by Eugène Sue
“Oh, oh! If I am not much mistaken,” broke in the brenn smiling, “all of us, Gauls though we may be, must have some cousin red with that family.”
“Yes,” said the stranger, “to its own misfortune — and to the joy of its enemies — such has been and such is to-day the character of our own people!”
“But at least admit, despite such a character, the dear Gallic people has made its way well through the world. Few are the countries where the inquisitive vagabond, as you call it, did not promenade his shoes, with his nose in the air, his sword at his side—”
“You are right. Such is its spirit of adventure: always marching ahead towards the unknown, rather than to stop and build. Thus, to-day, one-third of Gaul is in the hands of the Romans, while some centuries ago the Gallic race occupied through its headlong conquests, besides Gaul, England, Ireland, upper Italy, the banks of the Danube, and the countries along the sea border as far east and north as Denmark. Nor yet was that enough. It looked as if our race was to spread itself over the whole world. The Gauls of the Danube went into Macedonia, into Thrace, into Thessaly. Others of them crossed the Bosphorus and the Hellespont, reached Asia Minor, founded New Gaul, and thus became the arbiters of all the kingdoms of the East.”
“So far, meseems,” rejoined the brenn, “we have nothing to regret over our character that you so severely judge.”
“And what is left of those senseless battles, undertaken by the pride of the kings who then reigned over the Gauls?” the stranger proceeded looking around. “Have not the distant conquests slipped from us? Have not our implacable and ever more powerful enemies, the Romans, raised all the peoples against us? Have we not been compelled to abandon those useless possessions — Asia, Greece, Germany, Italy? That is the net result of so much heroism and so much blood! That is the pass to which we have been brought by the ambition of the kings, who usurped the power of the druids!”
“To that I have nothing to say. You are right. There was no need of promenading so far away only to soil the soles of our shoes with the blood and the dust of foreign lands. But if I am not mistaken, it was at about that time that the sons of the brave Ritha Gaür, who had a blouse made for himself of the beards of the kings whom he shaved, seeing in these the butchers of the people and not its shepherds, overthrew the royalty.”
“Yes, thanks to the gods, an epoch of real grandeur, of peace and of prosperity succeeded the barren and bloody conquests of the kings. Disembarassed of its useless possessions, reduced to rational limits — its natural frontiers — the Rhine, the Alps, the Pyrenees and the Ocean — the republic of the Gauls became the queen and envy of the world. Its fertile soil, cultivated as we so well know how, produced everything in abundance; the rivers were covered with merchant vessels; gold, silver and copper mines increased its wealth every day; large cities rose everywhere. The druids, spreading light in all directions, preached union to the provinces, and set the example by convoking once a year in the center of Gaul solemn assemblies, at which the general interests of the country were considered. Each tribe, each canton, each town, elected its own magistrates; each province was a republic which, according to the druid plan, merged into the great Republic of the Gauls, and thus constituted one powerful body through the union of all.”
“The fathers of our grandfathers saw those happy days, friend guest.”
“And their sons saw only ruins and misfortune! What has happened? The accursed stock of dethroned kings joins the stock of their former and no less accursed clients or seigneurs, and all of them, irritated at having been deposed of their authority, hope for restoration from the public misfortunes, and exploit with infamous perfidy our innate pride and lack of discipline, which, under the powerful influence of the druids, were being steadily corrected. The rivalries between province and province, long allayed, re-awakened; jealousies and hatreds sprang up anew; everywhere the structure of union began to crumble. For all this the kings do not re-ascend the throne. Many of their descendants are even judicially executed. But they have unchained internal feud. Civil war flares up. The more powerful provinces seek to subjugate the weaker. Thus, towards the end of the last century, the Marseillians, the descendants of the exiled Greeks to whom Gaul generously assigned the territory on which they built their town, sought to assume the rôle of sovereignty. The province rose against the town; finding herself in danger, Marseilles called the Romans to her aid. They came, not to sustain Marseilles in her contemplated iniquity, but to themselves take possession of the region, a purpose that they succeeded in, despite the prodigies of valor with which they were opposed. Established in Provence, the Romans built the town of Aix, and thus founded their first colony on our soil—”
“Oh, a curse upon the Marseillians!” cried Joel. “It was thanks to those sons of Greeks that the Romans gained a foothold in Gaul!”
