tive evidence does not stand alone. Numerous passages in 'Pantagruel' prove that Rabelais had his high thoughts, his pure ideals, his serious moments, his deep religious susceptibilities; that his soul was burdened by hours of mystic melancholy, was subject to unutterable speculative longings, and capable of grand poetic flashes.

The framework on which the five parts of Pantagruel' are hung may be thus briefly sketched: The first book, which was printed in 1535, and is, therefore, in order of publication, the second, relates the miraculous birth of Gargantua, his education, his exploits, and his friendship for Friar John of the Chopping Knives. The second book, printed in 1532, appears to be in its early portions an inferior repetition of the first. It describes the birth of Pantagruel, the gigantic son of Gargantua, who is sent to be educated in Paris, where he meets Panurge and engages him as a companion. The two first books were published under the signature of Alcofribas Nasier. The third, printed in 1546, was the first to which Rabelais appended his name. The fourth book appeared in 1552, and the fifth in 1564, eleven years after the death of Rabelais. In the three last parts Panurge is the chief figure. They tell us how he fared as the ruler of Salmigondin; how he desired to take a wife, but fears that his marriage may prove unhappy; how, after consulting everyone in vain, it was agreed that Pantagruel, Friar John, and himself should enquire of the Oracle of the Holy Bottle; and how they visited strange countries in the course of their voyage.

Upon this absurd basis is piled mountain-high a mass of miscellaneous matter. The book is absolutely unique in the literature of the world. Here, raked together, are anecdotes, dissertations, quaint scraps of obscure learning, dialogues, sarcasm, wit, humour, proverbs, allegory, and astounding obscenity. Written with long intervals between the several parts, Pantagruel' represents all the changes which the opinions of Rabelais underwent between fifty and seventy. It passes from the extravagant caricature of the Gargantuan chronicle, in which it originated, to a blending of sarcasm and burlesque, and finally to satire, open, undisguised, audacious. The tone is changed. In the first two books Rabelais writes as a reformer of the school of Erasmus; in the last three he becomes more and more sceptical, less hopeful of the fulfilment of his ideal. The illusions of his comparative youth are dispelled; universal liberty seems as distant as when he was condemned to the punishment in pace; his

laughter grows harsh and bitter. Thus Pantagruel' affords a concrete illustration of the passage which France underwent from the gay freedom of the Renaissance to the gloomy distrust which was bred of the fanatical intolerance of both Catholics and Protestants. The theory that the whole work is allegorical, and that the actors are real historical characters, may be dismissed as trivial. The construction of keys is wasted labour, and, if shades can laugh, thegros rire tourangeau' must shake the nether world at a search as profitless as that for the philosopher's stone. Like all great writers, Rabelais does not paint pictures of his contemporaries; he puts together many different features that have struck him, but portraiture is not his object. He might say with Molière, 'Je prends mon bien où je le trouve.' He makes the same casual references to men of the time which Swift makes to Whig and Tory leaders in Blefuscu and Liliput. Pantagruel' satirises the social fabric of the sixteenth century; but it is unnecessary to reduce its gigantic proportions to the dwarfish stature of a libel upon a particular Court. Rabelais is a universal moralist, not a satirist of individuals, and his work is a general criticism of the world, a Titanic outburst of laughter against shams, a sweeping protest against every form of intellectual restraint, a comprehensive indictment of all obstructions to mental liberty.

'Pantagruel' is for students of costume a book of fashions, enumerating the stuffs, the colours, the dresses, the jewels, the furs in which medieval society was adorned. For historians of games it is a book of sport, of falconry and venery, of manly exercises and diversions. Of games at cards alone Rabelais enumerates more than two hundred different combinations. It gives a plan of domestic architecture, an in ventory of household furniture, a menu of mediæval banquets as well as of rustic fare. It is a treatise on the art of medicine, a manual of anatomical science, a handbook of botany, a compendium of the processes and procedure of mediæval law. It gives a catalogue of the contents of monastic libraries, and from it may be compiled a diary of the daily life of a Franciscan friar. It affords a specimen of the dialectics of logicians and the philosophical exercises of the doctors of the Sorbonne. It is a valuable monograph on mediæval education, a treatise on the arts of war and navigation. It enumerates all the known pieces of ordnance from the culverin to the falcon; it is a museum of the mail, an armoury of the weapons of the Middle Ages. It is a

repertory which contains the superstitious practices of the day, astrological science, Virgilian lotteries, and all the current modes of presaging the future. It is a Bibliothèque 'bleue' of rustic romances, a collection of anecdotes and proverbs, a magazine of scraps of popular songs, a glossary of local idioms, a dictionary of dialects, an inexhaustible vocabulary of picturesque provincialisms. In a word, it is an enormous scrap-bag of miscellaneous articles.

No adequate impression could be conveyed, within reasonable limits, of the multifarious contents of such a work. Three points may, however, be selected mainly from the first book-to illustrate the method in which the various subjects are treated-education, ecclesiastical abuses, and Rabelais' Utopian ideal.

