargantua's great teeth
as well as they could, thinking all the time that they had been cast
into the deepest dungeon of some frightful prison. That was bad enough;
but when Gargantua began to swallow his big drink, tossing the green
lettuces past his teeth and sending it rushing down his throat like
a sour deluge, they found themselves in a terrible fix and in danger
of drowning. It was then that the poor fellows began to hop for their
lives. Leaping nimbly, by aid of their staffs, they succeeded at last
in getting out of the throat, and finding refuge outside of Gargantua's
teeth. By ill luck, however, one of them, feeling here and there with
his staff to know whether the country around was quite safe, gave a
sudden plunge into the hollow of a bad tooth which had been troubling
the Giant for some time. At this, Gargantua began to roar with the
pain he felt. All he could think of in his agony was to call for his
toothpick. When he got it, he began to prod viciously into the bad
tooth. At last he grew tired, and putting his finger into his mouth,
he hauled out one of the pilgrims by the leg; another by the wallet;
another by his purse; another by the arm; and the poor man, who had
caused all the trouble, by his neck; and threw each on the ground as
one might a fish-bone.

As soon as they found themselves on the ground the pilgrims, without
stopping to explain how it happened that they had been found in the
lettuce-field, and feeling sure that Gargantua had not seen them,
scampered away as fast as their legs could carry them.




CHAPTER XIX.

HOW FRIAR JOHN COMES TO THE FEAST, AND HOW KING GRANDGOUSIER HAD
RECRUITED HIS ARMY.


[Illustration: Initial I.]

It was, of course, at this same supper, of which the three Very Fat
Cooks were so proud, that the old King, as soon as ever the company
were seated, started to give the whole story of the wicked war which
Picrochole had made on him. When he came to that part of his story, in
which he had to speak of the wonderful things Friar John had done in
the Abbey vineyard, nothing would do but that the brave monk should be
invited to the Palace to receive the thanks of the whole joyous party.

Gargantua sent post-haste for Friar John.

In a little while--for the Abbey was not very far off--here came the
good Friar on King Grandgousier's own mule, with his famous staff held
firmly in his right hand. When he was once fairly in the dining-room, a
thousand caresses and another thousand compliments greeted him.

"Welcome, Friar John! Thou comest in good time! Welcome, brave cousin!"
shouted Grandgousier.

"We have kept your seat for you, Friar John," roared both Grandgousier
and Gargantua in a sort of giant concert.

And so, at last, seated on the right hand of Grandgousier, the Friar
was prevailed on to tell, in his own way, the story of his great fight
for the Abbey. Nothing would do them but that everybody should jump
up to see and feel for himself the glorious staff, with which so many
valiant deeds had been done.

Then the staff was reverently placed in a corner of the room.

[Illustration: FRIAR JOHN ARRIVES.]

After supper, there was a long consultation about what ought to be done
with Picrochole. As is always the way, one said one thing; another
unsaid it; one had a plan; some one else had something better. It was
finally resolved not to wait for another day, but to start the very
next midnight, which--it being now two o'clock in the afternoon--was
only ten hours off. While some young men were sent out as spies to
bring word what Picrochole was doing, the rest began to arm themselves
with breast-plate and back-plate and all the iron and steel plates they
could get hold of. There was a little trouble about what Friar John
was to wear. They wanted to put their iron and steel stuff on him; but
the brave monk wouldn't agree to it. He rushed to the corner where his
staff was, grasped it with both hands, and waved it in the air, saying,
"Don't trouble yourselves about me, good friends. _This_ is what I
saved my Abbey with! I know _it_, and it knows _me_; it is good enough
for _me!_ I am heart and soul with you. All I ask for is a stout horse,
and you will find me with my staff by your side whenever you want me."

"Very well, Friar," Gargantua said, laughing. "Every conqueror has the
right to choose his weapons. _You_ are a conqueror; keep yours."

When all the clocks were striking midnight, Gargantua left the Palace
with Ponocrates, Friar John always carrying his staff, Gymnaste,
Eudemon the page, and twenty-five of the most adventurous knights, all
armed from head to foot, and mounted like great Saint George himself,
each with a stout archer behind him.

These were to be followed, the next morning, by the whole army, which
had been recruited in a fashion that would look very strange to-day.
Let me tell you how it all was!

Before Gargantua had come back from Paris, and while Picrochole
was still galloping with his wicked soldiers over rich fields, and
trampling down fruits and vines, and cursing and cutting and slashing
away, and killing just as the fancy took him, Father Grandgousier had
sent messages to his friends and neighbors living a hundred miles
around, telling them all about the war; how his son Gargantua, in whom
he trusted, was far away in Paris, studying hard at his Latin; and
asking them to help him just as much as they could in money and men. It
was in this way that it was made as clear as the bright sun shining in
heaven at noonday, how many friends the good old Giant really had. Some
might say all this was because he was a Giant; but I think it was not
so much that as because he had always, through a long life, been kind
and gentle to little men.

Taking what one Prince, and another, gave in money, Father Grandgousier
raised among his neighbors one hundred and thirty-four million and two
and a half crowns of pure gold.

When he read their lists, giving the number of soldiers each one was
able to lend him, he found that he would have:--

    15,000 men at arms.
    32,000 cavalrymen.
    89,000 arquebusiers.
    140,000 volunteers.

That is to say, 276,000 stout soldiers, all well equipped and
provisioned for six months and four days. To which were to be added:--

    11,200 cannon.
    47,000 double cannon, etc.

The good old Giant felt very grateful; but he swore, nevertheless, a
round oath that there was no need for him to accept so great an army.
Where was he to put two hundred and seventy-six thousand soldiers?
Where could he store away fifty-eight thousand cannon? If he could only
be sure that his Gargantua would come home in time, why, he wouldn't
care for any army at all!

"If my boy Gargantua should once get among that Picrochole gang, he
would scatter them over the border quicker than they ever crossed it,"
he was saying to himself all the time.

Meanwhile, that rogue Picrochole was going on at such a rate with his
pastime of cursing, killing, cutting, and slashing at men, and ravaging
vineyards, and burning houses, that Grandgousier found that he had
really to do something that would strike terror. So he sent another
Royal Messenger to his friends the Princes, telling them that he would
be satisfied, for the present, with

    2,500 men-at-arms.
    66,000 infantry.
    26,000 arquebusiers.
    22,000 pioneers.
    6,000 light cavalry.

122,500 men, all to be well equipped and provisioned by his friends, as
promised. He added, in a postscript, that all else he needed would be
two hundred pieces of heavy artillery.

[Illustration: THE ADVANCE GUARD STARTS.]

"Let them come at once," he said. "If my little boy should choose to
stay among those wild Paris lads, they may be useful. But if he once
gets home, I wouldn't give that"--snapping his fat old fingers--"for
the whole Picrochole gang!"

       *       *       *       *       *

For a wonder, the army got to the Palace a week before Gargantua
reached it.

[Illustration: GRANDGOUSIER'S ARMY.]




CHAPTER XX.

GARGANTUA'S MARE SCORES A VICTORY.


[Illustration: Initial T.]

This was the army that followed Gargantua at daybreak and came up with
him at the Ford of Vede. Gargantua was commander-in-chief in place of
Grandgousier, who, being old, of course stayed at home. But that was a
glorious early breakfast which the old King gave to the soldiers before
they left; and he made it more glorious by promising great gifts to
every man who would do some wonderful act of prowess. "They will not
have a chance to do anything," he whispered confidentially to his Chief
Butler, whom he had raised to a level with his mouth. "_My boy will be
there!_"

The army crossed the Ford in boats and on bridges lightly made over
smaller boats, which dipped to the water's edge as the soldiers passed
over. After a short march they came upon the city, which was placed
upon a high hill. There they halted. Gargantua called a council, and
with his friends discussed all night what was best to be done next
morning. Gymnaste was the first to speak to the point.

"My lord," he said, "I am in favor of attacking at once. You will do so
if you know those French fellows as well as I do. They are _terrible_
foes at the first assault, when they are worse than so many devils.
But if they are kept idle, and dream too long of their sweethearts and
their vines, they lose heart, and become worse than so many women."

Gargantua was nodding approval all the time Gymnaste was speaking.
He was quite sure, in his own mind, that, when once _he_ would show
himself on his great Mare, and with his huge tree held as a lance,
Picrochole would lose the field. But he had no idea of putting himself
forward just then. So he said nothing more than: "So be it! We advance
at daylight."

[Illustration: MOUNTING FOR THE FRAY.]

The advance-guard were stationed on the hill-side, while the main army
remained on the plain. Faithful Friar John took with him six companies
of infantry and two hundred horsemen, and, with all speed, crossed
the marsh, and gained, on the highway of London, a point just above
the Castle. While the assault was going on, Picrochole and his people
didn't know at first which was better: whether to march out from the
Castle, resolved to conquer or to die, or to stay in the city, and
let the enemy outside do their worst. At last Picrochole himself grew
tired. He had done nothing during the whole war but take care of his
own precious body behind the walls of the city, while his officers and
soldiers slashed and killed the poor subjects of Grandgousier at their
will. He had not heard a whisper of how Gargantua had come all the way
from Paris, and was then actually in front. He swore roundly, over his
cups, that Gargantua was not there, or he would have heard of it long
before. "Ha! ha! Giants are too big to hide themselves. Victory shall
be ours!" he cried.

[Illustration: THE ASSAULT.]

This was what made Picrochole bold enough to make an attack. Once
beyond the gate, he and his army were received with such a welcome of
cannon-balls that they were for a moment confused. Picrochole looked
around for the Gargantuists; he couldn't see one of them, as Friar
John had taken his men back with him to the hills, so as to give the
artillery room to work. Encouraged by this, Picrochole defended himself
so bravely under the terrible fires, and advanced so steadily all the
time on the guns, that the gunners were obliged to flee for their
lives, and Friar John himself found it hard to keep him from charging
over his small force.

"Oh, ho! Friar John," he muttered to himself, "thou thinkest thyself a
fine soldier, truly! But it is high time now to call the Giant." So he
shouted with the full strength of his sturdy lungs:--

"Help! help! help! Prince Gargantua to the rescue!"

One might live to be as old as Methuselah, and never see such a change
in either a general or his army as that which took place in King
Picrochole and his troops when they first heard the Friar's cry. The
guns dropped from their hands, and all they could do was to turn with
white faces and staring eyes towards the opening in the wood.

Then appeared a fearful apparition!

It was that of the Giant, holding, poised as a lance, the trunk of an
enormous tree stripped bare of its branches; his eyeballs swollen and
blazing with anger; his legs drawn tight to the saddle, while he gave
free rein to his Mare, and dashed with the speed of a cyclone straight
down upon them. The Mare seemed as mad as the master, for smoke rolled
and curled around her wide-open nostrils; she gave short and horrible
neighs, as if she couldn't get to Picrochole's rogues fast enough; her
mane was stiff and hard, while her broad tail, streaming like a comet
behind her, whisked men right and left, high into the air, and jerked
down such trees as were in the way as she swept thundering down the
hill. So terrible a sight changed the whole field. For a moment or
two the enemy seemed stunned. But, as the dreadful Mare came near and
nearer, Picrochole's cowardice broke the fearful spell that had come
upon himself and men. "It is the Giant!" he shouted; "save himself who
can!" and dashed back into the open gates of the city, intending to
escape, through another gate, into the country beyond. "_The Mare! the
Mare! Save us from the Mare!_" was all the poor men, as they tried to
follow their king, could gasp.

[Illustration: PICROCHOLE DEFENDS THE CASTLE.]

Some were lucky enough to gain the city-gates. But before Gargantua
could rein in his powerful steed, she had bitten and trampled many to
death, to say nothing of those she had swept into the air with her
great tail. Gargantua had good reason to be pleased with his victory.
It was a decisive one, and gained by himself alone, and the Mare. He
rode all over the field, petting the good Mare meanwhile, and never
ceasing to look among the killed for Picrochole. Of every officer that
returned from pursuit of those who tried to escape he asked:--

[Illustration: THE DEFEAT OF PICROCHOLE.]

"Hast thou caught Picrochole?"

No, nobody had.

"With all my heart I am sorry," said Gargantua, "that Picrochole is
not here. For I would have made this little king know that it was not
for any riches or for my name that this war was made. As he is lost,
let the kingdom remain with his son. But, as this child is not yet
five years old, he should have governors. Let Ponocrates govern those
governors."

[Illustration: THE FLIGHT OF PICROCHOLE.]

Then, under his breath, the Giant muttered:--

"Ho! a pretty king, this Picrochole, to be lost in battle." And a
giant's mutter is louder than a small man's shout.




CHAPTER XXI.

SHOWING WHAT GARGANTUA DID AFTER THE BATTLE, AND HOW GRANDGOUSIER
WELCOMED HIM HOME.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

When Gargantua, after the battle, made his triumphant entrance into the
city, it was easy enough for him to find the Palace where Picrochole
had stopped, but not quite so easy to get hold of the King himself. And
when he reached the Palace, he heard that those wicked advisers and
councillors of Picrochole, who had done their best to keep mischief
alive,--Swashbuckler, Durtaille, and Smaltrash,--had all managed to
escape helter-skelter from the city, just six hours _before_ the battle.

Gargantua's first duty was to order a muster of his troops, by which he
learned, much to his satisfaction, that they had not suffered greatly
in the battle, the four soldiers who had been killed happening to
belong to the band of one of his officers, Captain Tolmere. He had the
pleasure of shaking his old master Ponocrates by the hand on his lucky
escape in having his doublet, instead of his portly body, jagged by an
archer's bolt. It was a mild shake, for a hearty one would have made
a jelly of it. The Chief Treasurer was ordered to see that all his
brave followers should be feasted, each with his troop, at the Prince's
expense. He directed, moreover, that, after the feast, the army should
assemble in the great Square before the Palace, and receive a full six
months' pay on the spot.

This being joyfully done, the next order was for the assembling of
all that remained of Picrochole's party. All his princes and captains
being present, Gargantua made a speech, which was as full of wisdom
as it was rich in praise of his good old father, King Grandgousier. He
concluded with these words, spoken in a stern voice:--

"I impose on those who have wickedly attacked us but one condition.
They must deliver into my hands that knave Marquet, who was the
groundwork of this most unjust war."

[Illustration: GARGANTUA'S CAPTIVES.]

Marquet, who had been a great man all during the war, and who had
strutted around, crowing and looking wise, and had been consulted, and
patted on the back, and stroked on the head, ever since his fight with
Forgier, had been silly enough, instead of running away as fast as his
legs could take him, to go to the assembly to hear what the Prince had
to say. The moment Gargantua mentioned his name, quiet, well-to-do
neighbors, who had all along been vexed at the airs he had put
on,--being on every side of him,--pointed him out with their fingers,
slily, wickedly whispering, "You want Marquet,--there he is, that
man over there!" The wretch was at once seized by a dozen strong and
willing hands, and hauled and hustled about, till, at last, he stood,
breathing hard, before Gargantua. The Giant, towering above him,--there
was no chair in the Palace large enough for him to sit comfortably
in,--looked at him for a moment with scorn.

"So it is thou who art Marquet, art thou?"

"Yes, may it please Your Most Gracious, Most Merciful Highness," gasped
Marquet, stuttering horribly, and turning very pale.

"Gymnaste," said Gargantua, "I make thee responsible for this wretch,
and his safe delivery to our Headsman for immediate execution."

Gymnaste, after bowing respectfully, collared Marquet and marched him
off.

After the rogue had been borne away to the block, Gargantua ordered
that all who had been killed should be honorably buried in the Black
Soil Valley. For the wounded, he made ample provision in his Royal
Hospital. To the survivors, he did no other hurt than to put them to
work on the printing-presses which he had lately set up. When leaving,
he graciously thanked his weather-beaten, if not war-beaten, veterans,
and sent them to winter-quarters with rich gifts for each one; for,
even though Picrochole had run away, there was no telling but what the
Bunmakers might make another fight, and so it was thought wiser to
keep the army together for a while. But to this rule he made special
exception of those of his legions who had had the good luck, during the
pursuit, of doing some gallant deed. There were a good many of those
brave soldiers who had marched, rank upon rank, after the staff of the
Giant himself, and had done some brave action upon Picrochole's men,
while their master's great Mare was switching her terrible tail, and
knocking men down with the right whisk and the left, and driving from
the field all who were lucky enough to get out of her way.

[Illustration: REWARDING THE ARMY.]

The Giant breathed a rumbling sigh of relief at getting through so much
hard work. "I start for home at daybreak," he said. "Let my staff and
these brave men, worthy of laurels, follow me."

The distance between Roche-Clermaud and the Palace of his father
was not so very great; so that, leaving at daybreak the next day,
Gargantua, with his staff and a long line of the brave officers
and soldiers who had done such good service, following, reached the
Palace very leisurely by sundown. It was a joyful day when Father
Grandgousier, who, since Gargantua had left, seated so grandly on his
great Mare, had been all the time praying for his safety, was told by
the sentinels at the gate that the Prince, with a large retinue, was
coming near. The old man at once hastened, in high glee, as fast as
his gouty feet could carry him, to the court-yard, so as to be ready
to receive his son. The moment Gargantua rode in through the gateway,
Grandgousier shouted out:--

"Ho! ho! ho! ho! So thou art there, my boy! Come quickly to thy
Father's arms!" Even while he was saying these words he was whispering
aside to Snapsauce, the Very Fattest of the three Very Fat Cooks:--

"Get up, thou rogue, within two hours, the finest supper that has ever
gone down mortal throats since the days of my cousin King Ahasuerus! My
boy has come back a conqueror!"

Gargantua had already leaped down from his Mare and had rushed towards
his father. It was truly a meeting of Giants, which the little men
around could only manage to see by craning their necks in the air.
After embracing, Grandgousier and Gargantua passed up the broad stone
stairs which led to the main hall. They had not long to wait upon the
three Very Fat Cooks, who, by the way, had sent out messengers miles
and miles along the road by which their young master was to come,
and had known half a day before Father Grandgousier himself did, the
very hour when the Prince would reach the Palace. Cunning Very Fat
Cooks!--they had only to send up the finest supper that had ever been
seen since the days of King Ahasuerus, which had been all ready to be
served long before the King had even thought of ordering it.

Everybody was in good humor, none more so than the jovial old King
himself. When the huge table was cleared of all its rich viands and
its sparkling wines, and the guests were about leaving the hall,
Grandgousier distributed to each of the deserving soldiers the
ornaments on the sideboard, which, in the mass, weighed eight hundred
thousand and fourteen golden besants worth in great antique vases,
rich pots, basins, superb cups, goblets, candlesticks, comfit-boxes,
and other such golden plate. In addition to this princely gift,
Grandgousier caused to be counted out from the Royal Coffers, to each
hero, twelve hundred thousand golden crowns; and, as a further mark
of his special favor, he directed that to such as he named should be
granted, in perpetuity for themselves and their heirs, if they should
happen to have any, certain castles and neighboring lands.

To Master Ponocrates, he gave Roche-Clermaud.

To Gymnaste, Le Coudray.

To Eudemon, Montpensier.

And so on with the favorites.

"Ho! ho! my boy!" suddenly cried Father Grandgousier, tapping his big
forehead with his mighty finger. "We have forgotten some one, and him
our bravest, too!"

"Whom?"

"Why, our gallant Friar."

"Oh! as for Friar John, trust him to me, Father. _I_ shall take care of
him!"

"What wilt thou do, my boy?"

"What will I do? Why, I shall build for him a Monastery a hundred
times more magnificent than those Convents at Bonnivet, Chambourg, and
Chantilly, that are the boast of the world. Our Friar shall be the
Abbot of Theleme and he will make a famous Abbot, too!"

[Illustration: THE WONDERFUL WINDING STAIRWAY.]

