Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Hesus only knows, wild boy! I wish you would keep still; your talk frightens me.”

  “What a tempest! The house shakes!”

  “And it is on such a night that Karadeucq dared to say he would give his life to see a Korrigan.”

  “Come, dear wife, your fears only show weakness.”

  “Mothers are weak and timid, Jocelyn. We must not tempt God—”

  Old Araim stops working for a moment at his net; his head drops on his chest.

  “What is the matter, folks? You seem to be in a brown study! Do you fear, like Madalen, that danger may threaten Karadeucq just because, on such a tempestuous night as this, he wishes to see a Korrigan?”

  “I am not thinking of the fairies; I am thinking of this frightful storm, Jocelyn. I read to you and your children the narrative of our ancestor Joel, who lived about five hundred and odd years ago, if not in this very house, at least in the neighborhood of where we now are. I was thinking that on a somewhat similar stormy night, Joel and his son, both greedy after stories like the inquisitive Gauls that they were—”

  “Did the trick of stopping a traveler at the pass of Craig’h, binding him fast, and carrying him home to tell stories—”

  “And the traveler happened to be the Chief of the Hundred Valleys — a hero!”

  “Oh! Oh! How your eyes sparkle as you speak, Karadeucq.”

  “If they sparkle, grandfather, it is because they are moist. Whenever I hear you speak of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys tears come to my eyes.”

  “What is the matter with Erer, father? The dog growls between his teeth and pricks up his ears.”

  “Grandfather, do you hear the watchdog bark?”

  “Something must be going on outside of the house—”

  “Alas! If it is the gods who wish to punish my son for his audacious wishes, their anger is swift — Karadeucq, come near me.”

  “What! Madalen — there you are weeping and embracing the boy, as if really misfortune threatened him. Come, be more sensible!”

  “Do you not hear the dogs barking louder and louder? And there is Erer now running to the door. There is something wrong going on outside—”

  “Fear not, mother; it is some wolf prowling about. Where is my bow?”

  “Karadeucq, you stay here—”

  “Dear Madalen, be not in such fear for your son, nor you my sweet Roselyk for your brother. Perhaps it is better not to challenge the hobgoblins and fairies on a stormy night, but your fears are idle. There is no wolf prowling about here; if there were, Erer would long ago have bitten off the panel of the door and rushed to the encounter of the unwelcome guest—”

  “Father is right — it may be a stranger who lost his way.”

  “Come, Kervan, come brother, let’s to the gate of the yard.”

  “My son, you stay here by my side—”

  “But, mother, I cannot allow my brother Kervan to go out alone.”

  “Hark! Hark! It seems to me I hear a voice calling—”

  “Alas! mother, some misfortune threatens our house — you said it—”

  “Roselyk, my child, do not add fuel to your mother’s fright. What is there astonishing in a traveler calling from without to have the door opened to him—”

  “His cries are not human — I am frozen with fear—”

  “You come with me, Kervan, seeing that your mother wishes to keep Karadeucq near her. Although this is a quiet neighborhood, hand me my ‘pen-bas,’ and take yours along, my boy.”

  “My husband, my son, I conjure you, do not go out—”

  “Dear wife, suppose some stranger is outside in such weather as this! Come Kervan!”

  “Alas! I tell you the cries that I heard are not human. Kervan! Jocelyn! They will not listen — they are gone — Alas! Alas!”

  “My father and brother go out to face danger, and I remain here—”

  “Do not stamp your feet that way, bad boy! You are the cause of all this evil with your impious wishes—”

  “Calm yourself, Madalen — and you, my pet, do not put on, if you please, the air of a wild colt that seeks to snap his reins; just obey your mother.”

  “I hear steps — they are drawing near — Oh! grandfather!”

  “Well, my dear Roselyk, why tremble? What is there frightful in the steps that are approaching? Good — do you hear them laughing aloud? Are you now at ease?”

  “Laughing! — on such a night!”

  “It is frightful to hear, is it not, my sweet Roselyk, especially when the laughers are your own father and brother? Well — here they are. Well, my children?”