The first serious topic which is touched upon in Panta'gruel' is education; for this, in Rabelais' conception of the Renaissance movement, was the all-important factor. Grandgousier, who belongs to the rude, easy-going age that was passing away, gives his son Gargantua the ordinary education of a youth of noble birth in the Middle Ages. He is brought up like a page among the women in the licentious atmosphere of a court. He is taught to read by a tutor who consumes five years and three months in the task. At the end of that time he can say his alphabet as well backwards as forwards. Next he is exercised in logical and grammatical gymnastics, which destroy thought in order to preserve its forms. He learns by heart and word for word antiquated treatises and obsolete textbooks of the twelfth century. In this way he spends thirty-five years and two months. His body is as neglected as his mind. He is told that it is waste of time for him to wash or clean himself; consequently he only smooths his hair with the German comb-that is, with his fingers and thumb. After gorging himself at breakfast he hears from twenty-six to thirty masses, mumbles the Hours and his litanies, and, with a paternoster from St. Claude, says more prayers than sixteen hermits could have offered. Then, with his heart in the kitchen, he studies for half an hour. At his dinner he eats to excess, and sleeps for three hours without thinking or speaking any harm.' He wakes to drink, read a little, gabble more prayers, visit the kitchen in order to see what meat is on the spit, sups, goes to bed, and sleeps till eight the next morning. Gargantua learns his lessons perfectly, studies hard, and satisfies his tutors and examiners; yet every day he becomes more foolish, doited, and blockish,'

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Seeing that Gargantua thus went from bad to worse, Grandgousier consults a friend about his son. The friend advises that the new learning should be tried, and offers to illustrate its efficacy in the person of his page, Eudemon, a lad barely twelve years old. In the presence of the whole Court, Eudemon, with his cap in his hand, his hair smoothly brushed, a clear and open countenance, beautiful and ruddy lips, his eyes steady, standing up straight on his feet, and yet full of youthful modesty, asks Gargantua's leave to become one of his household in the style and manner of Cicero. Gargantua, though four times his age, cannot say a word in reply, but hides his face in his cap and blubbers like a cow.' Grandgousier discharges the old teacher, and engages Ponocrates, who is the representative of the Renaissance. The method of Bossuet is exchanged for that of Fénelon.

The sketch which follows is a remarkable proof of Rabelais' enlightened views on education. The old mediæval trivium' and quadrivium' is abandoned for the Greek mousiké and gymnastiké. The mind and the body are to be developed by intellectual and physical exercises; instruction is to be combined with amusement; the pupil is to be taught to observe and note things for himself. Gargantua now rises at four. He takes a bath, and while he is being rubbed some pages of the New Testament are read to him, and then he says his prayers. He breaks his fast with the lightest possible food, and after he has dressed himself he receives a variety of lessons, followed by three consecutive hours of reading. Then he plays at ball, and, after changing his shirt, goes for a walk and returns to dinner. During the repast he hears some pleasant history of warlike achievements, and talks with his tutor on the nature of the vegetables, fruit, fish, and meat which are served at table. Dinner ended, he washes his eyes and hands in fresh water, and gives thanks to God in praise of His bounty and goodness. The hour for digestion is devoted to music, or to cards, which were made the instruments of arithmetical instruction. Another three hours

are then devoted to study. Next follow various bodily exercises. He rides, practises with the lance, hunts, leaps, swims, and enjoys various forms of sport. Once more he takes a bath, rubs himself carefully down, changes his clothes, and returns at a foot's pace through the woods and fields to his house. On the way he and his tutor botanise and collect specimens of different plants. Or he visits the workshops of the different trades, asks the artisans to explain their industries, and never fails to reward them handsomely.

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Supper follows. It is the fullest meal of the day, and is accompanied by learned conversations and closed by grace. After supper he plays at dice or cards, or on musical instruments, or visits men of learning, and above all distinguished travellers. The day ends with a study of the heavens and a recapitulation of all that has been read, seen, learned, or heard during the day. Finally, when the hour came for repose, the pupil and his master prayed to God the Creator of all things, falling down before Him, strengthening their 'faith in Him, glorifying Him for His boundless munificence, giving thanks to Him for the past, and commending them'selves to His clemency for the future.' And so to bed. Once in each month they made an excursion to some neighbouring village, and spent their time in the greatest cheer 'imaginable, sporting, making merry, drinking healths, 'playing, singing, dancing, tumbling in some fair meadow, unnestling of sparrows, taking of quails, and fishing for frogs and cray-fish.'

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In the contrast which Rabelais draws between these two systems of education he satirises the daily life of the Franciscans. He shows how its fruit is gluttony, dirt, and ignorance. As has been said, he never spares the monks, but attacks them with some of the concentrated bitterness of a renegade. In comparing Friar John's conduct with that of his brethren at the assault upon the vineyard of Seuilly, he illustrates the apathy of the monastic bodies, their want of practical energy, their incapacity to cope with events when action is required. When Picrochole's army pours into the vineyard, the monks knew not which saint they should invoke. The bell was rung to summon the chapter, and it was decided to hold processional services, chanting the 'contra hostium insidias' and repeating the responses pro 'pace.'

'Now there was in the monastery a cloister monk named Friar John of the Chopping Knives, young, gallant, nimble, lusty, handy with his weapons, bold, resolute, adventurous, tall, spare, wide-mouthed, long-nosed, quick to rattle off Hours, gabble masses, despatch vigils; in a word, a true monk, if ever there was one since the monking world monked a monkery; and for the rest, a learned clerk-within the covers of his breviary. This monk, so soon as he heard the noise that the enemy made in the vineyard, came out to know what it meant.

Frere Jean des Entommeures, in modern French des entamures. Urquhart calls him Friar John of the Funnels, as though the word was entonnoirs. The passage which follows is a condensed and free version of the original.