"Has just eaten your last one, you say? Pray who is this Widenostrils who has a fancy for gobbling frying-pans?"
"A wicked giant, almost as tall as Your Highness, who has swallowed all our windmills."
"But windmills are not frying-pans, friend?"
" No, Your Highness is quite right there ; but I was just about to say that, when there were no more windmills to swallow, this wicked giant took to shovelling every skillet, kettle, frying-pan, dripping-pan, and brass and iron pot in the land down his big throat, and all for want of windmills, which were his daily food. That made him very sick. It almost killed him. "We hoped it had killed him outright; but it didn't. But he is dying, now, sure enough."
" Dying of what ? " asked Pantagruel; " of eating frying-pans and skillets?"
" I wish it was ! Some people do say so; but others, who are fishermen, and who live on the coast, and know everything that happens, declare that our giant went, a month ago, to another island, where he has been going for years, to swallow windmills, and vex the poor people there, and that he took in, with his last batch of windmills, I don't know how many cocks and hens. Now that I remember, I did hear that his own doctor made the choking worse by making him eat a big lump of fresh butter too near a hot oven. All this is very strange, though — I can't quite make it out myself."
" Where is that great Widenostrils? I should like to see him."
"In yonder meadow. Your Highness will find him very sick."
Pantagruel and his friends crossed over to the meadow, and there found, under the blazing sun, an enormous giant stretched along the ground, breathing heavily through the most awful nostrils human eyes had ever seen; and every time he breathed through his nostrils they flapped with a loud noise, like a sail when the wind shifts. The giant looked, as he lay there, very tough and wooden-like, as though the thousands of windmills he had gulped down in his time had gradually turned his body into wood. When they came near him, WMenostrils opened his eyes for a moment, first lazily, as he saw Panurge and the other little men about him, then wildly rolling them around, in fearful efforts to see the whole of the Giant, whose legs he had first caught sight of. It was only for a moment though ; for Widenostrils was dying. He half-rose on his elbows, quivering through all his big body, his nostrils all drooping and shutting close for want of air, yet found strength enough to yell out, "Magic, magic! Protect me, brother Giant! Cocks and hens are fluttering inside of me ! Cocks
GIANT WIDENOSTKILS, THE SWALLOWER OF WINDMILLS.
and hens are crowing and cackling within !P^. me ! I am be ! " He was going to say beivitched, but he fell back with a thump, which shook the two islands to their centre, deep under the sea, and made the people in distant lands swear, ever after, that there had been a terrible earthquake on that day.
When Panurge saw Widenostrils fall back dead, — but not until then, —he went to the body, and, scrambling on its stomach, with the aid of Gymnaste, listened carefully for a few moments. Then, jumping down, he said to Pantagruel: —
" My Lord, this Widenostrils ; this fine swallower of windmills; this eater of pans, and glutton of pots, is really dead ! But I can swear that there are some things much like crowing cocks and cackling hens rummaging inside of his big body. Once I heard something very much like a quick yelp followed by a sharp screech."
Pantagruel seemed not to hear Panurge, for he stood a long time looking down at the body of a giant, who, when living, must have been nearly as tall as himself. On turning away, he said : —
"I wonder where this wicked man, who loved windmills, and died from skillets, ever swallowed those fowls he talked about."
He did not leave the island until he had ordered the dead giant honorable burial in the meadow where he had died. But he did not wait for the funeral. If Widenostrils had been a good giant, he would have acted as chief mourner; but he had a fixed rule which he expressed by saying : —
"Giants should always be brotherly with Giants, but only with good Giants."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
A GREAT STORM, IN WHICH PANURGE PLAYS THE COWARD.
next morning the fleet started from Tohu and Bonn, cheered by the people, who were all in the best humor, because Pantagruel had left among them a new stock of frying-pans and skillets, so shining that they could see their faces in them. The sky was bright; the wind was fair; the very sea seemed to laugh, — all the fleet was happy. But Pantagruel sat on deck, looking very sad.
Friar John was the first to notice how still Pantagruel was. On seeing his Prince so glum, the good Friar, who was always a comforting kind of man, was just about asking him the reason, when James Brayer, the pilot, after cocking one eye at the sea, and the other at the sky, and then turning both eyes up towards the flag drooping on the poop, as though it would never wave again, knew that a storm was coming on, and, therefore, bid the boatswain pipe all hands on deck, and even summon the passengers.
" In with your top-sails ! " he shouted. 'Take in your spritsail! lower your foresail ! lash your guns fast!" —all of which was done as quick as hands could do it.
Of a sudden, as though a great hand from above had swept down to stir the waters and make them mad, the sea began to swell, and moan and roar, and rise up into mountains, and sink into valleys. An awful north-west wind had got caught in with a hurricane, — so James Brayer said, — and the two together whistled through the yards, and shrieked through the shrouds. The sky itself seemed to be splitting open, and dropping down thunder, lightning, rain, and hail. In broad daylight it grew all dark, and the water rose to mountains, and sank to the depths in perfect blackness, save for the great flashes of lightning that showed the white faces of men, and the whiter foam of the sea.
