Three Good Giants / Whose Ancient Deeds are recorded in the Ancient Chronicles

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.

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."

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?"

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.

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."

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.

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."

"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."

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.

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.

"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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

"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!"

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."

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!

"Hast thou caught Picrochole?"

No, nobody had.

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.

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:—

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.