“By what right can we curse the people of Marseilles? Must not also those provinces be cursed which, since the decline of the republic, thus allowed one of their sisters to be overpowered and subjugated? But retribution was swift. Encouraged by the indifference of the Gauls, the Romans took possession of Auvergne, and later of the Dauphine, and a little later also of Languedoc and Vivarais despite the heroic defence of their peoples, who, besides being divided among themselves, were left to their own resources. Thus the Romans became masters of almost all southern Gaul; they govern it by their proconsuls and reduce its people to slavery. Do the other provinces at last take alarm at these ominous invasions of Rome that push ever forward and threaten the very heart of Gaul? No! No! Relying upon their own courage, they say as you, Joel, did shortly ago: ‘The South lies far away from the North, the East lies far away from the West.’ This notwithstanding, our race, which is heedless and presumptuous enough to fail to prepare in advance, and when it is still time, against foreign domination, always has the belated courage of rebelling when the yoke is actually placed upon its neck. The provinces that have been subjugated by the Romans, break out in resolute rebellion; these are smothered in their own blood. Our disasters follow swiftly upon one another. The Burgundians, incited thereto by the descendants of the old kings, take up arms against the Frank-Compté and invoke the aid of the Romans. The Frank-Compté, unable to make head against such an alliance, requests reinforcements from the Germans of the other side of the Rhine. Thus these barbarians of the North are taught the road to Gaul, and after bloody battles with the very people who invited them, remain masters of both Burgundy and Frank-Compté. Last year, the Swiss, encouraged by the example of the Germans, make an irruption into the Gallic provinces that had been conquered by the Romans. Thereupon, Julius Cæsar is appointed proconsul; he hastens from Italy; owerthrows the Swiss in their mountains; drives the Germans out of Burgundy and Frank-Compté; takes possession of these provinces, now exhausted by their long struggles with the barbarians; and to the yoke of these now succeeds that of the Romans. It was a change of masters. And finally, at the beginning of this year a portion of Gaul shakes off its lethargy and scents the dangers that threatens the still independent provinces. Brave patriots, wanting neither Romans nor Germans for their masters — Galba among the Gauls of Belgium, Boddig-nat among the Gauls of Flanders — induce the people to rise in mass against Cæsar. The Gauls of Vermandois and those of Artois also rise in rebellion. Together they all march against the Romans! Oh, it was a great and terrible battle, that battle of the Sambre!” cried the unknown traveler with exaltation. “The Gallic army awaited Cæsar on the left bank of the river. Three times did the Roman army cross, and three times was it compelled to recross it, fighting up to their waists in the blood-reddened waters. The Roman is overthrown, the oldest legions are shattered. Cæsar alights from his horse, swings his sword, rallies his last cohorts of veterans, that already were yielding ground, and at their head charges upon our army. Despite Cæsar’s courage the battle was lost to him, when we saw a fresh body arrive to his aid.”
“You say ‘We saw’?” asked Joel. “Were you at that terrible batt
le?”
But the unknown visitor proceeded without answering: “Exhausted, decimated by a seven hours’ fight, we still held out against the fresh troops ... we fought to the bitter end ... we fought unto death.... And do you know,” added the stranger with an expression of profound grief, “do you know, you who remained peacefully at home, while your brothers were dying for the liberty of Gaul, which is also yours, — do you know how many survived of the sixty thousand men in the Gallic army — in that battle of the Sambre?... Not five hundred!”
“Not five hundred!” cried Joel as if questioning the figures.
“I say so because I am one of the survivors,” answered the stranger proudly.
“Then the two fresh scars on your face—”
“I received them at the battle of the Sambre—”
CHAPTER VII.
“WAR! WAR! WAR!”
A FURIOUS BARKING of dogs in the yard and a distinct noise of hard rapping at the gate of the palisade interrupted the stranger’s narrative. Still laboring under the painful impression of the traveler’s words, the family of the brenn for a moment imagined their homestead was being attacked. The women rose precipitately, the little ones rushed to their mothers’ arms, the men ran for their arms that hung from the walls. But the dogs soon ceased barking, although the rapping at the gate continued unabated. Joel said to his family:
“Although they are still rapping, the dogs do not bark. They must know who is at the gate.”
Saying this, the brenn stepped out. Several of his kinsmen, the stranger included, followed him out of prudence. The yard gate was opened and two voices were heard outside the palisades crying:
“It is we, friends, ... Albinik and Mikael.”
Indeed the two sons of the brenn were distinguished by the light of the torches, and behind them their horses, panting for breath and white with foam. After tenderly embracing his sons, especially the mariner, who was absent over a year on his sea journeys, Joel entered the house with them, where they were received with joy and not a little surprise by their mother and other relatives.
Albinik the mariner and Mikael the armorer were, like their father and their brother, men of large and robust stature. Over their clothes they carried a caped cloak of heavy woolen fabric streaming with the rain. Upon entering the house, and even before embracing their mother, the new arrivals stepped to the altar and approached their lips to the seven small twigs of mistletoe that stood dipped in the copper bowl on the large stone. They there noticed a lifeless body covered with oak branches, near which Julyan still sat.
“Good evening, Julyan,” said Mikael. “Who is dead?”
“It is Armel; I killed him this evening in a sword contest,” answered Julyan; “but as we have both pledged brotherhood to each other, I shall join him to-morrow beyond. If you wish it I shall mention you to him.”
“Yes, yes. Julyan; I loved Armel and expected to find him alive. In the bag on my horse I have a little harpoon head of iron that I forged for him; I shall place it to-morrow on the pyre of you two—”
“And you must tell Armel,” added the mariner smiling, “that he went away too soon; his friends Albinik and Meroë would have told him their last experience at sea.”