It looked as though the end of the world had come, and that those on the sea had been the first to know it.
James Brayer soon had every one about him busy at the work of saving the flag-ship. Even Pantagruel was pressed into service. It
A STORM COMES ON.
was no tune for ceremony ; the danger was too great for that. James Brayer bawled through his trumpet: —
"My Lord, I must ask you to stand amidship. Your Highness is so heavy that, in a sea like this, whichever side of the ship you may be on is bound to keel over. The sea is mad, —I have never seen it so mad before ! "
Pantagruel, in the midst of all this shouting of men, and raging of the waves, and shrieking of the winds, was kneeling perfectly quiet, but praying with all his good heart to the Almighty Deliverer to save them. Hearing James Brayer call, he at once rose from his knees, and said cheerfully : —
PANTAGRUEL HOLDS THE MAST.
"Here I am, good pilot! But how am I to stand amidship without interfering with the handling of the ship ? "
"Easily enough, Your Highness. All you have to do is to put your arms around the mainmast, and stand still,"
This Pantagruel did, holding the mast firmly with both hands, and keeping it straighter than two hundred tacklings could have done. Everybody worked hard, —everybody except cowardly Panurge, who, when the sea first began to churn, sank upon deck all in a heap, more dead than alive. He could do nothing but whine and cry boo! boo! boo! boo! and call upon Heaven to save him. In the meanwhile, all the others were as busy as beavers, — Friar John, Gymnaste, Carpalim, Xenomanes, even Epistemon and old Ponocrates himself! All did wonders ; but nobody worked like Friar John during all the storm ; so, at least, declared James Brayer. Why, Friar John even pulled off his monk's gown, a thing he had, until then, been known to do only
A SEA BREAKS OVEB PANTJROE.
once, and that was when he saved the Abbey-Vineyard. " It bothers me, and I can't work in it," he said, as he pulled it off. With his waistcoat for a coat, he stood at his post with strong arm and cheery word for everybody. Every now and then he would glance at Panurge, still squatted on deck and crying, " Boo ! boo ! boo ! boo ! Friar John, my friend, good father, I am drowning. Boo! boo! boo! The water has got into my shoes. Boo! boo! boo! boboo! I drown! Oh, how I wish I
was a gardener, and planted cabbages, for then I would be sure of always having at least one foot on land ! Oh, my
friend, the keel goes up to the sun. I hear the hull splitting. We are all drowned ! Boo ! boo ! boo! holos! holos!" At last Friar John's patience gave out, — it was at the close of the sixth hour he had been working,— and he roared out to Panurge:—
" What art thou bellowing there for, like a calf ? Pan-urge the cry-baby,
LAUD IN SIGHT.
Panurge the whiner, would it not better become thee to help thyself and friends? Come, be a man!"
Just then a huge sea broke on the deck. Panurge was too frightened even to look up. All the answer he could give to Friar John was, " Boo! boo! boo! boboof The ship is capsized ! I drown ! "
At that moment, Pantagruel's voice was heard even above the storm, so mighty was it in prayer : " Save us, good Lord, if it be Thy will." The Giant's prayer must have been heard. The thunder still crashed; the lightning still blazed; the rain still poured; but it was
IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON.
not half so bad as before. The sea still rose ; but it rose in hills, not mountains, now. Pantagruel still stood, as he had from the first, with his arms clinging to the mainmast while he braced it up, and his eyes trying to pierce through the blackness. At last, just as the day broke, he shouted: —
"Land ! land ! My children, I see land ! We are not far from port. I can see the sky clearing up southwards. Cheer up, all!"
James Brayer was at his side as quick as lightning.
"Up, lads!" he shouted. "Our prince sees land, and the sea is smoother. We can put out a trifle of sail. Hands aloft to the maintop ! Mind your steerage ; clear your sheets ; port, port! Helma-lee ! Steady, steady ! " And steady it was, too. Before all eyes on the ship land was now to be seen in full sight, some twenty miles off. The sun was just beginning to shine a little. The sea was no longer mad. It was only sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, as though half-ashamed it had so troubled the good Giant who knew how to pray.
It was late in the afternoon when James Brayer brought the flagship into port. It was so late that it was resolved not to go on shore until next day.
CHAPTER XL.
THE ISLAND OF THE MACREONS, AND ITS FOREST IN WHICH THE HEROES WHO ARE TEMPTED BY DEMONS DIE.
THE next morning there was not a man in the whole fleet so spruce, so gay, so brave as Panurge.