  “The misfortune that threatened our house—”

  “The cries that were not human—”

  “Will you be done laughing? Just look at them! The father is as crazy as the son! Will you speak?”

  “The great misfortune is a poor peddler who lost his way—”

  “The voice that was not human was his voice—”

  And father and son laughed merrily, it must be admitted, like people who are happy to find their apprehensions unfounded. The mother’s fears, however, were not so quickly allayed; she did not join the laughter; but both the boys, the girl and even Jocelyn himself, all cried out joyously:

  “A peddler! A peddler!”

  “He has pretty ribbons and fine needles.”

  “Iron for arrows, strings for bows, scissors to clip the sheep.”

  “Nets for fishing, seeing that he comes to the seashore.”

  “He will tell us the news of outlying places.”

  “But where is he? Where is the good peddler that Hesus sends to us to help enliven this long winter’s night?”

  “What a happiness to be able to see all his merchandise at one’s ease!”

  “But where is he? Where is he?”

  “He is shaking off the ice that his clothes are frozen stiff with.”

  “Good mother, now see the misfortune that threatened us because I wished to see a Korrigan!”

  “Be still, son! To-morrow rests with God!”

  “Here is the peddler! Here he is!”

  CHAPTER III.

  HEVIN THE PEDDLER.

  THE MAN WHO stepped into the house gave at the threshold a last shake to his traveling boots, which were so covered with snow that he seemed to be clad in white hose. He was of a robust frame, but squat and square, in the full strength of manhood, jovial and of an open yet determined face. Still uneasy, Madalen did not take her eyes from him, and twice she made a sign to her son to return to her side. Removing the hood from his thick, ice-pearled coat, the peddler laid down his bulky bale, a heavy burden that, however, seemed light to his sturdy shoulders. He then removed his cap and stepped towards Araim, the oldest member of the household:

  “Long life and happy days to hospitable people! This is Hevin the Peddler’s wish to yourself and your family. I am a Breton. I was going to Falgoët, when the night and the tempest overtook me on the beach. I saw the light of this house from a distance; I came, I called, and the door was opened to me. Thanks to you all, thanks to hospitable people!”

  “Madalen, what gives you that absent and pensive look? Do not the peddler’s pleasant face and kind words set you at ease?”

  “Father, to-morrow rests with God — I feel all the more uneasy since the stranger’s arrival.”

  “Speak lower, lower still, dear daughter. The poor fellow might overhear you and be grieved. Oh! these mothers! these mothers!”

  And addressing the stranger:

  “Draw near the fire, you sturdy peddler. The night is rough. Karadeucq, while we wait for supper, fetch a pot of hydromel for our guest.”

  “I accept, good old man! The fire will warm me from without, the hydromel from within.”

  “You seem to be a gay stroller.”

  “So I am. Joy is my companion; however long or rough my road may be, joy never tires of following me.”

  “Here — drink—”

  “Your health, good mother and sweet
girl; to the health of you all—”

  And clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth: “This is the best hydromel I ever tasted. A cordial hospitality renders the best of potions still better.”

  “Do you come from afar, gay stroller?”

  “Do you mean since I started this morning or since the beginning of my journey?”

  “Yes, since the beginning of your journey.”

  “It is now two months since I departed from Paris.”

  “From the city of Paris?”

  “Does that surprise you, good old man?”

  “What! Cross half Gaul in such times as these, when the cursed Franks overrun the country?”

  “I am an old roadster. For the last twenty years I have crossed Gaul from end to end. Is the main road hazardous, I take the by-path. Is the plain risky, I go over the mountain. Is it dangerous to travel by day, I journey by night.”

  “And have you not been rifled a hundred times by those thievish Franks?”

  “I am an old roadster, I tell you. Accordingly, before entering Britanny, I bravely donned a priest’s robe, and painted on my pack a big cross with flames red as hell-fire. The Frankish thieves are as stupid as they are savage; they fear the devil, whom the bishops frighten them with in order to share with them the spoils of Gaul. They would not dare to attack me, taking me for a priest.”