And so Gargantua built for his friend Friar John a Monastery greater
than the Convent at Bonnivet, and the Convent at Chambourg, and
the Convent at Chantilly; for his had nine thousand, three hundred
and thirty-two chambers. But its greatest beauty, after all, was
a wonderful winding stairway, up which six men-at-arms might ride
abreast, with their six lances at rest, to the very top of the Abbey.




CHAPTER XXII.

GRANDGOUSIER'S DEATH.--GARGANTUA'S MARRIAGE.--PANTAGRUEL IS BORN.


[Illustration: Initial A.]

After the war of the Bunmakers, all the kings and princes and nobles,
for hundreds of miles around, came to congratulate the two mighty
Giants. It was a time of royal feasting, and the Palace smelt more
strongly of old, rich, dead dinners and suppers than ever before. For
a whole year, its walls rang with laughter and joyous shouts, and then
the kings and princes, nobles and friends, took to horse and returned
to their homes, leaving Grandgousier and Gargantua in peace, with the
love of all their subjects and the respect of their neighbors, for many
happy years, over which there was but one cloud, the death of the kind
old Queen Gargamelle. During all these years, more than I can now tell,
Grandgousier was, of course, getting old, and at last grew so weak that
he was forced to take to his bed.

"Gargantua, my boy, thou art already getting on in years," the old man
said one day, after a fit of weakness, when he felt that he could not
long live. "Why dost thou not marry, my son?"

"To tell the truth, Father, I have never once thought of marrying. Thou
hast been so good to me that thou hast driven all thoughts of women
away from me. Yet, if thou sayest the word, then shall I seek a wife."

"Seek, then, my boy, the Princess Badebec, the beautiful daughter of my
good friend, the King of the Amaurotes, in Utopia. Make her thy wife
if thou lovest thy Father. And thy Father's blessing will be on thee
forever!" The good old King had scarcely whispered the last word when
he feebly placed his hand on the head of Gargantua, who was kneeling by
the bed. Then he stretched out to his full giant-length, gave a deep
sigh of content, and died.

Gargantua was then at an age which would, in our day, be looked upon as
quite venerable. He was just five hundred and twenty-one years old on
the day when he buried his Father. He mourned him two years to the very
month, day, hour, and minute. At the end of the last year, he charged
his Prime Minister with a solemn proposal of marriage to the charming
Princess Badebec. None so lovely as the Princess Badebec had, up to
that time, ever been seen outside of Utopia.

Gargantua was five hundred and twenty-three years old when his nuptials
with the Princess were celebrated in great state, and he had just
turned his five hundred and twenty-fifth year, when he had at once the
great joy of hearing that he had a son, and the deep sorrow of losing
his dear wife, the lovely Queen Badebec herself.

The babe first saw the light at a time when there was such a drought
over the whole land that there had been no rain for three years, three
weeks, four days, and thirteen hours. But to understand clearly the
reason why the little fellow was christened PANTAGRUEL, it should be
said that, during the awful drought, the sun glared down so fiercely on
the baked earth that all the country around became barren. Never had
there been felt such heat as then. There was not to be found a tree on
which a leaf or flower could be coaxed to grow; the grass was sickly
and yellow; the rivers seemed to vie the one with the other in laying
bare their sandy beds; the fountains ran dry; the poor fish, with no
water to keep them alive, floundered gasping in the muddy sand, until
they died; the birds, little and big, some giving the shrillest of
despairing shrieks, others the most plaintive of dying twitterings,
all dropped dead in mid-air for very want of dew; and wolves, foxes,
stags, wild boars, deer, hares, rabbits, weasels, and such other beasts
as were unfortunate enough to roam about the forests, were to be found
stiff in the fields, by the side of streams long dried up, and of
fountains which no longer ran, with their red and swollen throats and
mouths gaping wide open.

[Illustration: THE DREADFUL DROUGHT.]

But it was, after all, the poor men and women who were to be most
pitied during all this awful time. They were to be found everywhere,
with their tongues hanging out like those of hares which have run
before the hounds for hours. The hot glare of the sun, and the
horrible thirst, turned these poor people half-crazy. Some would throw
themselves into wells, hoping to find water in their dark depths.

Others would creep under the bellies of such cows as were still living,
declaring, with a sickly smile, they were going there to get into the
shade. Of course everybody flocked to the churches; people always do in
a time of great trouble. It was really pitiful to see the eager way the
worshippers rushed to the font where the holy water was kept. But to
think that in doing so they only wanted to dip their fingers reverently
into the blessed water, and to cross themselves piously, would be far
from the truth. What each worshipper went to the church for was only to
see if he couldn't scoop all the holy water in the font into a pitcher
he kept under his cloak, as a drink for himself and his family, who
had squeezed in as near after him as they could. It was a fight every
day between the priests and such selfish church-goers; but the priests
always got the better in the fight, as was right, since the holy water
was meant for the comfort of penitent sinners, who sought the Church
for humble worship, not for the use of thirsty sinners, who only came
there to quarrel and steal.

It was towards the close of this awful parching time, when the people
were most thirsty, and the deepest wells were empty, and the brightest
fountains had run dry, and all the birds of the air and all the forest
beasts were dead, and there was a general cry everywhere of "We are
dying of thirst! water! water!" that Gargantua's baby PANTAGRUEL was
born.

This was a very good name, for it was given on account of this dry
time. Gargantua had, while in Paris, studied only a little Greek,
while he had studied much Latin, under Master Ponocrates. He chose,
therefore, from the Greek language one-half of the name for his son,
viz.: PANTA, which is the Greek for _all_, and the other half GRUEL,
which is an Arabian word, meaning _thirsty_. Therefore, baby PANTAGRUEL
was only another name for baby _All-Thirsty_; and he well deserved the
name, since it was soon found that nobody could come near the young
Prince without feeling thirsty.

It matters not how Pantagruel got his name. He was the same kind of
baby that his father had been before him, and was pronounced by all
to be a marvellous young Giant, indeed. The Wise Women took charge of
him upon his birth, and after washing and dressing him, while gravely
wagging their old gray heads, with their skinny fingers to their noses,
muttered darkly, the one to the other:--

"Our young Prince is born all hairy like a bear! He will do wonderful
things, and, if he lives, he will surely reach old age!"




CHAPTER XXIII.

THE STRANGE THINGS PANTAGRUEL DID AS A BABY.


[Illustration: Initial G.]

Gargantua hardly knew whether he ought to cry because his beloved Queen
Badebec was dead, or laugh because his son Pantagruel was alive.

"My good wife is dead, who was the most _this_ and the most _that_,
which ever was in the world," he would blubber at one time. "Ha!
Badebec, my wife, I shall never see thee again! Thou hast left me, my
pet, forever! Ah! my poor Pantagruel, thou hast lost thy good Mother,
thy sweet nurse. _Holos!_"

The poor Giant burst into tears, which flowed down his cheeks as large
as ostrich-eggs, and he cried like a cow. Then his humor would change,
and he fell to laughing like a calf.

"Ho! ho! my little son, how pretty thou art, and how grateful I should
be to God that he has given me such a son. Ho! ho! ho! how glad I am!
Let us drink! Throw melancholy out of the window; bring here the best
wines; rinse the glasses; lay the cloth; drive away the dogs; blow up
that fire; light the candles; shut the door; skim the soup; call in the
beggars, and give them what they want! I ought to be happy,--I _am_
happy. Ho! ho! ho!"

Poor old Giant! He was very proud, but he was very wretched all the
same.

[Illustration: THE FUNERAL OF QUEEN BADEBEC.]

It would be a wonderful thing to tell how quickly Pantagruel grew in
body and in strength. All the old-world talk about "Hercules in his
cradle killing the two serpents" was nothing to boast of, because _his_
snakes happened to be both small and weak. But Pantagruel, in his
cradle, did things much more astonishing. Just think of his needing,
as a baby, at every meal, the milk of four thousand six hundred cows!
When it became necessary to order a kettle for him in which to boil his
milk it took all the braziers of Saumure, in Anjou; of Villedieu, in
Normandy; of Bramart, in Lorraine, to make it. They used to give him
soup in a great bell, which was long to be seen at Bruges, in Berry,
near the Palace, with a hole in it. How did that hole ever get there?
Why, in the easiest way possible! Baby Pantagruel's teeth were already
so big, and sharp, and strong, that, in his eagerness to get at the
broth, he made a quick snap at the metal and broke through it, as
though it were as flimsy as an egg-shell.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL'S PORRINGER.]

Another morning, at daybreak, when one of the four thousand six hundred
cows, which gave him his principal food, was brought in to give him his
breakfast, Pantagruel burst the bands which bound his arms, and caught
hold of that poor cow to eat her alive; and he would have, without
doubt, eaten her all up if she hadn't bellowed as loudly as though a
pack of wolves were just at that moment striking their teeth in her
legs. At the poor cow's cries, everybody ran up and released her from
the Giant baby's awful teeth. Such an offence as trying to eat alive
an innocent cow, which had done her best, among her four thousand five
hundred and ninety-nine companions, to give him milk, could not pass
unnoticed. Gargantua, although, away down in his own heart, he was
proud of his little son's strength, grew very much afraid that, in some
of his antics, he might hurt himself. He at once ordered Pantagruel
to be bound to the cradle with great cables, and directed that, on no
account, he should be allowed to get free from them. Here, then, was
our poor Pantagruel in a bad fix! Baby as he was, he often felt very
wretched; but never more wretched than when a great, shaggy bear, which
was a special pet of his father, made it a point of politeness to drop
in every day and, with his dirty tongue, to lick his face, which, on
the other hand, the Wise Women made a point never to touch. That bear
came once too often. Pantagruel, being in a bad humor one particular
day, and feeling the rough, furred tongue licking all over and over
his face, gave one tremendous jerk, and broke his chains as easily as
Samson had broken those of the Philistines. Then he stretched out his
hairy hands, and caught Master Bear, and tore him into pieces with as
much ease as he might have done a chicken.

This new exploit made Gargantua still prouder of his son; but it was
high time that something should be done with him. So he ordered to
be made four great iron chains to hold him fast. One day a feast was
given by King Gargantua in honor of the princes and nobles of his
Court. It is pretty clear that all the great people, not to speak of
the servants, had their time so well taken with the feast, that nobody
ever thought it his business to bother himself about the little Prince,
away upstairs in the nursery. If Pantagruel hated any one thing above
another, that one thing was to be left by himself. What made it all the
worse this time was that there he was in his cradle, closely chained,
and obliged to listen to the gay sounds that swelled up, every now
and then, from the dining-room. The poor child felt lonely. He tried
to burst the chains which bound his arms to his cradle; but that he
couldn't do, because they had been forged too strong and stout by the
Royal Blacksmith. Then he began such a stamping with his feet that he
broke the foot-board of his cradle, which was made of a great beam
seven feet square. The moment he had succeeded in getting his feet
quite out of the broken end, he slid forward as far as the chains would
let him, until at last his feet touched the floor. Then, with a great
wrench, he raised himself on his feet, bearing his cradle triumphantly
on his back, which made him look for all the world like a turtle, with
his shell, trying to climb a wall.

Such was the strange sight which, on presenting itself in the
Banqueting Hall, startled the gay company. Pantagruel walked straight
to the table, where he at first thought he would need no assistance;
but he soon found himself obliged--not being, of course, able to use
his hands--to lean forward, and lick up with his tongue any tidbit
that he could find near the edge of the table. When his father saw how
hungry he was, he knew well enough that his baby never would have
broken through his cradle, and tramped down the stairs with it on his
back, unless he had been left alone by his nurses. Turning to the
princes and lords present, he asked them if it was not better that his
boy should be freed from those heavy chains.

The guests, with one voice, declared that the chains were an insult to
the young Prince; and even the First Physician gave it as his opinion
that, if Pantagruel were to be kept any longer fastened in such a way
to his cradle, he would all his life be a cripple.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL CARRIES HIS CRADLE.]

The moment he was unchained Pantagruel sat down at the table, and was
made much of by every guest. Such a welcome soon made him feel quite
at home, and he showed it by breaking, with one blow of his fist, that
ugly cradle into more than five hundred thousand pieces, vowing to
himself--he couldn't well say the words--that he would never be found
in it again--never! never! never!




CHAPTER XXIV.

AFTER STUDYING AT SEVERAL UNIVERSITIES PANTAGRUEL GOES TO PARIS.


[Illustration: Initial S.]

Pantagruel grew, from day to day, in health, and stature, and strength,
which, of course, gave great delight to his father. Gargantua ordered
to be made for his son, while he was still small, a cross-bow, with
which he could make himself merry in shooting at the little birds,
and which is kept to this day, and is known as the great Cross-Bow of
Chantelle. It was not long after this that Pantagruel was sent off to
school at Poitiers, under the charge of his tutor Epistemon, where he
showed himself a diligent scholar.

[Illustration: THE GREAT CROSS-BOW OF CHANTELLE.]

Just before they left, while his son was getting into the saddle, good
Father Gargantua had taken Epistemon on his arm for a few words of
private talk. All he said, in a solemn whisper, was: "Teach my boy,
first of all, Greek; secondly, Latin. My father cared for nothing so
much as Latin. If I knew Greek half so well as I know my Latin, I
should be happy."

[Illustration: THE GREAT RAISED STONE.]

Having noticed that the students of Poitiers had often so much time
on their hands that they did not know how to get rid of it, and being
a good-hearted young Giant, Pantagruel thought he would take pity on
them and devise some plan to help them. So, one fine day, he tore
from a great ledge of rocks, which the people of the town called
Passelourdin, a large stone, about twelve fathoms square, and carried
it in his strong arms with the greatest ease to four pillars which
then stood in the middle of a field, upon which, by sheer force, he
placed the stone. None of the young students had the slightest idea
why the Giant of whom they were so proud had robbed big Passelourdin,
but it was not long before they began to do precisely what Pantagruel
had thought they would do. Whenever they had nothing else to think
about--which, by the way, happened the greater part of every day--they
would fill up the time by climbing up to the stone, bearing with them
flagons of wine and hams and pies, upon which they feasted with loud
shouts of laughter, each one being sure to wind up his first day's fun
by cutting his name deep into the surface of the stone. By and by, it
began to be talked about as the "Raised Stone." And, for a long time,
no student was allowed to graduate at the University of Poitiers unless
he had first solemnly sworn that he had drunk in the magical Fountain
of Croustelles, had taken a walk to Passelourdin, and had from there
climbed to the top of the "Raised Stone."

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL VISITS HIS ANCESTOR'S TOMB.]

While the students were making merry over their new game, Pantagruel
was poring harder than ever over dusty old tomes in the Library of
the University. One day, while he was reading the fine chronicles of
his ancestors, he happened to turn over the page which told him of
the famous Giant Jeffrey of Lusignan, nicknamed "Jeffrey of the Great
Tooth," who was buried at Maillezais, near by. What should Pantagruel
do but choose a play-day to pay his respects to the sepulchre of
the old Giant! Taking some friends along with him he soon reached
Maillezais. All the way to the tomb he had been thinking of nothing
but how he would do it honor; but, when he got there, his eyes seemed
glued to a picture of his big-toothed ancestor, which was hanging on
the wall. It wasn't a cheerful portrait, I must say, for it made old
Jeffrey of the Great Tooth look like a man in an awful fury and with a
horrible toothache, half-drawing his great malchus out of its scabbard.
The moment Pantagruel saw this, he grew half afraid and half angry.
Pointing sternly to the picture, he said:--

"He has not been painted in this way without cause. See how his eyes
glare, and how his great tooth seems to come out in pain. Why should he
draw his malchus? I suspect that, at his death, some wrong was done to
him which he looks to his kindred to avenge. I shall look deeper into
this matter, and do what I shall think to be right."

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL SETTLES AT ORLEANS.]

After having done a good turn for his fellow-students at Poitiers,
Pantagruel resolved to visit the other Universities of France. He did
not like Bordeaux very much, so he soon went to Toulouse. Here he
learned to dance and to use the two-handed sword,--a special exercise
with the students of that University. But he decided he wouldn't stay
any longer at Toulouse after he had occasion to see how the students
had sometimes a little trick of their own of roasting their regents
alive, like so many red herrings. So he strode off to Montpellier,
where he met pleasant company, and began to think, one day, that he
ought to study Medicine, and the next, that the Law was, after all, the
only thing for him; but he soon grew tired of all this and, journeying
from university to university, at last settled himself after a time at
Orleans. Here he was made welcome with joyous shouts and much respect;
and, as the students were none too fond of their books, Pantagruel
took great pains to become a master at tennis,--the favorite game of
the city. After several years passed at Orleans, he consulted with
Epistemon about going to the great University of Paris. It was a
glorious day for him--and I dare say the sober teacher himself, under
all his wise look, was just as pleased as his pupil--when the journey
was at last decided on. But, before leaving, the Giant was told that
an enormous bell, belonging to the City of Orleans, had been lying
under the ground at Saint Aignan for more than two hundred and fourteen
years, as it was so big and heavy that no engine--much less, men--could
be found strong enough to move it from its place. The fact is, the
good people of Orleans, having heard that the Giant was thinking of
leaving them for good, came before him, humbly praying him, before his
departure, to bring that great bell to the tower which had been waiting
ever so many years for it. Pantagruel, with his usual kindness, went to
the spot where the bell was, and lifted it as easily as if it had been
a hawk's bell. As he was quite sure of his own strength, Pantagruel
thought that, before carrying the bell to the belfry, he would take
a stroll about the city with it in his hands, making it ring in the
streets and by-ways. Of course everybody in Orleans--man, woman, boy,
girl; even the babies, who didn't know what they were smiling at, but
showed their little white teeth and dimpling cheeks all the same--were
all out, crowding the streets and jostling in the by-ways. But
here, while our Pantagruel was amusing himself and while the ringing
was sounding through the city, there came a terrible misfortune, of
which nobody had the slightest idea at the time. It was only found
out at night, when the simple people wanted to drink in honor of the
great event, that all the good wine of Orleans had of a sudden curdled
and turned sour. It was the awful strokes of that tremendous bell in
Pantagruel's hand, as he tramped up and down the streets, which had
curdled the Orleans wine, and made the honest people who drank it spit
as white as cotton, crying out: "We have caught the Pantagruel, and our
very throats are salted."

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL ENTERS PARIS.]

After this exploit Pantagruel, with Epistemon, and his valet Carpalim,
was very glad to start for Paris. On entering that city, all the people
stretched their heads out of the windows to see him pass; peering down
at his feet as he tramped through the streets, and then, with their
mouths wide open, craning their necks to see how high in the clouds his
head might be. They were just a little afraid, in their curiosity, that
their visitor might take up their King's Palace and stalk away with
it, as his father Gargantua, whom every old woman had seen and of whom
every child had heard, had carried away, years and years before, the
Bells of _Nôtre Dâme_ to hang them around his Mare's neck.

"Clear enough, this young Giant is the old Giant's son," the gossips
whispered to each other.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL IN THE LIBRARY.]

While in Paris, Pantagruel--as was the fashion for young men to
do--went one day to see the world-famous Victor Library. There he found
books with high titles on the covers, and no sense between them. One
look at the shelves of the Victor Library was enough for the Prince.

After a few months passed in Paris--studying and gaining great stores
of knowledge all the time,--Pantagruel, in reply to one who asked him
what he thought of the city, answered drily, that while "_Paris was a
very good place to live in, it was a very bad place to die in._"




CHAPTER XXV.

PANTAGRUEL FINDS PANURGE, WHOM HE LOVES ALL HIS LIFE.


[Illustration: Initial O.]

One day Pantagruel was strolling outside the city-walls towards the
Abbey St. Antoine. While engaged in philosophical talk with his own
people, and several students besides, he happened to see, coming along
the road, a young man of fine height and handsome presence, who looked
so bloody and so woebegone, and whose clothes hung around him in such
tatters and rags, that he seemed to have barely escaped with his
life from a pack of mad dogs. As soon as his eyes fell upon the man,
Pantagruel said to his attendants:--

"Do you see that man yonder, coming from Charanton Bridge? By my faith,
he is poor only in fortune. As far as I can judge by his features,
Nature has given that man a rich and noble lineage."