" What cheer, ho ! fore and aft ? " he cried gaily. " Good-day to you, gentlemen, good-day to you all. Oh, ho! all's well, the storm is over. Please be so kind as to let me be the first to go on shore. Shall I help you before I go? Here, let me see, I'll coil this rope ; I have plenty of courage ; give it to me, honest tar, — no, no, I haven't a bit of fear, not I. How now, Friar John, you Well, so there's nothing for me to do. Let us go on shore, then ! Truly this is a fine place ! "
While Panurge was blustering, and making believe that he had not been crying and blubbering all during the storm, Pantagruel and his company were paying no attention to him, but were making everything ready to go on shore. On landing they were met most kindly by the people of the island, which turned out to be a small one, known as the Island of Macreons, Macreon being a Greek word meaning an " old man." Therefore, the Island of Macreons was only another name for the " Island of Old Men." A venerable Macreon, with long white beard, reaching to his waist, who was the High Sheriff of the island, stepped forward, and gravely invited Pantagruel to go with him to the Town Hall, where he could take a rest after his fatigue, and be sure of a little luncheon afterwards. But the Giant would not leave the quay until all his men had got ashore, and with enough provisions to last do nothing!
them while at work on the ships, which needed many repairs after the storm. This was done at once, and then began the carouse both in the Town Hall and among the men along the quay. There is no telling now how much was really eaten and drunk during that day; but there was enough for every one. The people of the island brought their victuals. The Pantagruelists brought theirs. It was something more than a lunch, as it turned out. It was a real picnic on a large scale ;
PANURGE REVIVES.
everybody giving his share of the feast, and making the most of what the others brought.
After the meal Pantagruel took his officers aside, and told them that, as the ships had been strained by the storm, they should set to work to make them sound again. As soon as the people of the island heard of the trouble many offered to help. This they could easily do as they were all, more or less, carpenters, having a large forest behind three very small ports.
At Pantagruel's request the white-bearded Macreon, whose name was Macrobrius, showed him all that was strange or wonderful in the island. Leaving the harbor, he took the Giant into the dark and gloomy forest, which was found at the entrance to be full of ruined temples, obelisks, pyramids, and crumbling tombs. Over most of these were inscriptions and epitaphs, some in strange letters, none could read, not even Panurge ; others in Ionic characters ; others
THE DARK AND GLOOMY FOREST.
in the Arabic; others in the Icelandic. " Our heroes come," the old man explained, "from every land on the earth."
Macrobiua asked Pantagruel how it was that he and his fleet could have survived the awful storm and reached port, when the Macreons could see that all the air and the earth were in wild uproar. Pantagruel answered, with that simple faith of his which gives the smallest dwarf the strength
PANTAGBUEL IN 'IHE GKAVEYARD.
of the tallest giant, " Friend, it was God's will." After which, he asked him whether these great storms were common around their coast.
The old man then told a very sad tale.
"Pilgrim," he said, in a broken voice, "this poor island of ours was once rich, great, and full of young people. Now there are no young people in it, and it is only full of old men like myself, and of
THE DEMONS AND THE HEROES.
shadows that we can feel, but never can see ; shadows that we love, but never can know ; shadows that move about in yonder forest you see stretched out before you, and, when their hour comes, die in its darkest depths. No common shadow ever yet lived or ever yet died in our forest. It is the dwelling-place only of heroes and of demons."
"Of heroes and demons?" cried Pantagruel, amazed.
"Yes, of heroes, who, after being great on earth and seeming to die there, come here to live another life, and to suffer, and to show themselves great for a final trial ; and of demons who are given power to roam the forest at will, only to mock, and laugh, and lure, if they can, the heroes to sin."
"How do the demons lure the heroes to sin ? "
" By trying to make them forget that to be good is the only way to be great."
"Do the heroes ever yield ? "
f Yes, pilgrim, often, too often ; and there is our great grief. If they once yield, they die at the moment of sinning, and there is neither storm at sea nor grief in the forest. We never can know when the bad heroes pass away. But ah ! it is when the true heroes, who, though tempted, will not yield, die," and here Macrobius stretched out his hands towards the dark line of trees as though in prayer, " that we learn of it to our sorrow. Pilgrim ! " he cried, while the tears, dry, like the tears old men shed, trickled down his withered cheeks into his white beard, " we were sure yesterday that we had lost another good hero."
" And what made thee sure, good Macrobius? "
" Because we noticed that a comet, which we had seen for three days before the storm, of a sudden grew dim, and that it shines no more. Then, yesterday, when the sea was at its worst, we could hear loud cries in the forest; feel tremblings in the earth under us ; and in the air about us there were breathings and black clouds. Listen, now, the trees are calling some name, I know they are. I am old; my hearing is faint. Do you not hear voices ? "
Pantagruel listened intently ; but, even with his quick ears, could only hear a mournful sough, as though coming over the tops of the trees from a great distance.
" Not voices, but more like s
obs, good old man. They may be weeping for the hero who died yesterday. Canst thou tell me his name ? "
"Ah, pilgrim, there, too, is our cross ! It is not given to us to learn the name of a hero who has died until a year after the forest has moaned, and the sea has wept, and the earth has trembled."
"And how dost thou show him honor ? "
WE HAD LOST ANOTHEB GOOD HERO
' We place in this part of the forest which we are allowed to enter, and on the tree he best loved when alive, averse reciting his name, and saying that another hero has died, but not until the good God had given him the power to be greater than sin."
CHAPTER XLI.
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.
S 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 thino- 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
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