“It is Armel and myself,” replied Julyan with a smile, “who will later have pretty stories to tell you. Your sea trips will be like nothing to the travels that await us in those marvelous worlds that none has seen and all will see.”
After Margarid’s two sons had answered the tender inquiries of their mother and family, the brenn said to the unknown traveler:
“Friend, these are my two sons.”
“May it please heaven that the suddenness of their arrival may not be caused by some evil event,” answered the traveler.
“I say so, too, my children,” rejoined Joel. “What has happened that you come at so late an hour and in such hurry? Happy be your return, Albinik, but I did not expect it so soon. But where is the gentle Meroë?”
“I left her at Vannes, father. This is what has happened. I returned from Spain by the gulf of Gascony on the way to England. The bad weather forced us to put in at Vannes. But by Teutates, who presides over all journeys by land and sea, here on earth and beyond, I did not expect — no, I did not expect to see what I saw in that town. I, therefore, left my vessel in port in charge of my sailors with my wife as their chief, I took a horse and galloped to Auray. There I gave the news to Mikael, and we hastened hither to forewarn you, father.”
“And what is it you saw at Vannes?”
“What did I see? All the inhabitants, in revolt, full of indignation and rage, like the brave Bretons that they are!”
“And what is the reason of it all, children?” asked Mamm’ Margarid without leaving her distaff.
“Four Roman officers, without any other escort than four soldiers and as calmly insolent as if they were in some enslaved country, came in yesterday and commanded the magistrates of the town to issue orders to all the neighboring tribes to send to Vannes ten thousand bags of wheat—”
“And what else?” asked Joel laughing and shrugging his shoulders.
“Five thousand bags of oats.”
“And what else?”
“Five hundred barrels of hydromel.”
“Of course,” said the brenn laughing louder, “they must also drink — and what else?”
“A thousand heads of beef.”
“And, of course, the fattest — What else?”
“Five thousand sheep.”
“That’s right. One soon gets tired of beef only. Is that all, my boy?”
“They also demanded three hundred horses to furnish new equipages to the Roman cavalry, besides two hundred wagons of forage.”
“And why not? The poor horses must be fed,” continued Joel sneeringly. “But there must be some more orders. If they begin to issue orders, why stop at all?”
“The provisions were to be taken in wagons as far as Poitou and Touraine.”
“And what is the wide maw that is to swallow up those bags of wheat, those muttons, those heads of beef and those barrels of hydromel?”
“Above all,” added the traveler, “who is to pay for all those provisions?”
“Pay for them!” replied Albinik. “Why, nobody. It is a forced impost.”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed Joel.
“And the wide maw that is to gulp up the provisions is none other than the Roman army, which is wintering in Touraine and Anjou.”
A shudder of rage mixed with disdain ran through the family of the brenn. “Well, Joel,” the unknown traveler remarked, “do you still think that it is a long way from Touraine to Britanny? The distance does not seem to me long, seeing that the officers of Cæsar come calmly and without escort, empty-pursed and swinging high their canes, to provision their army here.”
Joel no longer laughed; he dropped his head and remained silent.
“Our guest is right,” put in Albinik; “these Romans came empty-pursed and swinging high their canes. One of them even raised his cane over old Ronan, the oldest magistrate of Vannes, who, like you, father, objected strongly to the Roman exaction.”
“And yet, children, what else can we do but laugh at these demands. To levy these provisionings upon us and the neighboring tribes of Vannes; to force us to carry the requisitions to Touraine and Anjou with our oxen and horses which the Romans will surely keep also, and all that at the very season of the late sowing and of our autumn labors; to ruin next year’s harvest; — why, that is to reduce us to living upon the grass that would have fed the cattle that they rob us of!”
“Yes,” said Mikael the armorer; “they want to take away our wheat and our cattle, and leave the grass to us. By the iron of the lance that I was forging this very morning, it shall be the Romans who, under our blows, will bite the grass on our fields!”
“Vannes is now preparing to defend herself if attacked,” added the mariner. “They have begun to throw up trenches in the neighborhood of the port. All our sai
lors are to be armed, and if the Roman galleys attack us by sea, never will the sea crows have had a like feast of corpses upon our beach.”
“While crossing to-night the other tribes,” resumed Mikael, “we spread the news and sounded the alarm. The magistrates of Vannes have also sent out messengers in all direction ordering that fires be lighted from hill to hill, and thereby give immediate notice of the imminent danger from one end of Britanny to the other.”
Without once dropping her distaff, Mamm’ Margarid had listened to the report given by her sons. When they stopped speaking she calmly said:
“As to those Roman officers, my sons, were they not sent back to their army — after a thorough caning?”
“No, mother; they were lodged in jail at Vannes, all except two of their soldiers whom the magistrates charged to declare to the Roman general that no provisions whatever were to be furnished him, and that his officers were to be as hostages.”
“It would have been better to give the officers a thorough caning and drive them in disgrace out of the town,” replied Mamm’ Margarid. “That is the way thieves are treated, and these Romans tried to rob us.”