  “Come, supper is ready — to table,” said old Araim; and addressing his son’s wife, who continued to give signs of preoccupation, he said to her in a low voice:

  “What is the matter, Madalen? Are you still thinking of the Korrigans?”

  “This stranger who disguises himself in the robe of a priest without being one will bring misfortune over our house. The tempest’s fury seems to have redoubled since he came in.”

  It is an impossible thing to allay a mother’s apprehensions once they are aroused.

  The family and the guest sat down to table, ate and drank. The peddler drank and ate like a man to whom the road imparts a good appetite. The jaws did their ample duty; teeth and tongues played their parts well; the family was in good spirits. It is not every long winter’s night that one has a peddler from Paris in his company.

  “And what is going on in Paris, brave roadster?”

  “The most satisfactory thing that I have seen in the city was the burying of the King of the cursed Franks!”

  “Ah! Is their King dead?”

  “He died more than two months ago — on the 25th of November of last year, of the year 512 of the ‘Incarnation of the Word,’ as the bishops say who blessed and gave sepulchre to the crowned murderer in the basilica of the Holy Apostles at Paris.”

  “Ah! He is dead, that Frankish King! And what was his name?”

  “He had a devil of a name, Hlode-Wig.”

  “It must choke one to pronounce it—”

  “Hlode-Wig was his name. His wife, whom they call the Queen, is no less happily endowed — her name is Chrotechild — and her four children are named Chlotachaire, Theudeber—”

  “Enough! Friend peddler! A truce of those savage names! Those who wear them are worthy of them.”

  “Right you are, as you may judge by the deceased Hlode-Wig, or Clovis, as he is popularly pronounced; and his family bids fair to surpass even him. Imagine gathered in that monster, whom St. Remi baptised a son of the Church — imagine gathered in that one monster the cunning of the fox and the cowardly ferocity of the wolf. To enumerate to you the murders that he committed with his dagger or his axe would take too long. I shall only mention some of the leading ones. An old Frankish chief, a hunchback named Sigebert, was King of Cologne. This is the way these bandits become Kings: they pillage and ravage a province at the head of a band, massacre or sell like so many heads of cattle men, women and children, reduce the rest of the inhabitants to slavery, and then they say: ‘Here we are Kings’; the bishops echo back: ‘Yes, our friends the Franks are Kings here; we shall baptize them into the Church; and you, people of Gaul, obey them or we will damn you!”

  “And has there never been found any courageous man to plant a dagger in the heart of such a King?”

  “Karadeucq, my pet, do not heat yourself in that manner. Thanks to God, that Clovis is dead. That is, at any rate, one less. Proceed, good peddler!”

  “Well, as I was saying, Sigebert the hunchback was King of Cologne. He had a son. Clovis said to him: ‘Your father is old — kill him and you will inherit his power.’ The son sympathized with the idea and killed his father. And what does Clovis do but kill the parricide and appropriate the kingdom of Cologne!”

  “You shudder, my children! I can well imagine it. Such are the new Kings of Gaul!”

  “What, you shudder, my hosts, at so little? Only wait. Shortly after that murder, Clovis strangled with his own hands two of his near relatives, father and son, named Chararic, and plundered them of what they themselves had plundered Gaul of. But here is a still worse incident: Clovis was at war with another bandit of his own royal family named Ragnacaire. He ordered a set of necklaces and baldrics to be made of imitation gold, and sent them through one of his familiars to the leudes who accompanied Ragnacaire with the message that, in exchange for the present, they deliver to him their chief and his son. The bargain was struck, and the two Ragnacaires were delivered to Clovis. This great King thereupon struck them both down with his axe like oxen in the slaughter house; he thus at one stroke committed two crimes — cheated the leudes of Ragnacaire and murdered their chiefs.”

  “And yet the Catholic bishops preach to the people submission to such monsters?”