When the stranger had come up to them, Pantagruel said to him: "My good
friend, I beg you to stop a moment, and answer a few questions which I
am about to ask you. You will not repent it if you do so, as I feel a
strange desire to aid you in the distress in which I see you, for you
excite my pity. Before all, my friend, tell me who you are? Where do
you come from? What do you seek? And what is your name?"

The stranger then answered him:--

In German--

To which Pantagruel, not knowing a single word, replied:--

"My friend, I don't quite understand this gibberish. If you want us to
get at your meaning, speak to us in another language."

Then the stranger spoke:--

In Arabic--

"Ha! Do you know what he is saying, Master?" cried Pantagruel to
Epistemon.

Epistemon's answer was a shake of the head.

Then in Italian--

To which Master Epistemon only said: "As much of one as of the other,
and nothing of either."

Then the solitary wanderer spoke:--

In English--

What he said in a very strange English was: "Lord, if you be so
vertuous of intelligence, as you be naturally releaved to the body,
you should have pity of me; for nature hath made us equal, but fortune
hath some exalted, and others deprived; nevertheless is vertue often
deprived, and the vertuous men despised; for before the last end none
is good."

"Ho! still less," cried poor Pantagruel.

Then the Basque--

Carpalim, Pantagruel's valet, thought he caught something familiar
here, but the stranger went on as if nothing had been said.

In a rattling unknown language--

"Do you speak a Christian tongue, my friend, or do you make your lingo
as you go along?" asked Epistemon, who was beginning to get rather
tired.

Then in Dutch--

"Quite as bad as the others!" muttered Pantagruel under his breath.

Then in Spanish--

"See here, my friend," retorted Pantagruel, who in his turn was getting
tired, "I have not the slightest doubt that you are master of various
languages. But all I ask is that you should tell us what you want to
say in some tongue which we can understand."

Then in Danish--

"I think," said Eusthenes, "the old Goths must have spoken that way."

Then in a sonorous tongue--

Here Master Epistemon thought it right to say: "This time I have caught
his meaning. What he has just said is in the old Hebrew, rhetorically
pronounced."

Then in Greek--

"Oh! That's Greek. I know it. How long didst thou stay in Greece?"
asked the valet Carpalim, who had once been in that country.

The the low Breton tongue--

It was now Pantagruel's turn to say: "It seems to me that I understand
what you are trying to say; for it is the tongue of my own country, of
Utopia, or something very like it."

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL MEETS PANURGE.]

But, just as he was beginning to say something more, the stranger broke
out again:--

In the Latin language--

"That's all very well, my friend, but _can't you speak French?_"

"Certainly, and very well, too, an it please you, my lord," answered
the man. "By good luck, the French is at once my natural and maternal
language. I was born in the garden of France,--fair Toulouse."

"Then you are a Frenchman! Let us know at once what is your name. If
you satisfy me in this, you need never wander from my company, and we
shall be one to the other, as Æneas and Achates."

"Sir," said the stranger, "my name in baptism was Panurge. I have just
come home from Turkey, where I had the misfortune of being made a
prisoner in the expedition against Metelin. I have ever so many good
stories to tell Your Highness, more marvellous than those of Ulysses.
As you are gracious enough to promise to keep me among your friends,
I protest that I shall never leave you. I beg your pardon, my lord, I
want one word more. I am desperately hungry, my teeth being very sharp,
and my throat very dry. A dinner just now would be just as good as a
balsam for sore eyes."

Pantagruel, on hearing these words from the stranger, was delighted.
He at once ordered that a full meal should be got ready. This being
set before him Panurge, who hadn't eaten for two whole days, stuffed
himself and went to bed with the roosters, and never woke up until
dinner-time next day, when he leaped from his bed, and, without so much
as washing his face, reached the dining-room in three hops and one
jump.




CHAPTER XXVI.

PANTAGRUEL BEATS THE SORBONNE IN ARGUMENT, AND PANURGE PROVES THAT AN
ENGLISHMAN'S FINGERS ARE NOT SO NIMBLE AS A FRENCHMAN'S.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

While Pantagruel was at Paris, he was receiving, every now and then,
letters from his father, which were so kind, and so full of good advice
to him to improve himself in the Languages, that he had not the heart
to neglect them, even had he wished. One day, after laughing more than
usual at one of Panurge's pranks,--and his new friend had turned out
a queer fish indeed,--he thought it was right to see how much he had
really learned. The very next day, therefore, at all the crossings of
the city he posted, with his own hand, nine thousand seven hundred
and sixty-four propositions, challenging all the wise men of Paris to
argue with him, and show where, and in what, and how far, any of his
propositions was wrong. At so bold a defiance, the wise men of Paris
puckered their foreheads, opened wide their nostrils, breathed heavily,
and ended by accepting the challenge. They thought that a Giant's
strongest point was his body; but Pantagruel very soon proved to them
that he was stronger than all of them, bunched together, in brains.

It was at the gates of Sorbonne itself--the great University--that
Pantagruel, flushed with victory, next knocked. Sorbonne was not too
proud to meet the bold Giant from Utopia in a fair combat, not of
blows, but of words. For six weeks, Pantagruel maintained his theses
against all the theologians, from four o'clock in the morning until
six o'clock in the evening, with the exception of two hours allowed
for refreshment. The contest made a great noise in the court, and most
of the lords, masters of requests, presidents, counsellors, bankers,
secretaries, lawyers, together with the doctors and professors of the
great city, came to hear the learned talk day after day. Among all
these there were, of course, some very headstrong and restive, who must
needs take a hand in helping the theologians to puzzle Pantagruel; but,
at the end, they themselves were routed, the most learned doctors of
the Sorbonne along with all the rest.

[Illustration: AT THE GATES OF SORBONNE.]

From that time, everybody began to talk about Pantagruel's wonderful
knowledge,--as, before that, all the talk had been about his monstrous
size,--even to the wash-women, roast-meat sellers, pen-knife-makers,
and others, who, whenever they would catch a sight of him on the
street, would poke each other in the ribs and call out: "_Oh, look,
there he goes!_" Pantagruel would have been blind if he had not seen
these good people nudge one another, and deaf if he had not heard what
they were saying. He certainly was very much pleased; but that is not
at all strange, since Demosthenes, the prince of Greek orators, felt
the same when once, in passing along a street in Athens, an old hag
pointed her skinny fingers sharp at him, screaming: "_That's the man!_"

So great did Pantagruel's fame become in Paris that, whenever there was
a law-nut harder to crack than usual, the parties would appeal to him
to decide between them, and his decisions were always so just that,
strange to say, both sides would go away satisfied,--which is a thing
hard to be believed, since the like is not to be seen for thirteen
Jubilees. His reputation also went abroad, and, in consequence,
attracted the attention of a wise Englishman named Thaumastes, who came
all the way from England with the sole intention of seeing Pantagruel,
and testing for himself if his knowledge was so great as had been told.
On reaching Paris, Thaumastes asked where Pantagruel lodged, and, on
being informed, went to the St. Denis Hotel, where he found him walking
in the garden with Panurge on his arm. When his eyes first fell on the
Giant, he was almost out of his senses for fear, seeing him so big and
so tall. At last he managed to pluck up courage enough to salute him
very courteously.

"Very true it is, mighty Sir," he said, "what Plato, prince of
philosophers, once declared, that, if the image of Science were
corporeal enough to be brought in all her beauty before the eyes of
men, she would excite in all the world great wonder. I came disposed to
wonder; now, seeing, I do more--I admire. Having heard of your renown
I have left country, home, and kinsmen, and have, in spite of the long
journey and the hardships of crossing the sea, presented myself here
with the sole purpose of seeing you, and consulting you upon some
passages of Philosophy in which I believe, and yet cannot be sure, that
I am right. If you will only deign to solve my doubts, I hereby declare
myself your slave. But I beg to make plain one point, and that is, that
I wish to dispute through signs only, without speaking. I shall be
found, if it suits Your Magnificence, in the great hall of Navarre, at
seven o'clock to-morrow morning."

[Illustration: THAUMASTES VISITS PANTAGRUEL.]

Pantagruel, although by no means sure that he knew how to argue with
his fingers, replied with his usual grace to the courteous Englishman,
paying him many compliments for his design of carrying on a great
disputation by signs only. After which, Thaumastes, who, by the way,
had not quite got over his fear of the Giant, went straight to the
Cluny Hotel, where he lodged, declaring when he reached there that he
had never felt so thirsty in all his life. He swore to the landlord
that he thought that terrible Pantagruel was even then clutching him
by his throat--so very dry and ready to choke he was.

On his side, too, Pantagruel was grievously disturbed. He did nothing
in the first part of his sleep, that night, but dream about books with
hard Latin titles, and visions of phantom hands hovering in the air
around his head, and making passes under his very nose. All he could do
was to turn and twist, and twist and turn again, in his bed, and groan,
so dolefully, that Panurge, rudely wakened from his first nap, ventured
to come into the room.

"My lord," he said, as he approached the bed, "don't trouble yourself
about this matter. Turn on your right side like a good Christian,
and go to sleep. With your permission, I shall answer Mr. Englishman
to-morrow. By my faith! I never yet saw an Englishman who knew what to
do with his fingers!"

Pantagruel was, of course, delighted to hear this. He knew how sharp
Panurge was, and how far he could go beyond other men. But somehow he
still had his misgivings; and so he turned his big body around for the
last time and went to sleep, only to be haunted all night long by Latin
books with hard names, and a plague of mocking fingers making signs
under his nose.

[Illustration: THE GREAT COLLEGE WAS PACKED.]

The next morning, the great College of Navarre was packed with people
to hear the famous dispute between the Giant and the Englishman.

As soon as Pantagruel and Panurge reached the hall, all the professors
and students began, as was their custom, to clap with their hands.
But Pantagruel shouted out at the top of his voice, which sounded as
if a double cannon had been of a sudden shot off: "Peace, all! If you
trouble me here, I shall cut off the heads of every one of you." At
this terrible threat, the crowd stood amazed, and did not dare even
cough. The fact is, they grew so thirsty, all of a sudden, that their
tongues dropped out from their throats as if Pantagruel, instead of
stepping on the platform, had gone from one to the other salting them
all.

When everything was quiet, Panurge stepped forward with a pleasant
smile, and addressed the Englishman in these words:--

"I am only an insignificant pupil of my royal master, Prince
Pantagruel, whose reputation, here and elsewhere, is so noble and so
exalted; but I swear that I shall convince thee that, in all signs made
in the sacred name of Science, I am thy master, and can give thee all
the lessons thou mayst need."

"Is that so?" cried Thaumastes; "then, let us begin!"

It was a battle of signs, as we know already, not of words. The
Englishman made the first sign.

[Illustration: THE DISPUTATION.]

Some people thought at the time that Panurge, in his answer, showed
rather too plainly the low opinion he had of his learned antagonist's
skill in finger-moving. He suddenly raised his right hand in air,
then put the thumb inside of his right nostril while keeping the four
fingers stretched out, but close together in a line parallel with
the tip of his nose--meanwhile closing the left eye completely, and
depressing the right eye. Then he raised on high his left hand, with
close pressing and extension of the four fingers and elevation of the
thumb, holding his left hand in a straight line with his right, with
about a cubit and a half between them.

The Englishman answered, without seeming to understand this sign of
Panurge.

Then Panurge replied.

Then the Englishman.

Then Panurge.

[Illustration: PANURGE REPLIES.]

Then both made, one after the other, and with the greatest rapidity,
the neatest, the most skilful, the most beautiful, the most dazzling,
the most speaking, so to say, signs, all in the name of Science, but
all so much in favor of Panurge, with the little talking devil there
is in French fingers, that Thaumastes became so confounded that he
began to blow like a goose, and finally gave up the fight. But the
Englishman, when he had been beaten, was honest enough to say so.
Rising from his seat, while gallantly taking off his cap, he thanked
Panurge in a low tone. Then, with a loud voice, he addressed the
learned assembly:--

"My lords, at this time, I can surely say that you have an incomparable
treasure in your presence. I refer to my Lord Pantagruel, whose fame
alone brought me here from the other end of England. But you can better
judge how learned the master must be since I find so much skill in his
pupil, for I have always heard that the scholar is never above the
master."

It is said that the Englishman, after his defeat, was well and
honorably treated by Pantagruel. It was also whispered that Thaumastes,
on his return to England, caused to be printed in London a book which
contained all the signs and the meanings of the Great Disputation, but
of which, strange to say, no copy has reached this day.




CHAPTER XXVII.

WHAT SORT OF MAN PANURGE WAS, AND THE MANY TRICKS HE KNEW.


[Illustration: Initial T.]

The new friend and attendant of Pantagruel was, as has already been
seen, a man of good presence, neither too tall nor too short. His nose
was a fine aquiline, so fine and sharp, indeed, that its curve was said
by even his best friends to look for all the world like the blade of a
razor. He was thirty-five years old, or thereabout, and was the gayest,
maddest, most reckless roisterer that gay, mad, reckless, roistering
Paris had ever welcomed within her walls. His purse never knew what
it was to be full. For, although he had, as he was fond of boasting,
as many as sixty-three different ways of getting money, he always had
two hundred and fourteen different ways of spending it. The fact is,
Panurge had as many cunning ways as a monkey, and could have taught
the wisest and grayest old monkey in the forest tricks of which he, in
his simplicity, had never once dreamed. He made it a point never to go
abroad without having a flask of good wine and a fat, juicy slice of
bacon hidden away under his gown, saying, "These are my body-guard.
I have no other sword." But if he had one special weakness, it was
the bitter hatred he bore against the sergeants and the city-watch of
Paris. Of course, these little eccentricities all came out in time, and
so became gradually known to Pantagruel, who often frowned on them, but
could not, for the life of him, each time he heard of a new prank, help
shaking the houses within a mile around, with the rumble of his hearty
laughter.

[Illustration: PANURGE GETS MONEY.]

It was one favorite custom of Panurge to gather three or four good
fellows, and make them drink like Templars toward nightfall, when he
would lead them to the high ground just above the church St. Genevieve,
or near the college of Navarre, about the hour the city-watch were
taking their rounds on the low ground below. He could always make sure
of the hour of the guard by laying a sword down on the pavement, with
his ear very close to it; and when he would hear the sword hum, he knew
that the watch were coming. As soon as he had made sure of that, he and
his companion would begin to push one of the dirt-carts, always about
there, with all their strength, into the hollow, where it would come
tumbling down on the unhappy watch, who, by that time, had just reached
the spot, setting them to rolling and knocking about in the dust like
so many swine. Of course, the party would then scamper off in a hurry,
as Panurge--who, besides having a mortal dread of blows, was a born
coward--had, after two days, learned to know every street, crossing,
lane, and alley in Paris.

[Illustration: PANURGE AND THE DIRT-CARTS.]

Another time he would drop along some good, level place where the watch
were obliged to pass, a long train of powder, and, then, after finding
a safe hiding-place, when they had come, he would fire the train at
his end, laugh a loud laugh while he watched their antics in scurrying
away, thinking all the time that good St. Anthony was tugging away at
their legs.

Now, Panurge was a very wise man, but, in spite of all his learning,
he dearly loved to plague those whom he ought certainly to have
most respected,--I mean the Masters of Arts and the students of the
Universities. Whenever he would meet one of these on the street, he
was sure to do him some mischief, such as pinning to his back little
fox-tails, hare's ears, or some such roguery.

[Illustration: PANURGE'S FUN.]

Another great delight of Panurge was keeping a whip under his gown,
with which he used to lash, until his very arm ached, such pages as he
found carrying wine to their masters. He used to say it was to make
them go faster, and he was sure their masters would thank him for it.

Another was to carry in his coat more than twenty-and-six little fobs
and pockets, which were always full,--one of a little lead-water;
another of a little blade sharpened like a glover's needle, with which,
I am ashamed to say, Panurge used to cut purses; another of some bitter
stuff, which he used to throw in the eyes of everybody he met; and
still others of a mixture which he would throw upon the dresses and
bonnets of good people, walking peaceably and soberly in the streets.

Another trick was slily to fasten people together by little hooks,
which he always kept in his pocket, and to laugh till he grew black in
the face, on seeing how, in trying to get loose, they only tore their
clothes to rags.

Another was to provide himself with two or three looking-glasses, and,
by shifting them here and there in his hand from a distance, throw the
fierce light straight into the eyes of men and women, who would get
half-crazy trying to find out where their sudden blindness came from.

Still another trick--and this was a very mean one--he used to play
with a small vial filled with the oldest and most rancid oil he could
find. Whenever he met a woman dressed as fine as a peacock, he would
come up, saying: "Why, here's a fine cloth, or a fine satin, or a fine
taffety," as the case might be. "Madam, may Heaven grant you whatever
your noble heart might wish for! You have there a new dress. Heaven
keep it long for you, fair dame!" While the rogue was saying all these
fine words, he would, of course, be placing his hand on the collar or
the shoulder of the lady, and smearing it all over with his vile oil,
and leaving a spot which could never be scrubbed out. Then he would
make his prettiest bow, and smile his sweetest smile, saying: "My dear
Madam, let me beg you to be very careful about here, because there is a
large and muddy hole just before you, and you might soil your beautiful
dress."

At another time he would carry a box filled with a well-powdered
sneezing-gum, into which he would put a handsome broidered handkerchief
that he had stolen on the way from a pretty seamstress of the Palace.
He would go looking about for some fine ladies, and whenever he would
meet them, with a great show of reverence, he would take out his
scented handkerchief, and, on pretence of showing its beauty, flirt it
quickly before their noses, at which the fine ladies would sneeze for
four hours without stopping.

Then Panurge would make a lower and more respectful bow than ever, and
go away to the nearest corner to have a quiet laugh by himself.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

SHOWING WHY THE LEAGUES ARE SO MUCH SHORTER IN FRANCE THAN IN GERMANY.


[Illustration: Initial A.]

A short time after the famous dispute, Pantagruel heard two very
startling bits of news. One was that his father Gargantua had been
transported to the country of the Fairies by Morgan, in the same way
that she had already carried off Ogier the Dane and King Arthur. The
other was that, on hearing of this, and taking advantage of it, the
Dipsodes, or Thirsty people, Gargantua's neighbors, had swarmed from
their fortresses and ravaged a large part of Utopia, and were even then
besieging the chief city of the Amaurotes. When Pantagruel heard this
bad news he boiled with rage. He left Paris without a word of good-by
to anybody, for the affair called for speed. He was accompanied only
by his special train, which included his master Epistemon, Panurge,
Eusthenes, and Carpalim. From Paris he went to Rouen. While on the
road, Pantagruel noticed that the French leagues were very short when
compared with those of other countries, which he had seen in his
travels. He asked Panurge how this could be. Then Panurge, who was
never at fault, after turning up his long nose, told him this little
story:--

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL MARCHES TO ROUEN.]

"In the old days, when that fine King Pharamond reigned over France,
there were no leagues, no metes, no furlongs, no recognized boundaries
between different countries; nothing, in fact, to show where one
country began and where another ended. That just old King resolved to
make all this right. So he caused to be brought together in Paris two
hundred of the brightest and prettiest girls and boys to be found in
all France, whom he feasted well for eight days. After it the King
called the two hundred children before him, and gave them a sum of
money large enough for their expenses during a long journey. He then
commanded that they should not go out by the same gate, but start away
on different roads, here and there, as their fancy took them out from
the city. He further told them that, wherever they should stop to play
and run about in the bright sunshine, and gather flowers, or chase the
beautiful butterflies, they should leave a stone there to show that
they had done so.

"That stone would mean, '_This is one league_.'

