grandgousier's death.—gargantua's marriage.—pantagruel is born.

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.

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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!"