  “Certes, seeing that the crimes committed by these monsters are the source of the Church’s wealth. You can figure it out for yourself, good old man, the murders, fratricides, parricides and acts of incest committed by the great Frankish seigneurs yield more gold sous to the fat and do-nothing bishops than all the lands, that your hard and daily toil fructifies, yield deniers to you. But listen to another of Clovis’ prowesses. In the course of time he had either himself despatched or ordered others to massacre all his relatives. One day he gathers around him his forces and says with a moan:

  “ ‘Woe is me! I am now left all alone, like a traveler among strangers; I have no relatives left to help me in case adversity overtake me.’”

  “Well, so at last he repented his many crimes — it is the least of the punishments that await him.”

  “He repent? Clovis? He would have been a big fool if he had, good old man! Do you forget that the priests relieve him of the burden of remorse in consideration of good round pounds of gold or silver?”

  “And why, then, did he use those terms; why did he say: ‘Woe is me! I am now left all alone, like a traveler among strangers; I have no relatives left to help me in case adversity overtake me?’”

  “Why? Another trick of his. No, in the language of a bishop himself who chronicled the life of Clovis, it was not that Clovis grieved over the death of all the relatives whom he had caused to be put to death; no, it was a ruse on his part when he held that language, malefactor that he was; he only wished thereby to ascertain whether there was any relative left, and then to kill him.”

  “And yet was there not a single man resolute enough to plant a dagger in the monster’s breast?”

  “Keep quiet, bad boy! This is the second time that you have given vent to those sentiments of murder and vengeance! You only do so to frighten me!”

  “Dear wife, our son Karadeucq is indignant, like anyone else, at the crimes of that Frankish King. By my father’s bones! I who am not of an adventurous disposition, I say myself — it is a shame to Gaul that such a monster should have reigned fourteen years over our country — Britanny fortunately excepted.”

  “And I, who in my trade of peddler have crossed Gaul from end to end, and seen the country’s wretchedness and the bloody slavery that oppresses it, I say that the people’s hatred should fall as heavily upon the bishops! Was it not they who called the Franks into Gaul? Was it not they who bapti
sed the murderer a son of the Roman Church? Did they not propose to canonize the monster with the title of ‘Saint Clovis?’”

  “God in heaven! Is it craziness or cowardly terror on the part of those priests?”

  “It is unbridled ambition and inveterate cupidity, good old man. At first, allied to the Roman emperors from the time that Gaul became again a Roman province, the bishops succeeded by underhanded means to secure large endowments for themselves and their churches and to occupy the leading magistracies in the cities. That did not satisfy them; they counted upon being better able to dominate the barbarous Franks than the civilized Romans. They betrayed the Romans to the Franks. The latter came; Gaul was ravaged, pillaged and subjugated, and the bishops shared the plunder with the conquerors whom they speedily placed under their thumb through the fear of the devil. And so it happens that these sanctimonious men have become richer and more powerful under the Frankish than under the Roman rule. Now old Gaul has become their quarry jointly with the barbarians; they now possess vast domains, all manner of wealth, innumerable slaves — slaves that are so well chosen, trained and docile to the whip that an ‘ecclesiastical slave’ generally fetches twenty gold sous in the market, while other slaves fetch only twelve sous. Would you form an idea of the wealth of the bishops? This identical St. Remi, who baptised Clovis in the basilica of Reims, and thus approved him a worthy son of the holy Roman Church, was so fatly remunerated that he was able to pay five thousand pounds of silver by the weight for the domain of Epernay.”

  “Oh! Thus to traffic in the blood of Gaul! It is horrible! It is shocking!”

  “Oh! That is still nothing, good father. Had you traveled as I have done over regions that were once so flourishing, and seen them now, ravaged and burned down by the Franks! Had you seen the bands of men, women and children, bound two by two, marching among the cattle and wagons heaped with booty of all sorts, that the barbarians drove before them after they conquered the country of Amiens, which I then happened to cross — had you seen that, you would have felt your heart bleed as mine did.”

  “And where did they take those men, women and children whom they carried away as slaves?”