the church amongst the women, both at mass, at vespers, and
at sermon.

Coleridge, in his metaphysical way, keen at the moment on the scent of
illustrations for the philosophy of Kant, said, "Pantagruel is the
Reason; Panurge the Understanding." Rabelais himself, in the fourth book
of his romance, written in the last years of his life, defines the
spirit of the work. This fourth book, the English translator says, is
"justly thought his masterpiece." The same authority adds with
enthusiasm, "Being wrote with more spirit, salt, and flame than the
first part." Here, then, is Rabelais's own expression, sincere or
jocular, as you choose to take it, for what constitutes the essence of
his writing. We quote from the "Prologue":--

By the means of a little Pantagruelism (which, you know, is _a
certain jollity of mind, pickled in the scorn of fortune_), you see
me now ["at near seventy years of age," his translator says], hale
and cheery, as sound as a bell, and ready to drink, if you will.

It is impossible to exaggerate the mad, rollicking humor, sticking at
nothing, either in thought or in expression, with which especially this
last book of Rabelais's work is written. But we have no more space for
quotation.

Coleridge's theory of interpretation for Rabelais's writings is hinted
in his "Table Talk," as follows: "After any particularly deep thrust,...
Rabelais, as if to break the blow, and to appear unconscious of what he
has done, writes a chapter or two of pure buffoonery."

The truth seems to us to be, that Rabelais's supreme taste, like his
supreme power, lay in the line of humorous satire. He hated monkery, and
he satirized the system as openly as he dared,--this, however, not so
much in the love of truth and freedom, as in pure fondness for
exercising his wit. That he was more than willing to make his ribald
drollery the fool's mask from behind which he might aim safely his
shafts of ridicule at what he despised and hated, is indeed probable.
But in this is supplied to him no sufficient excuse for his obscene and
blasphemous pleasantry. Nor yet are the manners of the age an excuse
sufficient. Erasmus belonged to the same age, and he disliked the monks
not less. But what a contrast, in point of decency, between Rabelais and
Erasmus!

IV.

MONTAIGNE.

1533-1592.

Montaigne is signally the author of one book. His "Essays" are the whole
of him. He wrote letters, to be sure, and he