PROCURATION LAND.

The next day we passed through Procuration, a country all blurred and blotted. I knew nothing about it. There we saw some pettifoggers and catchpoles, fellows of every kind. They neither invited us to eat or drink; but, with a multiplied train of scrapes and cringes, said they were all at our service, for a consideration.

One of our interpreters related to Pantagruel their strange way of living, diametrically opposite to that of our modern Romans; for at Rome a world of folks get their livelihood by poisoning, drubbing, and murdering. But the catchpoles earn theirs by being thrashed; so that if they were to remain long without a beating, they, with their wives and children, would be starved.

"When

"The way is this," said the interpreter. a monk, priest, usurer, or lawyer, owes a grudge to some neighbouring gentleman, he sends him one of these catchpoles. Catchpole will cite him, will serve a writ upon him, will abuse him and affront him impudently, according to his record and instructions; insomuch that, if the gentleman hath not the palsy, and is not more stupid than a tadpole, he will be obliged either to apply a stick or his sword to his head, or throw him out of the windows of his castle. This done, catchpole is rich for four

months at least, as if bastinadoes were his real harvest; for the monk, usurer, or lawyer will pay him good wages, and my gentleman damages so excessive that he will lose all his fortune, and be in danger of miserably dying in a prison, as if he had struck the king."

Quoth Panurge, "I know an excellent remedy against this, used by the Lord of Basché."

"What is it?" asked Pantagruel.

"The Lord of Basché," said Panurge, "was a brave, honest, chivalrous gentleman, who, at his return from the long war, in which the Duke of Ferrara, with the help of the French, bravely defended himself against the fury of Pope Julius the Second, was every day cited, warned, and prosecuted, for the sport and fancy of the fat prior of St Lovant.

"One morning, as he was at breakfast with some of his domestics (for he was kind and debonnair), he sent for one Loire his baker, and his spouse, and with them for one Oudart, the vicar of his parish, who was also his butler, as the custom was then in France, and said to them, before his gentleman and other servants, 'Children, you see how I am daily plagued with these rascally catchpoles truly, if you do not lend me your helping hand, I am finally resolved to leave the country, and go fight 'for the sultan and all the devils. Hereafter, when any of them come here, be ready

you, Loire and your wife, to make your appearance in my great hall, in your finest wedding-clothes, as if they were betrothing you, and you were first affianced. Here, take a hundred crowns of gold, which I give you to keep you in a fitting garb. As for you, Sir Oudart, be sure you appear in fair surplice and stole, not forgetting your holy water, as if you were to wed them. Be you there also, Trudon,' said he to his drummer, 'with your pipe and tabour. The form of matrimony read, and the bride kissed, at the beat of tabour all of you shall give one another the remembrance of the wedding, - the whacks with your fists, bidding the party struck remember the nuptials by that token. But when you come to the catchpole's turn, thrash him like a sheaf of green rye; do not spare him,—maul him, drub him, swinge him, I pray you. Here, take these little steel gauntlets, covered with kid. Give him blows at random innumerable: he that gives him most shall be my best friend. Fear not to be called to an account about it; I will stand by you; for the blows must seem to be given in jest, as it is customary among us at all weddings.'

"Ay, but how shall we know the catchpole?' asked Oudart. All sorts of people daily resort to

this castle.'

"I have taken care of that,' replied the lord. 'When some fellow, either on foot or on a scurvy jade, with a broad silver ring on his thumb, comes

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to the door, he is certainly a catchpole. The porter, having civilly let him in, shall ring the bell; then be all ready, and come into the hall, to act the tragi-comedy, whose plot I have now laid for you.'

"That same day, as chance would have it, came an old catchpole, fat and ruddy. Having knocked at the gate, he was by the porter recognised, by his great spatterdashes, his hollow-flanked mare, his bag full of informations dangling at his girdle, but, above all, by the large silver hoop on his left thumb.

"The porter was civil to him, admitted him kindly, and joyously rang the bell. As soon as they heard it, Loire and his wife they clapped on their fine clothes, and made their appearance in the hall, keeping grave mien. mien. Oudart put on surplice and stole; and as he came out of his office met the catchpole, had him in there, and gave him to drink a good while, while the gauntlets were drawing on all hands; and then said to him, 'You could not come at a better time; my lord is in his right cue: we shall feast like kings anon; here is to be swingeing doings; we have a wedding in the house; drink, cheer up.'

"While catchpole drank, Basché, seeing all his people in the hall in proper equipage, sends for Oudart. Oudart comes with the holy water, followed by catchpole. He, as he came into the hall did not forget to make reverence, and humbly

served Basché with a writ. Basché received him with the greatest affection, gave him an angel, inviting him to assist at the contract and ceremony -which he did. When it was ended, fisticuffs began to fly about; but when it came to catchpole's turn, they welcomed him with their gauntlets so well, that he remained all stunned and batteredone eye black, eight ribs broken, his brisket sunk in, his omoplates in four quarters, his under jawbone in three pieces; and all this in laughing. God knows how Oudart helped, hiding within the sleeve of his surplice his huge gauntlet lined with ermine, for he was a strong fellow. Catchpole returned to L'Isle Bouchard striped like a tiger, but well pleased and edified, however, with the Seigneur du Basché ; and, with the help of the good surgeons of the place, lived as long as you would have him. Since when no one has spoken of him; the memory of him was lost with the sound of the bells which carolled at his funeral.

"Catchpole being gone, Basché sent for his lady, her women, and all his servants, into his private garden; had wine brought, attended with good store of pasties, hams, fruit, and cheese; drank with them joyfully, and then told them this story:

'Master Francis Villon, in his old age, retired to St Maxent, in Poitou, under the patronage of a wealthy abbot of the place. There, to make sport