"It was summer time in the pleasant, flowery, laughing month of June,
when the skies seem more full of blue, the fields more full of green,
and the roses more full of red, than they are at any other time,
that the gentle King Pharamond had gathered these innocent children
together. The whole party, with bright cheeks and merry laughter,
started from Paris by one road and another. How could the children help
feeling happy when the skies were so blue, the fields so green, and the
roses so red, and when the butterflies would fly so near the ground,
as if only too glad to be run after and caught! And then each boy and
girl knew that their generous King had given them so much money that,
to their simple fancies, it seemed as if they could never spend it all,
try as hard as they might.

"In those bright June days, full of light, and green, and blue, they
were always crying out: 'Let us stop! Oh, let us stop to play.'

"So they used, at first, to stop at every turn of the road to skip and
gambol about in the fields, to gather the pretty flowers, to chase the
brilliant butterflies, to sing back to the singing-birds in the trees,
and to breathe in the sweet summer air, after which, with ringing
laughter and the merriest shouts, they would leave a big stone to mark
the spot where they had been so happy.

"This explains, my lord," said Panurge, making a face, "why _our
leagues in France are so short._"

"I see, I see," said the good Pantagruel, who had fallen into deep
thought.

"But the longest summer must come to an end," Panurge went on to say.
"And when children stop at every turn of the road to play in the sun,
and to run in the fields, and to pluck the flowers, and chase the
butterflies, and sing with the singing-birds, they are only robbing
themselves of their own glad time. For Autumn, with his clouds that
hide the sun, and his ugly days, and his chilly nights, must be very
patient if he does not soon begin to think it high time for him to
come on the scene. So it got to be quite another thing for the poor
children the farther they went from Paris, because they soon found out
that King Pharamond's gift, large as it was, could not last forever.
The more they travelled, the worse the weather, the nearer they came
to the bottom of their purse, the heavier grew the road, and the more
tired their little bodies became. At last, all that the weary children
prayed for was that they might reach the end of their hard journey as
fast as possible. But Autumn himself was getting very old by that time,
and fierce Winter, with his chilling breath, and his hands of ice,
and his mantle of snow, was beginning to wonder when brother Autumn
was going to give him a chance of dropping his shining mantle over
field, lane, and road. There were no longer any blue sky; no longer any
green fields; no longer any red roses for the children; and the bright
butterflies were all dead now, and the singing-birds were all mute.

"All that the poor little children could now do, wringing their hands,
was to cry: 'Let us go on! Oh, do let us go on!'

"So, too sad to think of play, but remembering always the command of
their good King, they walked, or rather limped, along the highway, and
would rest as little as they could until they had reached Germany, and
gone to the very end of that country, to make sure that they had done
their duty."

After telling this legend of King Pharamond and his two hundred little
children, Panurge remarked, with a very ugly grin:--

"And this, Your Highness, is why _those cursed German leagues are so
long._"




CHAPTER XXIX

HOW THE CUNNING OF PANURGE, WITH THE AID OF EUSTHENES AND CARPALIM,
DISCOMFITED SIX HUNDRED AND SIXTY HORSEMEN.


[Illustration: Initial S.]

Starting from Rouen, Pantagruel, Panurge, Epistemon, Eusthenes, and
Carpalim arrived at Harfleur, but remained at that city only one hour,
when they took to sea,--a friendly North-North-west wind blowing at
the time,--and, with all sails set, in a short time passing by Porto
Sancto, and Madeira, touched at the Canaries.

[Illustration: THE VOYAGE BEGINS.]

Once more on blue water, keeping; close to the Senegal coast of Africa,
they skirted by Cape Blanco and Cape Verde, and, still steering
south-east, sailed on, day after day, until, after weathering the Cape
of Good Hope, they touched at the friendly kingdom of Melinda. Taking
to ship again after resting a week in Melinda, they made good progress
with a wind from over the mountains, and, after passing by Meden, Uti,
Uden, Galasin, by the Isles of the Fairies, and skirting the kingdom of
Anchoria, finally cast anchor in the port of Utopia, which is a little
over three leagues from the chief city of the Amaurotes, that was
then being hotly besieged by the _Dipsodes_, who, as you know, called
themselves the Thirsty People.

When they had rested a bit and got their land-legs well on again,
Pantagruel, who, even in sea-sickness,--and he had, in fact, been very
sick,--had been thinking of the perils in which his father's kingdom
had been placed, remarked: "My children, it is lucky that those rascals
have not occupied this port, and it is just as strange as lucky,
because the city is not more than three leagues off. But, before we
march to its relief, it would be wise to consider what is best to be
done. Are you all resolved to live or die with me?"

"Yes, Your Highness, yes!" responded all. "Count on us as you might
count on your fingers."

"I have somehow a trouble on my mind," Pantagruel went on to say.
"I know neither in what order nor in what number are my enemies who
besiege the city. If I could once know this, we should more surely be
able to help my poor people."

Then all the four companions cried out together: "Leave that to us!
This day shall not pass before we bring Your Highness news."

Panurge, as was to be expected, was the first to step forward.

"I undertake, my lord," he said, "to enter into their camp in spite
of their guards. What is more, I shall dine with them at their own
expense,--not one of them knowing who I am; visit their artillery;
count the number of tents of their captains; and strut at my will
through the bands without ever being once detected. For _I_ am of the
lineage of Zopyrus."

Then Master Epistemon came forward:--

"I know all the stratagems of the ancient captains and champions of
Antiquity; and all the ruses and artifices of the camps. Your Highness
need have no fear of my being caught, as I shall make them believe of
you what I please. For _I_ am of the lineage of Sinon."

Then Eusthenes:--

"I shall get through their trenches under the noses of their sentinels;
for I shall pass through them, and--in spite of them, even though each
one were as strong as a bull--break their legs and wrench their arms
for them as I pass. For _I_ am of the lineage of Hercules."

Then Carpalim:--

"As for me, Your Royal Highness, I promise to slip into the camp if
ever a bird can fly there, because my body is so light that I can jump
their trenches and leap through their tents before their keenest eyes
can see me. I am afraid of neither arrows nor bow-shots. As for their
swift horses, I laugh at them. I undertake to skim over an ear of corn
or the tall meadow grass, without either ever bending under me. For _I_
am of the lineage of Camilla, the Amazon."

Carpalim had scarcely declared that he was of the lineage of Camilla,
the Amazon, when a great shout was heard; and the whole party, turning
round to find whence the noise came, saw six hundred light cavalry
riding at full speed to see what ship had come into port, and to
capture the crew if fast riding and loud shouting could do it.

Pantagruel's big nostrils opened and shut, and went up and down in
excitement, as he roared out:--

"My lads, get you at once to the ship! You see our enemies there? I
shall kill them, if they were ten times their number, just as easily
as though they were so many beasts. So get in there, and you will have
some sport!"

But Panurge, who, if a coward, was very sly, had been hatching a plan
of his own, and answered:--

"No, my lord, there is no need of your taking so much trouble. On the
contrary, you are the one to go into the ship, both you and the others,
for I, myself, undertake, singly and without aid, to settle those
rogues. But there is no time for delay. Seconds are worth hours now!"

The others joined in with Panurge.

"Well said, my lord. Let Your Highness retire, and we shall help
Panurge in such a way that you will soon learn what we can do when we
try."

Pantagruel, who saw that trick, not fight, was to win the battle, was
highly amused at all this. As he started to go back into the ship, he
said:--

"I am willing, but on one condition. If those rascals are too strong
for you, call out for me."

[Illustration: PANURGE DISCOMFITS THE HORSEMEN.]

The first thing Panurge did was to get two stout ropes from the
vessel. After tying these to the capstan on the deck he pulled them to
the shore, where he twined them round and round into two circles, one
very large, and the other a smaller circle inside of the larger one.
After he had his two circles ready, he said to Epistemon:--

"Go into the ship and wait until I call out. Then you will turn the
capstan as strong and as quickly as you can, drawing up, of course,
both these ropes as you turn."

Panurge had also a word of warning for Eusthenes and Carpalim:--

"Wait here, my lads, until the enemy come near, then make signs that
you surrender. But take care not to get your legs inside of these
ropes. All you will have to do is, while appearing to yield yourselves,
to get as far away from those fellows as you can."

Then Panurge, all in a hurry, rushed into the vessel once more,
and caught up a bundle of straw and a small barrel of gunpowder,
the contents of which he scattered along inside and outside of the
two circles of ropes. Holding in his hand a bit of lighted paper,
and putting on his most innocent face, he was ready for the men
on horseback, who just then came thundering down. The first rank
came nearly as far as the ship, but, because the sand was yielding,
forty-four men and as many horses were brought tumbling to the ground.
Seeing the first line fall, and believing that their comrades had met
some resistance, the others were about to rush to the rescue; but just
here was heard the mild voice of Panurge:--

"Gentlemen, you will pardon me, if I say it is not we who have
stretched your noble companions there, but the sea-water, which makes
the sand slippery. We surrender at your good pleasure."

Eusthenes, and Carpalim, and Epistemon, who was on deck, said the same
thing.

But, even while he was talking, the cunning Panurge had been sliding
off and, when he saw that all the horsemen were drawn well within the
circles, and that his two friends had got to a safe distance, making
way for the cavalry who were pressing forward to see the ship, shouted
out suddenly to Epistemon:--

"Turn! turn!"

Hearing these words, Epistemon began to turn for his life, and the
two ropes twisted themselves around the legs of the horses in such a
fashion that, in falling, they brought their riders down with them.
Those in the rear, seeing the trick, drew their swords to cut the
ropes, and so escape; but Panurge was quite ready for them. It was when
they did so that he fired his powder-train, which burned up every one
of the company, men and horses, except one. He only escaped the flames
because he was mounted on a Turkish horse of great swiftness, which
bore him off with his light hoofs. But when Carpalim saw this he said
to himself: "Here, now, is a chance to show that _I_ am of the lineage
of Camilla!" and ran after him with such speed that he caught up with
the Turkish steed within less than a hundred steps, and, leaping on his
croup, hugged the rider from behind and brought him a prisoner to the
ship.

Pantagruel was, of course, in a most jovial mood, and praised to the
skies the cunning of his friends. Nothing would do but that they should
celebrate their victory in eating and drinking, and the prisoner
along with them. It was a merry feast on the shore, for all but the
poor captive, who was not at all sure that Pantagruel was not going
to gobble him up whole, which he might have done--his throat being so
large--with as much ease as he would have taken down a sugar-plum.
Indeed, the prisoner would not have made any greater show in the
Giant's throat than a grain of millet in an ass' mouth.




CHAPTER XXX.

HOW CARPALIM WENT HUNTING FOR FRESH MEAT, AND HOW A TROPHY WAS SET UP.

[Illustration: Initial W.]

While they were thus chatting and feasting, Carpalim suddenly cried
out: "Are we never to have any fresh meat? His Highness makes us
thirsty enough, but this salt meat quite finishes me. Wait a moment! I
am going to fetch you here the thigh of one of those horses which are
burning over yonder. No fear of their not being roasted enough!"

As he was springing up to do this, his quick eye caught sight, just
at the edge of the wood, of a large stag, which had come out of the
forest, attracted doubtless by Panurge's big bonfire. Carpalim ran
towards the stag with such fleetness that he seemed to have been shot
from a cross-bow, and caught up with him in a moment. Even while he was
bounding along, he was holding his hands up in the air, with all his
fingers spread open, and, in that way, he caught four great bustards,
seven bitterns, twenty-six gray partridges, sixteen pheasants, nine
snipes, nineteen herons, thirty-two red-legged partridges; and he
killed moreover with his feet, by kicking here and there, ten or twelve
hares or rabbits that chanced to start up in his path and hadn't time
to get away; fifteen tender young boars, and three large foxes. First
killing the stag by striking him on the head with his sword, he picked
him up and, while joyously returning along the road, gathered together
his hares, rabbits, boars, and foxes. And from as far as could be
heard, he began to cry out:--

"Panurge! Panurge! Vinegar! Vinegar!"

[Illustration: CARPALIM CATCHES SOME FRESH MEAT.]

The good Pantagruel, having his back turned to the road, thought from
this that Carpalim surely must be sick, and so ordered that vinegar
should be at once brought. But Panurge, who happened to be looking out,
had already noticed what Carpalim had about him, and told Pantagruel
that his valet was carrying a fine stag around his neck, and around his
waist a belt of hares. Wise Master Epistemon at once made nine handsome
wooden spits in the old style. Eusthenes, wanting to be useful, helped
him to skin the game; while Panurge placed two of the dead men's
saddles in such a way that they served as andirons. The prisoner was
made cook, and at the very same fire where his friends were burning,
the poor cook roasted Carpalim's venison. Of course, everybody enjoyed
the fresh meat after so much salt meat, and became very gay and chatty.
Panurge evidently thought his friends were getting too noisy, for, of a
sudden, he cried:--

"We had better think a little about our affairs, so as to decide in
what way we will conquer our enemies."

"That is well thought on!" said Pantagruel.

He at once turned to the prisoner, and, wishing to frighten him still
more, said: "My friend, tell us here the truth, and do not lie to us
in any one single thing, if thou dost not want to be eaten alive, for
they say I am he who eats little children. Give us, therefore, the
order, the number, the strength in guns, of thy army."

"My lord," answered the prisoner humbly, "know for truth that in my
army there are three hundred giants, all clad in armor, and wonderfully
tall giants they are, too,--not quite so tall as Your Highness, save
one who is their chief, who is called Loupgarou, and who is armed with
anvils. Besides these giants, there are one hundred and sixty-three
thousand foot-soldiers, all armed with the skins of hobgoblins, and
all strong and valiant men; eleven thousand, four hundred men-at-arms;
three thousand, six hundred double cannon, and quite too many
arquebusiers to count; and ninety-four thousand pioneers."

"That is all very well, so far as it goes," said Pantagruel, dryly;
"but is thy King there?"

"Yes, sire, the King is there in person. He is known among us as
Anarchus, King of the _Dipsodes_, which is the same as saying the
Thirsty People, because you have never yet seen a people so thirsty by
nature or with such throats for drinking. The giants guard the King's
tent."

"Enough!" said Pantagruel. "Brave boys, are you willing to follow me?"

"May Heaven confound those who would leave you!" cried out Panurge.

Then the party began to joke one another about the prisoner's report,
and to boast about the glorious feats each one was going to do on the
giants who guarded King Anarchus' tent.

As was his habit the noble Pantagruel laughed at all the nonsense, but,
in the midst of a good shaking, he suddenly thought of what was really
before him.

"Gentlemen," he said, "you reckon without your host. I am rather afraid
that, if you go on much longer in the way you are now, it will not be
dark before you are in such a state that those Thirsty People can come
here and maul you with pike and lance. So, then, children, let's be
marching. However, before we leave this place, in remembrance of the
courage you have just shown, I wish to erect here a fine trophy."

[Illustration: THE TROPHY.]

This was a happy idea, and everybody was at once busy--singing
meanwhile pleasant little songs--in setting up a high post. This done,
they hung up on the post a great cuirassier saddle, the front-piece of
a barbed horse, bridle-bits, knee-pieces, stirrups, stirrup-leathers,
spurs, a coat of mail, a battle-axe, a strong, short, sharp sword, a
gauntlet, leg-harness, and a throat-piece,--all spoils from the poor
horsemen whose bones were then lying half-charred on the sands.

And this was the trophy which Pantagruel raised.




CHAPTER XXXI.

THE STRANGE WAY IN WHICH PANTAGRUEL OBTAINED A VICTORY OVER THE THIRSTY
PEOPLE.


[Illustration: Initial W.]

When the trophy had been raised, Pantagruel had his prisoner brought
before him and sent him away with these words:--

"Get thee back to thy King in his camp, and tell him what thou hast
seen. Be sure you tell him to be ready to welcome me to-morrow, at
noon. All I am waiting for are my galleys, which, are on the sea. As
soon as they come, which will be to-morrow morning, at the very latest,
I shall prove to thy King, by eighteen hundred thousand men and seven
thousand giants,--each of those giants taller and larger than thou
see'st me here,--that he has been an idiot to attack my country."

Of course, in all this talk about having an army on the sea, Pantagruel
was only trying to frighten the King of the Thirsty People.

The prisoner made haste to assure Pantagruel that he was his humble
slave, and that he would be only too glad, not only if he never should
see his people again, but, also, if he should be allowed to fight under
the Prince against them. Pantagruel shook his great head at this. No!
no! he must leave at once, and do what he had been told to do. He gave
him at the same time a box full of a strange paste, made with some
grains of black chameleon-thistle, steeped in brandy, ordering him to
place this in the hands of his King, and say to him that, if he could
eat even one ounce of the mixture without wanting to drink after it, he
would be able to resist Pantagruel and his whole army without fear.

[Illustration: THE KING OF THE THIRSTY PEOPLE.]

Then the prisoner began to wring his hands, begging Pantagruel in the
hour of battle to have pity on him.

"After thou hast announced all to thy King," answered Pantagruel,
gravely, "put all thy trust in God, and He will never forsake thee.
Look at me! I am, as thou canst see, mighty. I can put millions of
troops in the field. Yet I place no reliance on my strength or my skill;
but all my trust is in God, my protector, who never abandons those who
have their faith in Him. Go, then," he added more kindly, "and, if thou
wishest no evil to happen to thee, turn thy back on bad company."

When the prisoner had at last got away, the good Giant turned to his
friends, saying: "My children, you know that I do not tell lies; but it
is always lawful in war to deceive an enemy. This is why I have made
that prisoner believe we had armies on the sea, and, also, that we were
not going to make an assault on their camp till to-morrow at noon. But
I have sent a paste that will put them all to sleep to-night, so that
they will not be prepared to receive my attack to-morrow, at noon. My
real purpose is to attack their camp in the hour of their first nap."

But the prisoner--knowing nothing of all this side-talk--walked quickly
towards the city, which he soon reached, as you already know it was
only three leagues from the coast. As soon as he saw the King, he
began the story of how there had come a great Giant, who had routed
and caused to be cruelly roasted alive, six hundred and fifty-nine
horsemen; and how he, alone of all the troop, had escaped to bring the
terrible news. He then went on to state that that wonderful Giant had
charged him to say that he would look on His Majesty at dinner-time,
and wanted him to make ready for him. Then he presented the box of
paste, but, just as soon as the King had swallowed one spoonful, his
throat started to burn, and, after a while, his very tongue began
to peel off. What was to be done? There was only one way out of the
trouble, and that was for the King to drink--drink--drink, without
stopping! The result was that everybody was bringing the King wine, and
pouring it down his royal throat; and if ever he stopped, the royal
throat began to burn just as bad as ever. For the Thirsty People,
there could be nothing finer than such a sweetmeat, that would make
them drink, and drink, and drink again. Nothing would do the pashas,
captains, and guardsmen but that they should try the paste to see
whether it would produce such thirst in them; and the moment they did
so they were in the same fix as their King, and they all drank so long
that a rumor ran through the camp that the prisoner had come back, and
that a great attack was to be made the next day by some terrible enemy,
of whose name nobody knew. What could be better, then, than to enjoy
themselves the night before? So the captains and the guards began to
drink, and clink glasses, and give healths, until they got stupidly
drunk, and lay, here and there, where they fell, as so many swine all
about the camp.

[Illustration: THE SOLDIERS TRY PANTAGRUEL'S PASTE.]

What was Pantagruel doing in the meanwhile?

As soon as he found that he could no longer see the prisoner
trudging along the road--and remember the eyesight of giants is
just so much keener than that of common men, as their bodies are
stronger--Pantagruel pulled out the mast from his ship, which he
carried in his hand like a pilgrim's staff, first putting in the
hollow of it two hundred and thirty-seven puncheons of white wine of
Anjou. The next thing he did was to tie to his waistband the bark
itself, filled with salt, which he carried as readily as women going to
market carry their little baskets of vegetables. When they got near the
enemy's camp, Panurge said: "My lord, do you wish to do a wise thing?
Get that white wine of Anjou down from that mast, and let us drink to
our success." Panurge was right in this, because, strong as Pantagruel
was, such a weight of wine would have only troubled him if he had to
fight. He was willing enough, and they drank so much of the delicious
wine that, at the end, there was not a single drop of the two hundred
and thirty-seven puncheons left except what was to be found in one
leathern-flask, which Panurge grabbed for his own private use, and hid
away in his pocket.

