how the awful war between the bunmakers of lerne and gargantua's country was begun.

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:—

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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.

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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.

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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!"

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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.

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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!

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friar john to the rescue.