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!"