When the wine was gone, Pantagruel called out to Carpalim: "Get thee
into the city, scrambling over the walls like a cat, as thou knowest
well how to do. Tell our people in the city that now is the very time
for them to attack their foes, who are weak. As soon as thou art
through with them, seize a lighted torch, run through the streets, and
set fire everywhere. Don't forget to cry out with thy loudest voice:
'Fire! Fire!' and skip from the camp."

Without another word, Carpalim was on the road, leaping and bounding
for the city. Everything was done as Pantagruel had commanded. All
the army in the city--that part which was not drunk--rushed out of
the walls to meet the foe, and found--nobody. Carpalim, meanwhile,
ran through all the tents and pavilions, setting fire to each one. Of
course, in doing so, he had now and then to step over the captains and
other officers who had eaten of Pantagruel's paste, but he stepped so
lightly, and they were so drunk, that they never knew it. The tents
caught fire so quickly that poor Carpalim--if it had not been for his
wonderful agility--would have been roasted alive, like the captains,
pashas, and guardsmen who were snoring in their tents when he set fire
to them.

When the army, that had been silly enough, when Carpalim shouted, to
run outside of the walls, reached the plain and found no enemy, they
wandered about in great confusion, and, being very tired, at last
returned to the city and lay outside of the burning tents, and went
to sleep with their mouths open. Nobody thought of taking care of the
burning gates. It was long after midnight when Pantagruel entered the
city, and as he marched through the streets he would take bags of salt
out of the ship, which he carried around his waist, and, as he passed
the sleepers, would drop the salt into their open mouths. Many died
from choking; and the rest of those who were lucky enough not to be
burnt, when they woke next morning, thought they had enough salt in
their mouths to last them for a lifetime. All they said as they got up
and humbly went about their business, wetting their tongues every now
and then to get the vile, bitter taste out, was:--

"O Pantagruel, thou hast made our throats burn worse than before!"




CHAPTER XXXII.

THE WONDERFUL WAY IN WHICH PANTAGRUEL DISPOSED OF THE GIANT LOUPGAROU
AND HIS TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY-NINE GIANTS.


[Illustration: Initial A.]

As soon as the body-guard of Giants saw flames bursting from the
tents, all they could think of doing was to snatch up their little
King Anarchus, tie him to the neck of one of them, and get out of the
burning city as fast as their long legs could take them. Panurge, as
usual, was the first to see the Giants racing out of the city.

"My lord," he said, "just look at those big rogues over there! All you
have to do is to charge with that mast you have in your hand. You can
have no better way to prove your skill. We, on our part, are not going
to fail you."

"Ho! ho!" answered Pantagruel, "I do not lack courage. But even
Hercules did not dare fight against two, and here thou wouldst have me
fight against three hundred!"

"What!" retorted Panurge, while his tip-tilted nose curled higher in
the air than usual, "does Your Highness seriously mean to compare
yourself with Hercules? God has given you stronger teeth and stouter
limbs than ever Hercules had." Panurge was going to say a good deal
more, but here came Loupgarou with all his Giants.

When Loupgarou saw that Pantagruel was alone,--for, after all, to the
eyes of giants common-sized men, like Panurge, Epistemon, Carpalim, and
Eusthenes, must have looked like so many dwarfs,--he felt sure that he
would be able to make away with him. In fact, he was so sure that he
turned to his Giants, laughing all the time so as to show all his big,
cruel, yellow teeth. "By Mahomet! if any of you dare fight with that
great braggart over there, you shall die at these hands! I, alone, wish
to fight with him! Meanwhile, you shall have rare sport in looking on."

Laughing loudly, the other Giants fell back a short distance, where
the wine and victuals had been left, carrying their little King along
with them. They had hardly got there when the cunning Panurge and his
friends, putting on a most humble, miserable look, crawled up, saying:--

"We surrender, good comrades. We have no taste for war. All we ask is
to join with you in feasting while our masters are fighting."

The poor little King was willing; the Giants were willing; and so they
began to feast, Panurge and the others along with them.

Loupgarou had, by this time, advanced upon Pantagruel, with a fearful
mace of steel, weighing nine hundred and seventy thousand pounds.
At the end of the mace there were thirteen diamond points, the very
smallest of which was as big as the largest bell of the _Nôtre Dâme_,
in Paris. But what made that mace so terrible was, that it was formed
of fairy steel, so that it had only to touch the strongest thing in
the world to break it into pieces. But Pantagruel, as we know, put his
faith in God alone. As every good Christian, when he sees a fearful
enemy near him, calls upon God, so Pantagruel prayed to Him, while
Loupgarou was cursing furiously, to aid him who had always loved the
Church and obeyed the Ten Commandments. He had scarcely ended his
prayer when he heard a voice from the sky, saying: "Have faith, and
thou shall gain the victory."

By this time, Loupgarou, with his mouth wide open, was drawing near
him, and Pantagruel, who had no enchanted weapon, but only his mast,
thought to frighten the monster by crying out, as the old Lacedæmonians
used to do, in his most awful tones: "_Thou diest, rascal! Thou
diest!_" Even while he was saying this, he was digging his big hands
into the ship which he carried at his waist, from which he took
more than eighteen kegs and four bushels of salt, which he threw,
filling Loupgarou's mouth, throat, nose, and eyes. This only made
Loupgarou rage worse than ever. Roaring with pain and anger, he rushed
against Pantagruel, thinking to break his skull with his fairy mace.
Pantagruel, luckily, was both quick of foot and keen of eye. Seeing
what Loupgarou was at, he stepped with his left foot back one pace; but
even then he was not so quick as to save the ship. Loupgarou's blow
fell upon its prow, which was enough to smash it into four thousand and
eighty-six pieces, scattering, of course, the rest of the salt along
the ground.

[Illustration: THE FIGHT WITH LOUPGAROU.]

When Pantagruel saw his good ship all in pieces he did not despair, but
gallantly attacked Loupgarou with its mast, striking him two blows;
one fell above the breast, the other between neck and shoulders. The
monster did not relish such treatment. So, when Pantagruel wanted
to give another blow in the same sharp style, Loupgarou raised his
enchanted mace and rushed upon him, knowing that he had only to touch
him with it to cleave him from head to foot. But, by God's blessing,
Pantagruel's nimbleness saved him here a second time. Stepping briskly
to one side, the terrible mace swept with a hissing noise through
the air, striking a great rock which stood in the way, into which it
crashed more than seventy-three feet, making a fire greater in bulk
than nine thousand and six tons flash from the hole it had made.

Here was another chance for Pantagruel.

Seeing that Loupgarou was tugging away at his enchanted mace to pull it
from the rock, Pantagruel ran towards him with his mast well-poised,
feeling sure that, this time, he would take off his head; but, by bad
luck, his mast just grazed the stock of Loupgarou's mace. Of course it
broke, and, what is worse, broke within three hand-breadths of his own
hand. Pantagruel was so much amazed at all this, as he had never before
heard that Loupgarou's mace was enchanted, that he cried out, without
very well knowing what he was doing: "Ho! Panurge, where art thou?"

Panurge, whose eyes and cars had been stretched wide open ever since
the beginning of the fight, shouted out to the King and the Giants: "By
Heaven! if we don't get them apart, they will hurt one another."

But the Giants, on their side, were in high chuckles. When Carpalim
wanted to get up to help his master, one of them said:--

"By Golfarim!"--who is the nephew of Mahomet,--"if thou stir from here,
I shall tuck thee in my belt."

Meanwhile Pantagruel, having lost his staff, caught hold of the little
stump that was left of the mast, striking blows, here and there, with
it on the Giant's body. But the stump was so short that no harm was
done. Of course, all this time, Loupgarou was puffing and blowing hard
to pull his mace out from the rock. He at last succeeded. All the
time he was getting ready to swing it once more, he was bawling out:
"Villain! this time I shall surely kill thee! Never after this shalt
thou make honest people thirsty!" In trying to get his mace in proper
position to strike, he was, of course, bending a little.

Here was one more chance for Pantagruel; and Pantagruel took it.

While Loupgarou had his body half-bent, Pantagruel gave him such a
kick in the stomach that he made him fall backwards, heels over head,
and as he began to drag him along the ground, Loupgarou was bleeding
at the throat, and could only find breath to call out three times:
"Mahomet! Mahomet!! Mahomet!!!"

[Illustration: DEATH OF LOUPGAROU.]

The moment they heard that cry, up started all the Giants to help their
leader; but now came Panurge's time to interfere.

"Gentlemen, don't you go, if you have the slightest faith in me. My
master is mad, and is striking out blindly. He may hurt you in his
anger."

But the Giants only ha-ha'd at all this, having seen that poor
Pantagruel's only weapon, the mast, had been shivered to the handle by
the fairy mace. So, like idiots, they started in a body to Loupgarou's
rescue. The moment Pantagruel, who was just then breathing a little
hard, saw the Giants coming up, he caught Loupgarou's body, encased in
an armor of stout anvils, up by the two feet, lifting it high in the
air with the same ease as he might have raised a pike; and, with the
master's own body, he slashed around right and left among the Giants,
knocking them down as a mason chips with his hammer little bits off
a stone. Not one of the Giants could stand before Pantagruel without
being struck flat to the ground. While Pantagruel was performing
such wonders with Loupgarou's body and his armor of anvils, Panurge,
together with Carpalim and Eusthenes, were not idle. They, who had been
so humble a few moments before, were now going from one to the other
of the party who lay stretched on the ground, cutting the throats of
such as had not fallen quite dead. When the battle seemed to be at an
end, up came a fearful Giant, whom Pantagruel did not know, but who
was so much taller and stouter than his comrades that Loupgarou had
made him his first officer. Pantagruel felt perfectly safe with his
new weapon; but, seeing how big the Giant was, he gave an extra strong
blow with the body, which sent Loupgarou's head rolling on the ground.
This new Giant was the last, and that one strong blow killed him. Then
Pantagruel, seeing that none of the Giants had escaped, with one great
swing of the arm, threw the headless body into the city, which was not
very far off.

It fell into the great Square, where it crushed with its weight one
singed cat, one wet cat, one lame duck, and one bridled goose.




CHAPTER XXXIII.

HOW PANTAGRUEL FINALLY CONQUERS THE THIRSTY PEOPLE, AND THE STRANGE
BUSINESS PANURGE FINDS FOR KING ANARCHUS.


[Illustration: Initial A.]

After this marvellous victory, Pantagruel sent Carpalim before him
into the city to let everybody know that King Anarchus had been taken
prisoner, and that all his Giants had been killed. On receiving this
message, the people flocked out of the walls to welcome their own
Prince. Everywhere, crowds were making merry around fine, round tables,
filled with good victuals, and set out in the middle of the streets.
So good was the cheer, and so bright were the bonfires that blazed on
every side, that the people said it looked like the Golden Age come
again. Pantagruel called the wise men of the city before him. When they
had gathered together, he spoke these words:--

"My masters, I am not satisfied with getting back my own city. I shall
not rest until I capture all the cities, towns, and villages in the
Kingdom of the Thirsty People. I noted to-day that this city of yours
is so full of people that they can't turn about in the streets. I know
what I shall do for them. I shall plant my ancient and tried Utopians
as a colony in Dipsodie, so that they can teach the Thirsty People how
to be true and loyal. By to-morrow at daylight, let men of all trades
be in the Public Square. I shall be ready to march at that hour."

[Illustration: WELCOME TO PANTAGRUEL.]

Of course, this was soon noised about the city. The next morning a vast
multitude swarmed into the Great Square before the Palace to the number
of one million eight hundred and fifty-six thousand and eleven--not
counting the women and children. At break of day, this great army
was all ready to march in good order straight into the country of the
Thirsty People.

But, before they all get away. I must tell you one of the cunning
tricks of our old friend Panurge. He had not forgotten that the
wretched little King Anarchus, whom Pantagruel had given to him as
a present, had been the chief cause of the invasion of the peaceful
Kingdom of Utopia. If Anarchus had shown the spirit of a brave man
among the stout and faithful Giants, who had fought to the death to
keep his mean little body from harm, Panurge would never have dared
touch him. But Anarchus had been all along such a coward that he wasn't
worth anybody's pity. So, on the evening of Pantagruel's triumphant
entrance into the city, Panurge, after some hard thinking, got up a
new dress for the little King. There was nothing at all royal about
the dress. It was very far from being that, as it consisted of a pretty
canvas doublet, all braided and pranked out; a pair of wide sailor
trousers; and stockings without shoes.

"For," as Panurge said, "_shoes would only spoil his sight._"

He then put on the head of Anarchus a little pink cap, trimmed with a
great capon-feather,--maybe I am wrong, because I have been told that
there were two of these feathers,--besides a fine belt of blue and
green. This was the ridiculous figure which Panurge dragged before
Pantagruel.

"Do you know this fellow?"

"Not I," said Pantagruel.

"Why, this is the King of the Thirsty People! I am going to make an
honest man of him. He was a pitiful rogue when he wore the crown. Now
that he wears this gay dress, he is an honest man. I have given him a
trade. He is a crier of green sauce, at your service. Now, little King,
begin! Call out, 'Green Sauce! Green Sauce! Who wants to buy Green
Sauce?'"

The poor King, from pure shame, piped out too low.

"That is not half loud enough," cried Panurge, catching him by the ear,
and saying, "Sing higher, little King; sing higher in _ge, sol, re,
ut._"

Pantagruel made himself merry at all this. I dare say the little King
was the drollest man he had ever seen.

And this was how King Anarchus got to be a Crier of Green Sauce.

Two days after this, Panurge married the little King with an old
lantern-jawed hag. To have everything pass off gaily, and to make sure
of good dancing, he hired a blind man to give the music. For their
wedding-supper, he ordered fine sheep-heads, plenty of eels served with
mustard, and tripe spiced with garlic. The drink was watered wine and
fine cider.

Pantagruel gave the couple a little cottage in one of the side streets,
and a stone-mortar in which to pound their sauce. Here they carried on
their trade, and the little King might have been happier than when he
lived in a palace and had Giants to guard him, but for his wife, who
beat him in time as flat as a mummy.

When Pantagruel marched from the city, along the high road, he looked a
grander and mightier Giant than ever. Every town and city surrendered
to him as he drew near, and every noble of the country came to offer
him homage. Only the city of the Almirodes held out; and that would
have kept its gates shut to the end had it not been for a story its
people happened to hear of the Giant and of an awful storm which came
up one day, while he was on his way there with his army. There being
no danger of _his_ being drowned,--so the story ran,--Pantagruel put
his big tongue half way out of his mouth and covered the whole army
as snugly as a hen covers her chicks. When the people of the stubborn
city heard _that_, they opened their gates wide!--wide!!--wide!!!--to
let the Giant pass. "There is no use resisting such a man as that,"
everybody said.

[Illustration: GRANDER AND MIGHTIER THAN EVER.]

And so ended the bad war which the Thirsty People had begun against the
Utopians when their good King Gargantua had been carried to Fairy-land.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL RETURNS.]

Pantagruel, having ended his tour through all the cities of his new
Kingdom of Dipsodie, finally reached the Palace where he had been
born, and on leaving which, one sad day, to go on his long journey to
school, he had seen for the last time his dear and honored father.
All these thoughts made the tender-hearted Giant sad; but he had no
time for weeping. There were many wrongs in his own Kingdom of Utopia
to make right. There were many rights to make strong. There were a
thousand other things to do for his faithful people, who had at once
proclaimed him King when Gargantua had been taken to Fairy-land,--even
when he had been leagues upon leagues away.




CHAPTER XXXIV.

GARGANTUA COMES BACK FROM FAIRY-LAND.--AFTER WHICH PANTAGRUEL PREPARES
FOR ANOTHER TRIP.


[Illustration: Initial O.]

One day Gargantua came back from Fairy-land.

It was a day above all others long to be remembered by Pantagruel, when
he first heard, on coming home from a visit to one of his cities, where
he had gone to decide a knotty case between that city and a neighboring
town, the sharp bark of a dog. "Why! I know that bark," he said. "That
is the bark of little Kyne, my father's dog. My father must surely
have come back!" So, joyfully, he followed Kyne, who went bounding and
frisking back to the great door of the Palace. There he found his old
father, with his arms stretched wide open to clasp his son. Everybody
was glad to see that wonderful meeting of father and son high up in the
air.

"My dear son!"

"My dear and honored father!"

That was all they could hear, as the old Giant and the young Giant, arm
in arm, passed through the door, and went up the broad stairway into
the great hall. We may be sure that Snapsauce and the two other Very
Fat Cooks were soon doing their best to get together a good dinner,
during which Pantagruel heard all about Fairy-land, its Queen, and her
kind Fairies. When a fresh flagon of wine rested between them, Father
Gargantua said:--

"I praise God, my beloved son, that he has given thee such wisdom
and virtue. Had it not been for thee, I would still have been in
Fairy-land, for thou hast been wise while I was away. I would like to
speak to thee now on a subject which much troubled me there. Thou art
now old enough to take a wife, and I desire to see thee marry. Hast
thou ever thought of a wife?"

"To tell the truth, most dear father, I have never yet thought of one.
But, in choosing a wife, I am always thy son, and thou shalt choose for
me."

"I believe thee in that, my son. But thou shalt choose for thyself when
the time comes for a wife. When thou findest her, bring her home; she
shall find a father waiting for her."

Pantagruel stretched out one big hand across the table. It met another
big hand, only that other was more knotty and wrinkled than his own.
Then the two mighty hands clasped.

"But this is not all that I wanted to say, my boy. It is time thou
shouldst travel. Thou needest rest. Hast thou not been King in my
place?" The old Giant laughed as he said this. "Hast thou not filled my
throne, thou young rogue, for this score of years and more? Thou art
not so strong as thou wast; thou hast need of a holiday."

"Hast thou also thought, father, of a plan for all this whilst thou
wert in Fairy-land?"

"Well, yes. I had nothing else to do there but think. I know thou dost
love to travel and see strange things. Thou shalt start at once. Don't
crawl on land. Spread out thy white sails, and try the seas. Take with
thee thy friend Panurge,--he looks like a keen fellow,--my old friend
Friar John, my old master Ponocrates, who would be better for a trip;
also Master Epistemon, and such others as thou pleasest. Put thy open
hand into my treasure-box, and draw out thy closed fist with what thou
wantest of my gold. Thou wilt find at my arsenal, Thalasse, all that
thou needest; besides pilots, sailors, and stout soldiers. At the first
fair wind, set sail. When thou art away, my boy, I shall make ready
for thy wife, and for a splendid feast when thou shalt bring her safe
home."




CHAPTER XXXV.

PANTAGRUEL STARTS ON HIS TRAVELS, AND LANDS AT THE ISLAND OF PICTURES.


[Illustration: Initial A.]

A few days after this, Pantagruel said good-by to Gargantua, leaving
the old Giant on his knees praying for his son. He took with him
Ponocrates, Panurge, Epistemon, Gymnaste, Eusthenes, Rhizotome, and
Carpalim going with him of course; fine old Friar John, who was fond
of saying that he could not sleep o' nights unless he was in search of
some adventure; besides a famous traveler named Xenomanes, who boasted
that he knew every land and every sea that the earth, if it had a
tongue, could name. When he reached the sea-coast once more, Pantagruel
picked out the twelve largest vessels in Thalasse, and gathered
together all the pilots, mates, boatswains, sailors, workmen, soldiers,
artillery, ammunition, provisions, and clothes he needed for a long
voyage.

