An inexhaustible barrel of meanings, Rabelais' work continues, four centuries later, to pique the curiosity of his readers, sharpen their appetite for words, and disturb their certainties. A dozen among them, well aware of the tricks of his writing, have gathered in the city of Montpellier, where he studied, taught, and performed in plays. Under the sign of Erasmus, Lucian, medieval farce, carnival, and the patron saints of the popular calendar? Each, after giving their piece, engages in the ritual of questioning. The truth crumbles and doubles, like Rabelais' birth date that was supposed to be celebrated. Is it Dionysus' fault, also born twice? The solar shadow of the god reigns over these dialogues, and the wine service, provided by the generous terroir of Languedoc, gives them a straightforward tone that Master François would not have disowned. But Saint Blaise blows where he wills, so why not use this freedom in the face of the joyful alteration of young Gargantua or Brother Jean, Panurge's wit as well as his inexhaustible perplexities? Dionysus loosens tongues, changes forms, subjects the petrified network of knowledge to the invigorating play of exchange, "for from divine wine one becomes divine."