Even when he swam, of an afternoon, down the river Seine, he took a book in one hand, and holding it up dry out of the water, read aloud from it, all the way, in a voice to split your ear-drums. Coming out of the water, he laid the book on the bank and dried himself off by leaping over trees and houses, and vaulting over churches, pricking his hand on the steeples.
But that was not the end of his day. For then came his lessons with Squire Gymnast, who taught him to leap nimbly from one great galloping horse to another; to shatter a thick stone tower with one thrust of his huge lance; and to hold two lead weights each weighing eight hundred and seventy thousand pounds above his head for three-quarters of an hour. Last of all he would stand with his arms folded, in an open field, and dare the whole French army to move him with crowbars.
But one day as the soldiers ranged themselves, ten to a bar, ready to pry at Gargantua’s great boots, there came a pelting of hoofs across the turf. Another moment, and a rider, shouting and spurring, burst in among them to Gargantua’s very feet.
“Your Royal Highness,” he cried, “your father, King Grangousier, sends for you!”
That was enough for Gargantua. The French crowbars rattled to the ground like toothpicks, as he sprang leaping over the army to saddle his great mare.
Part Two: How The Bakers Wished They Hadn’t
Now, the reason Grangousier sent for Gargantua so hastily was because he had had the ill luck to get mixed up in a war. And all because he praised a cake!
Next to Grangousier’s kingdom was the country of Lerné, famous far and near for its delicious little cakes. Twice a week, for years and years, the proud cake-bakers of Lerné had driven in along the king’s highway with ten cartloads of cakes,—five for the palace, and five to sell in town. From the hilltops beside the road Grangousier’s shepherds watched for them to come, and rushed down to buy a few cakes to go with their midday meal.
Now, it happened one day that King Grangousier in his usual kindly mood praised especially one of the little cakes from Lerné, which was made by a man named Marquet. At that, Marquet, who was already the proudest of the proud cake-bakers, marked all his cakes with a huge “M” and a little crown above, to show that he was baker to the King. And the next time he drove into Grangousier’s kingdom he held his nose higher than ever. Down the hill as usual came the shepherds for their cakes, but Marquet drove straight along.