The Flag-ship carried at its prow the strange figure of a gigantic
Bottle. Half of this bottle was of polished silver, the other half of
gold enamelled with crimson. From this every child in Thalasse--who
was a born sailor, and could read strange legends around the prows of
ships--ran about the streets in glee, shouting that the Prince's colors
would be white and red in the lands to which he was going.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL PICKS HIS SHIPS.]

With James Brayer, the best pilot in the world, the fleet sailed gaily
away, with all its flags flying. It had all the way, except for a few
days near the Island of the Macreons, a fine, brisk wind, which each
day carried it farther toward India, the mysterious land in which
Pantagruel was going to seek a wife. On the fifth day, James Brayer
caught sight of an island, fair to see on account of the high, white
light-houses and towers, which rose so close together that the whole
coast shone like solid silver under the sun. On steering for the
nearest port, it was found that the new land was known as Medamothi, or
the Island of Pictures.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL SETS SAIL.]

"Island of Pictures!" exclaimed Pantagruel; "then we must have some of
them!"

While every ship's crew was hard at work taking in fresh water,
Pantagruel, with his friends, all in high good-humor at the prospect of
once more stepping on dry land, went on shore. They saw a great crowd
of people hurrying here and there, treading on each other's heels, and
filling all the streets and by-ways leading to a great Square.

[Illustration: LANDING AT THE ISLE OF PICTURES.]

"What brings all you good people here?" asked Pantagruel of a cripple,
who was getting along as fast as he could hobble.

"Our great Fair, mighty Giant. Our Fair is held here every year."

"Have you anything there worth the trouble of walking to see?"

"Oh, yes! Your Highness. Many wonderful things are brought here by the
great merchants of Asia and Africa; yes, and from all parts of the
world, too."

"We are in time, then, to see these wonderful things," said the Giant.

Once at the Fair, Pantagruel and his friends were delighted with
the number and variety of the finest tapestry pictures ever brought
together. There was nothing on the earth--whether men, country, cities,
palaces, farm-houses, mountains, ravines, valleys, lakes, trees,
flowers, birds, rivers, beasts, fishes--that was not to be found worked
in tapestry by skilful hands at that most wonderful of Fairs. Everybody
bought a picture,--Friar John, Epistemon, Eusthenes, Carpalim,
Panurge,--everybody, even Gymnaste, who had never before in all his
days seen tapestry. And it was here, while Pantagruel was standing,
deep in thought, before a bit of tapestry Epistemon had bought, that
Xenomanes came up and tried in every way to catch his eye. All those
around were too busy in making good bargains for themselves with the
merchants to help him; so, after half a dozen efforts, he shook his
white head gravely, and walked away.

It was Gymnaste who bought the largest and finest tapestry of all,
representing the "Life and Feats of Achilles," in seventy-eight pieces,
eight yards long and six yards wide, all made of Phrygian silk,
embossed with gold and silver.

"Is that fit for a rough fellow like thee, Gymnaste?" asked Panurge,
with his nose turned up in scorn.

"Thou knowest better than that, Panurge! It is a present from our noble
lord to his royal father, which I have bought on his order."

"Humph!" said Panurge, while his nose turned up still higher in a
bright red end, and stayed that way until dinner-time, when it turned
down a bit, but got redder than ever before the meal was over.

Before leaving the Island of Pictures, Pantagruel bought three fine
young unicorns, which were the tamest of all creatures, and a splendid
reindeer which, with great care, had been brought all the way from
frozen Scythia. There never has been a reindeer like this reindeer from
Scythia! It could change its color at any time, not because it wanted,
or knew it was doing so, but only because it could not help changing
whenever a new color came near it. For instance, when Panurge, in his
gray kersey coat, would draw near to stroke it, its hair would turn
gray too. Near Pantagruel, dressed grandly out in his great scarlet
mantle, the reindeer would blaze out red. When James Brayer, in his
long, white gown, happened to come near the beast, there, in a few
seconds, was the reindeer from Scythia turning white before everybody's
eyes! Pantagruel was very proud to be the owner of such treasures;
and, after he had once got the tapestry for his father, the wonderful
reindeer, and the three unicorns, as playful as young kittens, safely
on board, he gave the order for the fleet to sail from the Island of
Pictures.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL BUYS SOME STRANGE ANIMALS.]

Pantagruel had been so taken up with these strange animals that it
was not until he was on his way to the port that he remembered that
Xenomanes had tried to catch his eye. At once turning to him, he said
kindly:--

"Your pardon, great traveller; what did you wish to say to me?"

"Only this, my lord, that seeing so many tapestry pictures, I was
reminded of that strange Land of Satin which I once visited. I know
Your Highness to be a great lover of travels, and always glad to learn
new things. It was for this reason I ventured to disturb you."

"Why!" said Pantagruel, at once interested, "were there as many
wonderful things in your Land of Satin as there are in this Land of
Pictures?"

"What I tell you, my lord, is strange but true. In the Satin Land,
the trees and herbage never lose their leaves or flowers, and are all
damask and flowered velvet. As for the beasts and birds, they all
looked to me like what we saw in those pictures. I saw many beasts,
birds on trees, of the same color, size, and shape of those in our
country. There was one difference, however, between them. Those in
Satin Land ate nothing, and never sang or bit like ours."

"And the people of that land, Xenomanes, what of them?"

"This I cannot tell Your Highness."

"Ho! and why?"

"Never a word could I ever get from those people. There I saw many
philosophers, travellers, and students, with whom I would gladly have
spent half an hour in learned converse. They all seemed to be full of
business, running about hither and yon, and yet had little to do."

"And what do those busy, silent people live on?"

"I don't know how they contrive to _live_, Your Highness, for once I
tried a bunch of their fine ripe cherries. They had no manner of taste,
and, although I was hungry enough that day, I could neither chew nor
swallow them, but my mouth seemed filled with what I could have sworn
was tufted silk."

[Illustration: THE LAND OF SATIN.]

"Strange!" said Pantagruel. "I wish I had looked closer at those
pictures. The next time you want to speak to me, good Xenomanes, shout!
I may hear you then."




CHAPTER XXXVI.

PANURGE BARGAINS WITH DINDENO FOR A RAM, AND THROWS HIS RAM OVERBOARD.


[Illustration: Initial F.]

Five days after leaving the Land of Pictures, the flag-ship being
in the lead, Pantagruel's keen eyes caught sight, away off to the
windward, of a large merchant-ship making her way slowly towards them.
There was great joy among all the men on all the ships. Those on the
fleet were glad, because they hoped, through the sail in sight, to hear
news of the sea; and those on the merchant-ship because her passengers
expected to get news from the main-land. When the flag-ship met with
the stranger, and when the two were side by side, Pantagruel, curious
to see a merchantman, went with his friends on board the latter.

The skipper of the merchantman, cap in hand, told Pantagruel that he
had come from Lanternland. As soon as this was known everybody tried to
put in a question about the country,--how it had got its name, and what
were the habits of the Lantern people. It was learned that, towards the
end of each July, the Lanternists held their great Fair, which, if the
Giant wished to see for himself how much could be made of lanterns,
whether single or strung in rows, by twos; by threes; by fours, and so
on; or piled in columns; or ranged in arches; or spanning streets; or
hung on trees; or sparkling on country roads; or swinging along the
whole coast, making it as bright as in sunshine,--why, all he would
have to do was to go there, if not that year, then the next.

While all this pleasant little talk was going on between the Giant
and the skipper, Panurge had already got into a wrangle with a French
sheep-seller, named Dindeno, who happened to have a large cargo of
sheep on board. This sheep-seller was a very bad-tongued fellow; and,
seeing Panurge passing by, with his glasses tied to his cap, and
looking at his stock, he called out sneeringly to his shepherds,--

"Just look at that long-nosed dandy, with his glasses tied to his cap!"

Panurge, whose ears were as keen as his nose was sharp, retorted,--

"What dost thou say, thou sheep-barber?

"Sheep-barber! Ha! I am no sheep-barber, I let thee know, thou
long-nosed dandy."

"Thou art no sheep-barber, eh! Prithee, tell me, then, rude fellow,
what are so many sheared sheep doing here? Who sheared them, if thou
didst not?"

"Thou art a rogue; and I will kill thee as I would a ram!" shrieked
the sheep-seller, while trying to draw his sword; but the blade stuck
close to the scabbard, as often happens on sea, from the rust caused by
salt-water. Panurge, who was not armed, and who, from his cradle, had
been a coward, ran for safety towards Pantagruel, who was not looking
at what was going on. But Friar John, always on the watch, with his
strong arm caught hold of Dindeno. Then Pantagruel, turning round and
seeing a man struggling with Friar John, knew for the first time that
there was a quarrel. At this moment the skipper stepped up, and, with
many bows and prayers that there should be no bad name given to his
ship, begged his Giantship to order peace. This was done, and Panurge
and Dindeno shook hands, apparently the best of friends.

A short time after, Panurge winked at Epistemon and Friar John, as much
as to say, "I want to have a word with you." As soon as they came near,
Panurge whispered, "Stand about here for a while, and you shall see
rare sport."

Having no idea of what was coming, Friar John and Epistemon stepped to
one side, and waited.

Then Panurge, turning to Dindeno, begged him to be good enough to sell
him one of his sheep.

[Illustration: PANURGE WANTS A SHEEP.]

"Hello! my good friend and neighbor," cried the sheep-seller, "dost
thou want to play tricks on poor people? How long since thou hast been
a buyer of sheep?"

"Whatever I may have been," said Panurge, gently, "be so kind as to
sell me one of thy sheep there. Now, how much wilt thou ask for one?"

"See here, friend and neighbor, these are noble creatures. These are
long-wooled sheep. It was from the fathers of these very sheep that
Jason took his famous Golden Fleece."

"I do not doubt thy word," said Panurge; "but fix thy price for one of
those precious sheep. Here is thy money ready for thee."

"My friend and neighbor, now listen to me!"

"I am listening."

"I shall make a bargain with thee! We have a pair of scales on board.
Get thee on one scale. I shall put my prize ram on the other. I am
willing to bet thee a peck of Busch oysters that, in weight, value, and
general worth, my ram shall outweigh thee!"

"That may be all so; but I beg thee, good Dindeno, without further
word, to be so kind as to sell me one of thy sheep; I care not which
one."

With that, he pulled out his purse, and showed it bursting with new
gold-pieces, with the face of good King Gargantua stamped on each piece.

Dindeno's eyes flashed at the glitter of so much gold; but he had made
up his mind to insult Panurge until he made him angry.

"My friend and neighbor," he said, "my sheep are meat only for kings
and princes. They are too nice and dainty for such as thou."

"Be patient now, and please grant my request. Only set thy price for
one, and I will pay thee like a king."

"Thou art a fine fellow, truly," sneered Dindeno; "but tell me first,
hast thou ever seen such shoulders, such legs, such knuckles, such
backs and breasts as thou canst see here? Such strong ribs, out of
which the small people in Pigmy-land make cross-bows to shoot with
cherry-stones those long-legged cranes in their country? Think of all
this for a second!"

"Peace, good man, I pray thee!" Panurge was about to say more, when he
was stopped all of a sudden by the skipper, who had just drawn near at
the sound of loud voices, and had heard Dindeno's sharp tones. "Enough!
Enough! Too much talk here!" he cried. "Dindeno, if thou wantest to
sell, sell. If thou wilt not, have done with it."

"I am willing to sell, Captain, for thy sake; but for thy sake alone,"
said the sheep-seller. "But he must pay me three French livres for his
pick and choice."

"That is a big price," said Panurge, gently. "In my own country, I can
buy five, nay, six fine rams for that much money."

"But not such sheep as mine!" yelled Dindeno, who was getting very
angry that he had not vexed Panurge.

"Really, sweet sir, thou art getting a little warm. Come, now, the
bargain is ended. Here is thy price. Give me my ram."

[Illustration: PANURGE BUYS A RAM.]

Dindeno, in clutching angrily at the money, rudely pulled it out of the
hands of the patient Panurge. Holding himself as straight as he could,
with an innocent smile upon his face, Panurge--having at last got what
he wanted--looked around to make his choice. He soon picked out the
finest ram in all the flock. The moment he caught hold of his ram, and
began to haul it along, the poor beast set up a pitiful bleating. As
soon as the rest of the sheep heard their leader bleating, they, too,
set to crying and bleating, while staring at him with all their eyes
wide open. Meanwhile, Dindeno, full of rage, was whispering to his
shepherds,--

"That long-nosed fellow knows how to choose! That ram he has taken was
the very one I had put aside for my best friend, the Lord of Cancale!"

As quick as lightning--before anybody knew what he was about; even
before Dindeno in fact, had turned away from whispering to his
shepherds--Panurge had caught up his bargain, bleating louder than
ever, and thrown it overboard into the sea. At this, all the other
sheep on the ship, crying and bleating just in the same sad key as
their leader, began to scamper to the side and leap into the sea one
after another. It was, with all of them, "Who shall be first after our
leader?" it being the nature of sheep, which are the silliest creatures
in the world, always to follow their leader.

[Illustration: PANURGE THROWS HIS RAM OVERBOARD.]

When Dindeno turned round and saw his precious sheep frisking and
drowning themselves before his eyes, he was at his wits' end. He tore
his hair, and called out to his shepherds, "Help me save my sheep!
help me!" Then he ran forward, and tried to keep, by might and main,
the sheep from jumping into the sea; but it was all in vain. One after
the other frisked gaily forward, bleating sadly all the while, to the
spot where they had seen Panurge throw their leader overboard. At last
Dindeno, in his despair, caught hold of a big ram by the fleece, hoping
to be able to keep him back, and, in that way, to save the rest. But
the ram was stronger than Dindeno, and bore him away with him into the
sea, where both were drowned.

This was, of course, bad enough; but there was something worse to come.
All of Dindeno's shepherds rushed forward to save the sheep, some
catching them by the horns, some by the fleece, others by the legs,
others still by their stumpy tails. It mattered little which way the
poor innocent shepherds caught hold of the sheep, the sheep were too
much for them, and they were all carried overboard into the sea, and
drowned along with their master.

[Illustration: THE SHEEP AND SHEPHERDS DROWN.]

All this time Panurge was standing near the galley of the ship, holding
an oar in his hand. This was not, you may well believe, to keep the
poor shepherds from drowning. No! no! Panurge was not so soft-hearted
as _that!_ He used his oar only to keep the sheep from swimming up to
the ship, crying out all the time,--"Drown, foolish sheep, drown! It
is sweeter to drown than to live and be butchered, you foolish sheep!"

Wicked Panurge! He never once thought of Dindeno and the innocent
shepherds!




CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE ISLAND OF ALLIANCES.


[Illustration: Initial A.]

After the slaughter of Dindeno, his shepherds, and his sheep,
Pantagruel returned to his ship, and continued on his way to that land
where he was hoping soon to meet the lovely Princess, whose beauty
had reached his ears from far India. As to the affair on board the
merchant-ship, nobody could be found who was really to blame. Panurge
put on his most innocent look, and declared to Pantagruel that he
had only done what he had a perfect right to do,--thrown his own ram
overboard.

With a spanking breeze, the fleet made great speed. On the third day a
triangular island, having something of the shape of Sicily about it,
was sighted. Pantagruel and his friends, on landing, were met by one
who called himself the Mayor, who came puffing, and all red in the face
from the haste he had made to get to the harbor, as soon as he heard
that a strange craft was in port.

"What is the name of this queer, three-cornered land, and who are its
queer-nosed people?" whispered Panurge, sharply twitching the Mayor by
the sleeve, as he was making his twelfth bow to Pantagruel. Nothing
ever pleased the Mayor more than to be called upon for an account of
the island and its people. He had written a little history for the
benefit of travellers, and knew every page of it by heart. In his own
mind, he at once put Panurge down as a very gifted personage, although
he was willing to grant that Pantagruel was the tallest and the noblest
man who had ever stepped on the island. Bowing to Panurge, therefore,
very politely, and having learned that it was Pantagruel's wish for
him to go on, he gave them an account as he led them from one point of
interest in the island to the other.

According to the Mayor, the island was known as the "Island of
Alliances." It used to be called, in the old times, "Island of the
Noseless People," from the fact that the noses of all the men and women
and little children were flat, and shaped like the ace of clubs. The
island was small, but it was full of people, and had been inhabited for
many thousand years. As ages rolled by, it was found to be of no use to
try and keep up the family names; for, as there was no difference in
the faces,--since all, big and little, rich and poor, had the same kind
of club-nose, dumped exactly in the middle of the face,--nobody could
claim any particular name. In their trouble, through much thinking,
they at last formed a plan by which they could tell one from another.

This was their plan:--

They made up their minds to forget altogether, as unworthy of them,
such barbarous relationships as father, mother, sister, brother, uncle,
aunt, etc., and to call each other by the name of whatever one most
wanted. In this way, the people of the island became as one family. So
loving did they grow under this new rule that each one seemed to have a
certain right to his neighbor, and never spoke to him without putting
"_my_" before his name. If a little girl, for instance, wanted butter
for her bread, she would call her mother "my _Butter_;" if the mother
wanted her thread, the call, "my _Thread_," would bring the little girl
running to find it for her. A young man would bow to a young lady, and
say, "A lovely day, my sweet _Evening Walk_," and she would smile,
and reply, "Yes, my _Fairest Nosegay_." An old man would call to his
son, "Hurry, my _Staff_," and the boy would answer, "At once, coming,
my _Purse_;" a learned professor would call his class to recite by
ringing his bell for "My _Good Lessons_," and each scholar would salute
him respectfully, as he marched into his room, with "Good-morning,
my _Success_." A hungry man would call the bar-maid, "Quick, my
_Oysters_," and she would answer, "Yes, my _Sixpence_."

There could be no trouble under this new and wise law, for
everything--even in the smallest matters--worked smoothly. There could
be no sad marriages, because each one called for in the other what he
or she most needed, and did not have. Young men and maidens danced and
sung half the year round, since they were always calling each other,
"My gay _Holiday_" and "My rich _Feast_." The children, too, were
happy, and laughed and played from eye-opening to eye-shutting time;
old men and women talked around the fireside of the time when they
were young, tenderly calling each other, "My dear gossip _Snuff_" and
"My good neighbor _Pipe_." So close together did this people get to be
that, in case of need, over three hundred thousand men, whose boast was
that they all belonged to the same family, could march out of the city
gates. So, at least, the Mayor of Club-noses declared.

[Illustration: THE ACE OF CLUBS NOSES.]

Good Pantagruel kept his eyes fixed upon the Mayor, and his ears open
to all that he was saying; but, at this last boast of three hundred
thousand men in one family, he slightly frowned, and came near losing
his usual sweet temper. The wordy Mayor, frightened by the awful
eyebrows about to meet together, began to feel a strange thirst; and,
making a very low bow, proposed a cup of good-cheer at a neighboring
inn.

After some twenty or thirty bumpers each, Pantagruel's party all went
on board, and sailed at once, right before the wind, from the Island of
Alliances, without stopping to see any more of its queer-nosed people.




CHAPTER XXXVIII.

HOW PANTAGRUEL CAME TO THE ISLANDS OF TOHU AND BOHU.--THE STRANGE DEATH
OF WIDENOSTRILS, THE SWALLOWER OF WINDMILLS.


[Illustration: Initial P.]

Pantagruel stopped at two islands named Tohu and Bohu, which lay
very close together. There had always seemed to be a somebody, or a
something, very wonderful in the islands he had already passed; but
there happened to be a more wonderful somebody in Tohu and Bohu than he
had seen or heard of in any other place. When Pantagruel landed with
his friends at the quay of the principal town, where the chief men came
to see him, he called for dinner; but behold! there was no dinner to be
had. Why? Why, there was nothing to cook the dinner in!

"How is that, my friend?" Pantagruel asked the chief man.

"Because," he answered, "Your Highness has not brought your frying-pan
along with you."

"My frying-pan along with me! Why, what do you mean? What has my
frying-pan to do with the dinner you are to serve me?"

"A great deal, Your Highness, since we have no pans of our own."

