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.