"Did you ever have any?"

"Any number, Your Highness, any number; but Widenostrils has just eaten
our last one."

"Has just eaten your last one, you say? Pray who is this Widenostrils
who has a fancy for gobbling frying-pans?"

"A wicked giant, almost as tall as Your Highness, who has swallowed all
our windmills."

"But windmills are not frying-pans, friend?"

"No, Your Highness is quite right there; but I was just about to say
that, when there were no more windmills to swallow, this wicked giant
took to shovelling every skillet, kettle, frying-pan, dripping-pan, and
brass and iron pot in the land down his big throat, and all for want
of windmills, which were his daily food. That made him very sick. It
almost killed him. We hoped it had killed him outright; but it didn't.
But he is dying, now, sure enough."

"Dying of what?" asked Pantagruel; "of eating frying-pans and skillets?"

"I wish it was! Some people do say so; but others, who are fishermen,
and who live on the coast, and know everything that happens, declare
that our giant went, a month ago, to another island, where he has been
going for years, to swallow windmills, and vex the poor people there,
and that he took in, with his last batch of windmills, I don't know
how many cocks and hens. Now that I remember, I did hear that his own
doctor made the choking worse by making him eat a big lump of fresh
butter too near a hot oven. All this is very strange, though--I can't
quite make it out myself."

"Where is that great Widenostrils? I should like to see him."

"In yonder meadow. Your Highness will find him very sick."

Pantagruel and his friends crossed over to the meadow, and there found,
under the blazing sun, an enormous giant stretched along the ground,
breathing heavily through the most awful nostrils human eyes had ever
seen; and every time he breathed through his nostrils they flapped
with a loud noise, like a sail when the wind shifts. The giant looked,
as he lay there, very tough and wooden-like, as though the thousands
of windmills he had gulped down in his time had gradually turned his
body into wood. When they came near him, Widenostrils opened his eyes
for a moment, first lazily, as he saw Panurge and the other little men
about him, then wildly rolling them around, in fearful efforts to see
the whole of the Giant, whose legs he had first caught sight of. It
was only for a moment though; for Widenostrils was dying. He half-rose
on his elbows, quivering through all his big body, his nostrils all
drooping and shutting close for want of air, yet found strength enough
to yell out, "Magic, magic! Protect me, brother Giant! Cocks and hens
are fluttering inside of me! Cocks and hens are crowing and cackling
within me! I am be----!" He was going to say _bewitched_, but he fell
back with a thump, which shook the two islands to their centre, deep
under the sea, and made the people in distant lands swear, ever after,
that there had been a terrible earthquake on that day.

[Illustration: GIANT WIDENOSTRILS, THE SWALLOWER OF WINDMILLS.]

When Panurge saw Widenostrils fall back dead,--but not until then,--he
went to the body, and, scrambling on its stomach, with the aid of
Gymnaste, listened carefully for a few moments. Then, jumping down, he
said to Pantagruel:--

"My Lord, this Widenostrils; this fine swallower of windmills; this
eater of pans, and glutton of pots, is really dead! But I can swear
that there are some things much like crowing cocks and cackling hens
rummaging inside of his big body. Once I heard something very much like
a quick yelp followed by a sharp screech."

Pantagruel seemed not to hear Panurge, for he stood a long time looking
down at the body of a giant, who, when living, must have been nearly as
tall as himself. On turning away, he said:--

"I wonder where this wicked man, who loved windmills, and died from
skillets, ever swallowed those fowls he talked about."

He did not leave the island until he had ordered the dead giant
honorable burial in the meadow where he had died. But he did not wait
for the funeral. If Widenostrils had been a good giant, he would have
acted as chief mourner; but he had a fixed rule which he expressed by
saying:--

"Giants should always be brotherly with Giants, but only with good
Giants."




CHAPTER XXXIX.

A GREAT STORM, IN WHICH PANURGE PLAYS THE COWARD.


[Illustration: Initial T.]

The next morning the fleet started from Tohu and Bohu, cheered by the
people, who were all in the best humor, because Pantagruel had left
among them a new stock of frying-pans and skillets, so shining that
they could see their faces in them. The sky was bright; the wind was
fair; the very sea seemed to laugh,--all the fleet was happy. But
Pantagruel sat on deck, looking very sad.

Friar John was the first to notice how still Pantagruel was. On seeing
his Prince so glum, the good Friar, who was always a comforting kind
of man, was just about asking him the reason, when James Brayer, the
pilot, after cocking one eye at the sea, and the other at the sky, and
then turning both eyes up towards the flag drooping on the poop, as
though it would never wave again, knew that a storm was coming on, and,
therefore, bid the boatswain pipe all hands on deck, and even summon
the passengers.

"In with your top-sails!" he shouted. "Take in your spritsail! lower
your foresail! lash your guns fast!"--all of which was done as quick as
hands could do it.

Of a sudden, as though a great hand from above had swept down to stir
the waters and make them mad, the sea began to swell, and moan and
roar, and rise up into mountains, and sink into valleys. An awful
north-west wind had got caught in with a hurricane,--so James Brayer
said,--and the two together whistled through the yards, and shrieked
through the shrouds. The sky itself seemed to be splitting open, and
dropping down thunder, lightning, rain, and hail. In broad daylight it
grew all dark, and the water rose to mountains, and sank to the depths
in perfect blackness, save for the great flashes of lightning that
showed the white faces of men, and the whiter foam of the sea.

It looked as though the end of the world had come, and that those on
the sea had been the first to know it.

[Illustration: A STORM COMES ON.]

James Brayer soon had every one about him busy at the work of saving
the flag-ship. Even Pantagruel was pressed into service. It was no time
for ceremony; the danger was too great for that. James Brayer bawled
through his trumpet:--

"My Lord, I must ask you to stand amidship. Your Highness is so heavy
that, in a sea like this, whichever side of the ship you may be on
is bound to keel over. The sea is mad,--I have never seen it so mad
before!"

Pantagruel, in the midst of all this shouting of men, and raging of
the waves, and shrieking of the winds, was kneeling perfectly quiet,
but praying with all his good heart to the Almighty Deliverer to save
them. Hearing James Brayer call, he at once rose from his knees, and
said cheerfully:--

"Here I am, good pilot! But how am I to stand amidship without
interfering with the handling of the ship?"

"Easily enough, Your Highness. All you have to do is to put your arms
around the mainmast, and stand still."

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL HOLDS THE MAST.]

This Pantagruel did, holding the mast firmly with both hands, and
keeping it straighter than two hundred tacklings could have done.
Everybody worked hard,--everybody except cowardly Panurge, who, when
the sea first began to churn, sank upon deck all in a heap, more
dead than alive. He could do nothing but whine and cry _boo! boo!
boo! boo!_ and call upon Heaven to save him. In the meanwhile, all
the others were as busy as beavers,--Friar John, Gymnaste, Carpalim,
Xenomanes, even Epistemon and old Ponocrates himself! All did wonders;
but nobody worked like Friar John during all the storm; so, at least,
declared James Brayer. Why, Friar John even pulled off his monk's gown,
a thing he had, until then, been known to do only once, and that was
when he saved the Abbey-Vineyard. "It bothers me, and I can't work in
it," he said, as he pulled it off. With his waistcoat for a coat, he
stood at his post with strong arm and cheery word for everybody. Every
now and then he would glance at Panurge, still squatted on deck and
crying, "_Boo! boo! boo! boo!_ Friar John, my friend, good father, I
am drowning. _Boo! boo! boo!_ The water has got into my shoes. _Boo!
boo! boo! boboo!_ I drown! Oh, how I wish I was a gardener, and planted
cabbages, for then I would be sure of always having at least _one_ foot
on land! Oh, my friend, the keel goes up to the sun. I hear the hull
splitting. We are all drowned! _Boo! boo! boo! holos! holos!_" At last
Friar John's patience gave out,--it was at the close of the sixth hour
he had been working,--and he roared out to Panurge:--

"What art thou bellowing there for, like a calf? Panurge the cry-baby,
Panurge the whiner, would it not better become thee to help thyself and
friends? Come, be a man!"

Just then a huge sea broke on the deck. Panurge was too frightened even
to look up. All the answer he could give to Friar John was, "_Boo! boo!
boo! boboo!_ The ship is capsized! I drown!"

[Illustration: A SEA BREAKS OVER PANURGE.]

At that moment, Pantagruel's voice was heard even above the storm, so
mighty was it in prayer: "Save us, good Lord, if it be Thy will." The
Giant's prayer must have been heard. The thunder still crashed; the
lightning still blazed; the rain still poured; but it was not half so
bad as before. The sea still rose; but it rose in hills, not mountains,
now. Pantagruel still stood, as he had from the first, with his arms
clinging to the mainmast while he braced it up, and his eyes trying
to pierce through the blackness. At last, just as the day broke, he
shouted:--

"Land! land! My children, I see land! We are not far from port. I can
see the sky clearing up southwards. Cheer up, all!"

James Brayer was at his side as quick as lightning.

[Illustration: LAND IN SIGHT.]

"Up, lads!" he shouted. "Our prince sees land, and the sea is smoother.
We can put out a trifle of sail. Hands aloft to the maintop! Mind your
steerage; clear your sheets; port, port! Helm-a-lee! Steady, steady!"
And steady it was, too. Before all eyes on the ship land was now to be
seen in full sight, some twenty miles off. The sun was just beginning
to shine a little. The sea was no longer mad. It was only sobbing,
sobbing, sobbing, as though half-ashamed it had so troubled the good
Giant who knew how to pray.

[Illustration: IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON.]

It was late in the afternoon when James Brayer brought the flag-ship
into port. It was so late that it was resolved not to go on shore until
next day.




CHAPTER XL.

THE ISLAND OF THE MACREONS, AND ITS FOREST IN WHICH THE HEROES WHO ARE
TEMPTED BY DEMONS DIE.


[Illustration: Initial T.]

The next morning there was not a man in the whole fleet so spruce, so
gay, so brave as Panurge.

"What cheer, ho! fore and aft?" he cried gaily. "Good-day to you,
gentlemen, good-day to you all. Oh, ho! all's well, the storm is over.
Please be so kind as to let me be the first to go on shore. Shall I
help you before I go? Here, let me see, I'll coil this rope; I have
plenty of courage; give it to me, honest tar,--no, no, I haven't a bit
of fear, not I. How now, Friar John, you do nothing! Well, so there's
nothing for me to do. Let us go on shore, then! Truly this is a fine
place!"

[Illustration: PANURGE REVIVES.]

While Panurge was blustering, and making believe that he had not been
crying and blubbering all during the storm, Pantagruel and his company
were paying no attention to him, but were making everything ready to
go on shore. On landing they were met most kindly by the people of the
island, which turned out to be a small one, known as the Island of
Macreons, Macreon being a Greek word meaning an "old man." Therefore,
the Island of Macreons was only another name for the "Island of Old
Men." A venerable Macreon, with long white beard, reaching to his
waist, who was the High Sheriff of the island, stepped forward, and
gravely invited Pantagruel to go with him to the Town Hall, where he
could take a rest after his fatigue, and be sure of a little luncheon
afterwards. But the Giant would not leave the quay until all his men
had got ashore, and with enough provisions to last them while at work
on the ships, which needed many repairs after the storm. This was done
at once, and then began the carouse both in the Town Hall and among the
men along the quay. There is no telling now how much was really eaten
and drunk during that day; but there was enough for every one. The
people of the island brought their victuals. The Pantagruelists brought
theirs. It was something more than a lunch, as it turned out. It was a
real picnic on a large scale; everybody giving his share of the feast,
and making the most of what the others brought.

After the meal Pantagruel took his officers aside, and told them that,
as the ships had been strained by the storm, they should set to work to
make them sound again. As soon as the people of the island heard of the
trouble many offered to help. This they could easily do as they were
all, more or less, carpenters, having a large forest behind three very
small ports.

[Illustration: THE DARK AND GLOOMY FOREST.]

At Pantagruel's request the white-bearded Macreon, whose name was
Macrobius, showed him all that was strange or wonderful in the island.
Leaving the harbor, he took the Giant into the dark and gloomy forest,
which was found at the entrance to be full of ruined temples, obelisks,
pyramids, and crumbling tombs. Over most of these were inscriptions and
epitaphs, some in strange letters, none could read, not even Panurge;
others in Ionic characters; others in the Arabic; others in the
Icelandic. "Our heroes come," the old man explained, "from every land
on the earth."

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL IN THE GRAVEYARD.]

Macrobius asked Pantagruel how it was that he and his fleet could have
survived the awful storm and reached port, when the Macreons could
see that all the air and the earth were in wild uproar. Pantagruel
answered, with that simple faith of his which gives the smallest dwarf
the strength of the tallest giant, "Friend, it was God's will."
After which, he asked him whether these great storms were common around
their coast.

The old man then told a very sad tale.

"Pilgrim," he said, in a broken voice, "this poor island of ours was
once rich, great, and full of young people. Now there are no young
people in it, and it is only full of old men like myself, and of
shadows that we can feel, but never can see; shadows that we love,
but never can know; shadows that move about in yonder forest you see
stretched out before you, and, when their hour comes, die in its
darkest depths. No common shadow ever yet lived or ever yet died in our
forest. It is the dwelling-place only of heroes and of demons."

[Illustration: THE DEMONS AND THE HEROES.]

"Of heroes and demons?" cried Pantagruel, amazed.

"Yes, of heroes, who, after being great on earth and seeming to die
there, come here to live another life, and to suffer, and to show
themselves great for a final trial; and of demons who are given power
to roam the forest at will, only to mock, and laugh, and lure, if they
can, the heroes to sin."

"How do the demons lure the heroes to sin?"

"By trying to make them forget that to be good is the only way to be
great."

"Do the heroes ever yield?"

"Yes, pilgrim, often, too often; and there is our great grief. If they
once yield, they die at the moment of sinning, and there is neither
storm at sea nor grief in the forest. We never can know when the bad
heroes pass away. But ah! it is when the true heroes, who, though
tempted, will not yield, die," and here Macrobius stretched out his
hands towards the dark line of trees as though in prayer, "that we
learn of it to our sorrow. Pilgrim!" he cried, while the tears, dry,
like the tears old men shed, trickled down his withered cheeks into
his white beard, "we were sure yesterday that we had lost another good
hero."

"And what made thee sure, good Macrobius?"

"Because we noticed that a comet, which we had seen for three days
before the storm, of a sudden grew dim, and that it shines no more.
Then, yesterday, when the sea was at its worst, we could hear loud
cries in the forest; feel tremblings in the earth under us; and in the
air about us there were breathings and black clouds. Listen, now, the
trees are calling some name, I know they are. I am old; my hearing is
faint. Do you not hear voices?"

[Illustration: "WE HAD LOST ANOTHER GOOD HERO."]

Pantagruel listened intently; but, even with his quick ears, could only
hear a mournful sough, as though coming over the tops of the trees from
a great distance.

"Not voices, but more like sobs, good old man. They may be weeping for
the hero who died yesterday. Canst thou tell me his name?"

"Ah, pilgrim, there, too, is our cross! It is not given to us to learn
the name of a hero who has died until a year after the forest has
moaned, and the sea has wept, and the earth has trembled."

"And how dost thou show him honor?"

"We place in this part of the forest which we are allowed to enter, and
on the tree he best loved when alive, a verse reciting his name, and
saying that another hero has died, but not until the good God had given
him the power to be greater than sin."




CHAPTER XLI.

PANTAGRUEL TOUCHES AT THE WONDERFUL ISLAND OF RUACH, WHERE GIANT
WIDENOSTRILS HAD FOUND THE COCKS AND HENS WHICH KILLED HIM. HOW THE
PEOPLE LIVED BY WIND.


[Illustration: Initial A.]

As soon as the ships had been calked and repaired, and fresh food had
been taken in, James Brayer gave the word to sail; and the fleet set
out, with the feeble shouts of the good old men in their ears, from the
Island of Macreons.

Two days after this the fleet touched at the Island of Ruach, which
Pantagruel found to be the strangest, in one thing, of any he had yet
seen.

That one thing was WIND.

In other words, the people of Ruach lived on _wind_. They had nothing
else to live on; they ate nothing, they drank nothing, but _wind_. The
very houses they built were always as near windmills as they could
build them. In their gardens they never grew cabbages, peas, beans,
radishes,--only three different kinds of anemones, or wind-flowers.
When they felt hungry, and there happened to be no wind stirring, the
common people of the island, to start a breeze, used fans of feathers,
or of paper, or of linen, as their means allowed. As for the rich, they
lived by the whirl of their windmills,--the finest and the strongest
wind, they declared, they could ever eat. Whenever they had a feast,
the Ruachians would spread their tables under one windmill, and, if the
table was long enough, it was made to stretch under two. While they
were eating, or rather drinking, in the wind from the great-winged
mills, the guests would be discussing among themselves the excellence,
beauty, and rarity of their various kinds of wind. One would smack his
lips, and whistle out,--they all whistled instead of talking:--

"Ah! how delightful this south-west breeze!"

Another: "How refreshing this south-east?"

Another: "But do taste a little of this western, I beg you! How
healthful!"

Another: "How choice this east-by-north!"

Another: "Will none of you join me in this exquisite south?" and so
forth.

[Illustration: THE LAND OF WIND.]

Pantagruel wondered at all this whistling; but he opened his eyes wider
than ever when he caught sight of a big, bloated fellow whipping,
with his slipper, a servant-man and a boy. When he asked what was the
matter, he was told that the bloated fellow had accused the man and
the boy of stealing from him the better half of a large leathern bag
of southerly wind, which he had put by for his own private winter-use.
All Pantagruel said to this was, "This is very strange." While he was
on his way to the King's palace, on invitation, he saw several of the
islanders, with large fans in their hands, taking a walk. The rich
islanders were all stout. The poor islanders were all thin. It was a
fight for wind; and the windmills and big fans won it.

The people of Ruach had these two proverbs always in their mouths:--

    SMALL FANS MAKE SMALL WIND.
    GREAT FANS MAKE GREAT WIND.

These were the only proverbs which had ever been known among them.

When he met the King of the island, Pantagruel began to pay him
compliments on the cheapness of the food of the people. "You live on
wind; it costs you nothing; you have only to breathe to take in your
food; you and your people must be very happy."

"Not so happy as you may think, noble Giant. We have our troubles, like
any other people."

"Troubles! Why, what troubles can you have?"

"I will tell you. Every year, in the spring, a wicked Giant, named
Widenostrils, who lives, I believe, in the Island of Tohu, comes here
for his health by the advice of his physicians. The moment he steps
on shore he begins to swallow our windmills. We are not afraid of
Widenostrils for ourselves, although he is so horrid a monster; but we
have a mortal fear of him for our windmills. It will not be long before
there will be no more windmills left! Then what are we to do? We must
have wind; for without wind we must die."

[Illustration: "WITHOUT WIND WE MUST DIE."]

"Have you never tried to keep that wicked giant away?"

"Yes; often and often; and it was only last spring that we hit upon
what we thought to be a good plan. About the time we were expecting a
visit from Widenostrils, we sent to a neighboring island to get us a
supply of cocks and hens. As soon as we got them, we filled our largest
windmills with them. As usual, Widenostrils, when he landed, began to
gobble up one windmill after another. Very soon the roosters began to
crow, and the hens began to cackle, and both began to fly about inside
his stomach. Then Widenostrils got very sick, and lay down in yonder
field gasping for a whole day. As he lay down the strangest thing
happened."

"What was that, friend?"

"Of course, with the cocks and hens crowing and cackling and making
such a to-do in his stomach, here and there, Widenostrils kept his
mouth open, hoping they would get tired and fly out. Seeing his big
mouth open, what should all the foxes in the neighborhood, which are
very tame, as we never hunt them, scenting the cocks and hens inside,
do but scamper after them through the monster's throat? We were afraid
to have the wicked Giant die among us, so we managed to rouse him,
although he was very sick, and even helped him to reach his ship,
which sailed away at once. But of what use after all? Our curse will be
back next spring. If the cocks and hens and foxes don't kill him, what
can we do?"

"Have no more fear, friend," said Pantagruel; "Widenostrils, the giant,
the swallower of your windmills, is dead. I am sure of that, for I
myself saw his corpse in Tohu. One of my friends here can tell you
more. What, ho! Panurge!"

"That can I, your majesty," cried Panurge, stepping briskly forward.
"The Giant Widenostrils died from having too many cocks and hens and
foxes in his stomach. I heard in his stomach, with my own ears,--which
are pretty sharp ones,--as he lay stretched out in the meadow, cocks
crowing, hens cackling, foxes yelping, and by my faith, I thought the
foxes were getting the better of the cocks and the hens."

"Thank Heaven! We can build our dear windmills again, and we shall not
die," cried the King, who at once sent his herald to announce the good
news through the island.




CHAPTER XLII.

HOW PANTAGRUEL WITH HIS DARTS KILLS A MONSTER WHICH CANNON-BALLS COULD
NOT HURT.--THE POWER OF THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.


[Illustration: Initial A.]

About sundown of the day when the fleet left Ruach, as they were coming
near Wild Island, Pantagruel's keen eye spied, far off, a huge whale,
which, raised above the waters higher than the maintop, came straight
towards the fleet, blowing and spouting from its horrid nostrils so
high a stream of water that it seemed to be a swollen river rushing
down a mountain's side.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL SPIES A MONSTER.]

Pantagruel pointed out the whale to the pilot and to Xenomanes. James
Brayer was the first one to give advice, and his advice was always
worth listening to. What he advised was that the trumpets of the
Thalmege should be sounded so as to warn all the fleet to stand close,
and look to themselves. At this alarm, every ship, galleon, frigate,
and brigantine (according to naval discipline) placed itself in such
order as to form the Greek Y,--the flag-ship being in the centre. This
proved that James Brayer, while being a good sailor, had been landsman
enough sometimes to watch cranes fly in the air. For the letter Y is
just the figure that the cranes in their journeys--the leader always
being in front--choose in winging their long or short ways across the
sky.

Of course the first one to get on the forecastle, where he could have a
word with the grenadiers, was Friar John! Brave Friar John! He was the
right-hand where anything strong or good was to be done. As to Panurge,
he began to cry and howl at the top of his voice. "_Boo! boo! boo!_
This is a worse business than that of the other day," he blubbered,
shrugging up his shoulders and shivering in his fright. "That frightful
thing over there is the horrid Leviathan Job spoke of! I am sure he is
coming to swallow us all up, ships, sails, men and all, like so many
pills. Ah! friends, let's escape the monster. The land is near; let us
go on shore!"

"Panurge," said Pantagruel, turning round, "all thou hast to do is to
trust to me. Have no fear; I shall do its business presently."

"Oh, Your Highness knows well enough that I am never afraid except when
there is danger! _Boo! boo! boo!_"

While Panurge was whimpering, the monster had got fairly into the Greek
Y made by the fleet. It was the whale which began the fight. The moment
it found itself inside the angle, and saw the ships on each side of it,
it wheeled around and began to spout water by whole tons upon them.
Then it was that the ships took up the war. They all set to work as
though they were mad, to hurl against the whale on every side arrows,
spears, darts, javelins, and harpoons. Never had there been seen such a
storm of deadly weapons whistling through the air at one time.

You may be sure that Friar John did not spare himself.

Panurge nearly died from fright.

[Illustration: SHOOTING AT THE WHALE.]

The artillery belched out largest balls; but they didn't do the least
harm. All they did was to strike the monster's tough, black hide and
slant off. When he saw how so much good powder was being wasted,
Pantagruel thought it was high time for him to keep his promise to
Panurge. He had, when a boy, a great name for throwing darts, javelins,
and such missiles. There was not a man around the Royal Palace of
Utopia who had not seen, more than once, his wonderful skill in
dart-throwing; for, with his immense darts, which were so large that
they looked very much like the huge beams that support the bridges of
Nantes and Saumur and Bergerac, he used, standing a mile off, to open
an oyster without breaking its shell; snuff a candle without putting it
out; shoot a magpie in the eye; and he had even been known to turn over
leaf after leaf of Friar John's breviary, and not tear one of them.
Pantagruel had already found out that there was a fine store of darts
in the ship, and he ordered a good supply to be laid on the deck before
him. With the first dart, hurled with a mighty force, he struck the
whale so furiously in the head that he pierced both its jaws and its
tongue, making one piece of the three.

[Illustration: PANTAGRUEL TRIES HIS HAND.]

This was a great victory. The monster could not spurt any more.

With the second dart he put out its right eye.

With the third he put out its left.

Then everybody began to crowd around to look in safety at the whale,
which, if it had not been for the Giant's darts, might have ended in
drowning the whole fleet, but which was now rolling and staggering
about on the waves, stunned and blinded. The creature was still alive,
and might yet do some harm; and so Pantagruel, who was watching every
movement, threw out a fourth dart, which struck it under the tail. Then
the giant began to hurl his darts, one after another, on each side of
the black hide, not wildly, but with the same care and skill with which
he had once turned the leaves of Friar John's breviary. Fifty darts
struck it on one side. Fifty darts more struck it on the other side.
This was too much for the monster. It turned on its greasy back, as all
dead fishes do, and floated without motion, looking, with the beams and
darts upside down in the water, like a gigantic centipede crawling on
the sea, with the tips of its hundred feet just showing, every now and
then, above the surface of the waves.

[Illustration: THE DEATH OF THE MONSTER.]

Just as soon as the whale was seen to be floating, James Brayer
shouted, "A boat's crew, to bring yonder carcass to the island!"

In a trice a boat manned by strong men, and filled with harpoons, was
towing the whale towards Wild Island. The Giant himself took no notice
of all this; but, having seen from the deck a small deserted seaport
towards the south, he fixed on a fine, pleasant grove near it, as a
good place to pitch tent and have a gay time after their victory. Once
there, Friar John, who was near his side, at a word from the Giant,
rang the bell for supper. Pantagruel took to eating cheerfully with his
men. Of a sudden, fierce cries were heard from the forest, a half mile
or so back from the little grove.

[Illustration: LANDING THE MONSTER.]

"What is that?" asked Pantagruel of Xenomanes.

"Only the wild creatures, sir, who have given this Wild Island its
name. Some say they are demons. By raising your head you may see them
over the hill in yonder thicket."

[Illustration: ON WILD ISLAND.]

Pantagruel, without further word, rushed from the table to scour the
thicket. The whole company rose and followed him. It was not long
before he had, with great strides, reached the top of the ridge, whence
he could see a dark line, unbroken, save here and there by black
banners, of gigantic forms half lost in the shadows of the thicket. The
moment the dark shapes saw Pantagruel on the ridge, they began to utter
loud cries, and more than one mighty form stepped out from the line
to threaten. But when Friar John, Xenomanes, and the rest appeared on
the ridge, a howl of defiance broke from the thicket. The dark masses
seemed beside themselves with rage, and all at once the line was broken.

"By my faith," said Pantagruel, "they are demons, Xenomanes! Look, they
have wings, and their wings are as black as their banners!"

This was true. The dark masses had only broken so as to give themselves
space to raise their wings in triumph at seeing so many wretched
mortals ready for destruction. Often and often had crews, thrown by
shipwreck upon Wild Island, reached the shore and had never been heard
of more.

"These are demons; bless us, Friar John," whispered Pantagruel. "What
can sinful men do against them?"

And, even while saying this, and without knowing it, the prayerful
Giant was making the Sign of the Cross.

At the sacred sign there was, of a sudden, a lifting of black banners.
Then, with a flapping of heavy wings, a great stir of mighty bodies
leaving the thickets and rising into the air; the dark masses came
sweeping over the very ridge where Pantagruel was, on their way to the
sea, casting a blacker shadow than the coming night, shrieking and
wailing as they passed.

From that blessed day, shipwrecked sailors have wandered in safety
through the forest, and never met a demon.

For Wild Island is wild no more.




CHAPTER XLIII.

WHICH TELLS OF SEVERAL ISLANDS, AND THE WONDERFUL PEOPLE WHO LIVED IN
THEM.


[Illustration: Initial N.]

Next day, having been favored with a fair wind all night, they stopped
at the Island of Sadness, where all the people had once been very rich,
but were then very poor. Pantagruel found that nothing was to be seen
on such an island except fear, want, and misery. So he did no more
than step, for a few moments, into the church, near the harbor. On
coming out, he ordered that eighteen thousand royal gold pieces should
be given out for the relief of the poor people, and then he went on
shipboard, not being willing to stay there any longer.

Leaving this desolate island, a strong breeze sprang up, that brought
them, after one day, to the blessed Island of Papimany, where lived a
people so hospitable that some of them went every day to the port to
see if any strangers had come. As soon as anchor had been dropped,--in
fact, even before the ship had been well-moored,--four chief men rowed
out in a skiff to pay their respects to Pantagruel. On the strangers
going ashore, men, women, and children marched to meet them in a
procession that reached from one end of the island to the other, and
gave a welcome of cheers that lasted above a quarter of an hour.

[Illustration: THE HOSPITABLE FOLK OF PAPIMANY.]

In the midst of all this joy, the school-master of the place, anxious
that his boys should miss no chance of seeing what was for their good,
came up with all his teachers, ushers, and school-boys, to show them,
with their own eyes, a Giant so tall and renowned as Pantagruel. After
which, in order to keep the lads from ever forgetting what they had
seen, the chief school-master threw off his gown and went to work in a
hurry to give each of them a sound thrashing. This displeased the Giant
so greatly that he shouted, "If you do not leave off whipping those
poor children, I shall go at once." In his fright at this great voice
booming so high up in the air, the chief school-master dropped his rod
with one hand, and, with his other, the poor little fellow whose turn
had just come, while all the boys, big and little--those who had had
their whipping, as well as those who hadn't had it--crowded around the
good Giant's big feet to thank him.

At this moment the Mayor rode up on a mule with green trappings, and
carried Pantagruel and his party off to dinner. Nothing could be finer
than the feasting of this good people; but Pantagruel, anxious to
catch the good wind which was then springing up, only stayed for this
grand dinner. Before leaving, he had his men to bring on shore nine
pieces of cloth of gold, which he presented to his entertainers; filled
the poor-box of the church with gold; scattered sweetmeats among the
children; and ordered much money to be given to the servants who had
waited on them at table.

[Illustration: THE MAYOR RODE UP.]

Out at sea once more, they sailed on for several days without incident.
One day, however, when they were at table eating, drinking, and telling
stories, Pantagruel went on deck to look at the sea. After looking out
a while, he began to turn his great ears towards the sky, and it was
then he called out, "Do you hear nothing, gentlemen? It seems to me
some people are talking above us, yet I can see no one. Listen!" So the
whole company got up from the table, ran on deck, and set to cocking up
their eyes and clapping their hands to their ears; but all would not
do; they could neither see nor hear anything. Pantagruel, standing with
his eyes still looking up, continued to hear the voices. At last some
sharp-eared fellow cried, "I think I hear _something_." Then, all at
once, every man on board began to cry out that he could plainly hear
voices of men and neighing of horses; but, as nothing could be seen,
everybody was mightily frightened, and Panurge worse than all. Nothing
would do him but to beg Friar John to stay by him, saying that they
were all undone, and that there was no fooling with the devil. "We are
undone," he whimpered. "Just listen to those guns. Let's flee! There
are our sails and oars; why can't we use them? I never was brave at
sea; not that I am afraid! Oh, no! for I fear nothing but danger, that
I don't! We are all dead men; Set off! set off!"

[Illustration: ENTERING THE FROZEN SEA.]

Pantagruel, hearing all this noise, called out, without turning about,
"Who talks of fleeing? Let us see, rather, who these people may be;
they may be friends. I can discover nothing, though I can see, with my
eyes, a hundred miles around." Just then, James Brayer came up, as
if he had something important on his mind, and said, "Have no fear,
my lord; I can make all this clear. We are on the confines of the
Frozen Sea. At the beginning of last winter, a great and bloody battle
was fought not far from here. Then the words and shouts of the men;
the hacking and clashing of battle-axes; the jostling of armor: the
neighing of horses, and all the noise and din of battle, froze in the
air; and now, the winter being over, and the summer having come, all
these sounds have melted, and we can hear them."

Pantagruel, who at first had thought it to be witchcraft, which he
hated above all things, of a sudden cried out, "Why, sure enough, here
are some tumbling down that are not yet thawed!"

[Illustration: A SHOWER OF FROZEN WORDS.]

He then threw on deck a handful of what seemed to be rough sugar-plums,
but which were, in fact, frozen words. Everybody--even Panurge, who,
by this time had plucked up heart, on hearing what James Brayer had
said--ran here and there, picking up the sugar-plums. Pantagruel was
sure that he had never seen, in all his travels, anything quite so odd
as these sugar-plums; for many of them melted almost before he could
throw them down, leaving his hand all wet with water; while his ears
were stunned from below by the awful shouts and groans of men, the
whistling of bullets, the heavy boom of cannon, and the wild, shrill
neighing of war-horses, which all came out as those queer sugar-plums
melted on deck.

[Illustration: LANDING ON THE ROCKS.]

The next day Pantagruel went ashore on a rugged, craggy, barren island,
where cocks are never heard to crow, and where lived Gaster, the first
Master of Arts in the world. Being himself a scholar, he wanted to
make the acquaintance of the First Master of Arts. He found him a most
wonderful and despotic old king, who talked with every one by signs,
for he could not hear, having been born without ears. Gaster never
bothered himself for anybody's comfort or convenience but his own, and
Pantagruel soon noticed that no one ever tried to reason with him.
At his smallest sign, all present, whether courtiers or foreigners,
anxiously inquired what was his will, and hurried off, running
themselves out of breath, and knocking each other over in their hurry
to do what he wanted. Pantagruel watched Master Gaster very closely,
in order to see if he deserved his great name for learning. He was not
long in finding out that the old glutton, being a great lover of corn,
had invented machines for cultivating it, and many mills for grinding
it fine and white; also recipes for baking it into delicious loaves and
cakes, for Master Gaster made signs that nothing put him into a greater
passion than heavy bread. He also had a knowledge of many curious arts
that he had studied out for the preservation of his beloved corn,--such
as keeping the rain up in the air, and how to coax it down just at
the time it was wanted; also a way to destroy the hail, and prevent
the winds from blowing, and to crush the storms, and a thousand other
wonderful things.

[Illustration: MASTER GASTER.]

Master Epistemon was greatly interested in all these fine inventions,
and prevailed upon Pantagruel to stay much longer than he wished, for
this First Master of Arts, with all his wisdom, had very rude manners.
Pantagruel, not being very skilful, as we already know, in talking by
signs, got so tired after a while that he couldn't put up with it any
longer; so he turned his broad back upon the greedy old man, and gave
the order to go on board.

Not long after they were under way the wind fell, so that there was
not a capful in all the sails of the fleet. Pantagruel's ship could
hardly get along, although James Brayer kept tacking all the time.
Everybody was put out of sorts by this accident, and moped about,
scarcely speaking a word to each other. Pantagruel nodded over his book
on the quarter-deck; Panurge idly played with a piece of rope, pulling
it about with his teeth; while Friar John marched off to the pantry,
to see what the cook might be doing. After two or three hours in the
galley, here came Friar John, puffing and blowing, to Pantagruel,
upstairs. Finding him awake, he asked:--

"Will Your Highness be so kind as to tell us how a man can kill time
and raise a good wind at sea?"

Pantagruel gave a yawn, and said, half-laughing, "A good dinner will
kill time quicker than anything else, as you, my good Friar John,
better than most men, know. Have dinner served! Maybe the wind will
come with the dinner."

Friar John needed no second hint. It was the good Friar's boast that
he knew and loved the ceremonies of the kitchen much better than he
did those of the court. So, at these words, he hurried downstairs, and
soon marched in at the head of the stewards, cup-bearers, and carvers,
who bore four stately meat-pasties. At the sight of these fine viands
all the mouths began to water, and they were soon deep in feasting and
drinking.

[Illustration: THE ISLE OF GANABIM.]

While they were thus passing their time merrily, and making up riddles
for Pantagruel to guess, the dull weather also passed away; and, the
breeze having freshened, with full sails set, they were soon making
up for the time they had lost. Not long after, they came in sight
of a high land, which Pantagruel, first discovering, pointed out to
Xenomanes, and asked him:--

"What is that high rock yonder, with two tops?"

"That, Your Highness, is the Island of Ganabim. The people who live
there are all thieves. Yet there is on the top of that very mountain a
fountain worth seeing, since it is the finest fountain in the world.
Does Your Highness wish to go on shore?"

"Ho! not I," replied Pantagruel; "but, for the honor of the finest
fountain in the world, we ought to give a salute as we pass." As the
flag-ship came just in front of the rock the gunner fired. At once, the
gunners of the other ships gave, every one, a gun to the island, which
made so mighty a noise that it seemed as if the sky was about tumbling
down in thunder.

[Illustration: SHARP ISLAND.]

The next day they sighted Sharp Island, an unhealthy country, with
rocks shooting up in an ugly way everywhere through the barren soil.
The pilot pointed out two cube-shaped rocks that were so white they
might have been taken for alabaster. He said they were filled with
demons and caused more wrecks, both of men and goods, than the famous
Scylla and Charybdis. Of course, the flag-ship and all the fleet
steered far out to sea in passing Sharp Island.

Sailing four days, toward nightfall of the last day, they came near the
fairy-like shores of Lanternland. For leagues around the sea seemed
twinkling with fires, that gave a tremulous sparkle, or, darting up
into bright light, hovered a while over the water, and then would be
lost, only to be found again shining nearer and brighter than before.
James Brayer said that the whole coast was planted with light-houses.
Xenomanes confirmed this, adding, that "there was no port in the world
equal to those of Lanternland, and no coast where the piloting was so
safe."

[Illustration: THE SHORES OF LANTERNLAND.]

Here they stopped for a day, and were received with great friendship
by the Queen of that country. Pantagruel was greatly vexed that he
could not speak the Lantern language, so as to talk with Her Majesty;
but, Panurge, who understood it just as well as he did his maternal
French, acted as his interpreter. After supping with Her Majesty in
the royal banquet hall, Pantagruel asked whether he had reached the
island too late to be in time for their great Annual Fair. He was told
that the Fair was already over; and he then acquainted the Queen with
the purpose of his voyage, and prayed her to grant him a guide to the
Kingdom of India. Of course the Queen was greatly interested when she
heard that it was love for the bright little Princess of India which
had brought a Giant so great a distance. She promised all he asked, and
assured him that he should have her own particular guide--the best in
all Lanternland--to go with them the next morning.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN OF LANTERNS.]

Pantagruel, after saluting Her Majesty with such majestic grace as
became so stately a prince, withdrew, followed by his friends, to take
some rest. The next day, having first seen that their guide was on
board, they took their leave, amid the glad cheers and huzzas of the
good Lanternists, who vowed that, if they had only stopped one more
night, they would have made such a blaze along the coast as would have
lighted them half-way to India.

Every story must have its ending.

And the ending of this story is that the good Prince Pantagruel, led by
his guide from Lanternland, first passed over the Caspian mountains in
search of his charming Princess; then defied the Cannibals; conquered
the Island of Pearls; and, at last, after reaching India, married the
lovely daughter of King Prestham of that land.

To tell the story of the supper which good King Gargantua had promised
to give Pantagruel, and which was to equal that of King Ahasuerus, and
of the great and valorous deeds of Pantagruel, after his marriage,
would make a history much more wonderful than what you have just read.
But this is a part of his life which the Wise Man--who so loved the
three good Giants, GRANDGOUSIER, GARGANTUA, and PANTAGRUEL--promised to
write, but never did.


THE END.









