by Eugène Sue
“You lie, count! It is to the bishops that your King owed his conquest; it was they who ordered the people to submit to Clovis; without them, your great King would have remained only a chief of brigands. Never forget that, barbarian! You may now proceed with what you had to say, and speak respectfully.”
“When Theodorik lived, the son of Clovis who had Auvergne as one of his kingdoms, he allotted to me vast domains in this region — lands, people, cattle and houses, and he sent me here as his representative. He made me what is called ‘graf’ of this country, and what we Franks call ‘count’; and he authorized me to preside together with the chief bishop of the city and the magistrates of the city of Clermont.”
“What are you driving at with that long digression?”
“I wish to prove, first of all, that King Clovis committed many more crimes than I did, and that his crimes did not prevent him from entering paradise, as the bishops themselves declare.”
“True enough, brute that you are! But you seem to forget what that paradise cost him. St. Remi, who baptized him, was so richly endowed by him that the holy prelate was able to buy an estate in Champagne that cost him five thousand pounds of silver by weight.”
“I then meant to say that if you are bishop, I am count of the conquered country, and I can force you to give me absolution!”
“Ah! You blaspheme!” and the bishop struck under the table with his foot. “Ah! You dare to defy the anger of the Lord! You — soiled with execrable crimes!”
“Well! Yes! Is it perchance an unpardonable crime to kill a brother? I confess that I murdered my brother Ursio! Give me absolution!”
“You seem to forget the murder of your concubine Isanie, and of your fourth wife Wisigarde, whom you married when two previous ones were still alive, and you then took a fifth wife, Godegisele—”
“And did you not give me absolution for all those sins? By the faith of the Terrible Eagle, my glorious ancestor! It cost me five hundred acres of the best stretches of my forest, thirty-eight gold sous, twenty slaves, together with the superb cloak of Northern marten skin in which you strutted about last winter, and which King Clovis presented to my father!”
“You have been absolved of those first crimes — as to them you are as white as the pascal lamb, but for the fresh crime of your brother’s murder.”
“I did not kill Ursio out of hatred, I only killed him for his part of our inheritance.”
“And what else should you have killed your brother for, beast? To eat him up?”
“Did not the great Clovis also kill all his relatives for their heritage, and yet you declare that he entered paradise. I also wish to go there, and I have killed fewer people. If you do not promise paradise to me on the spot and without any further payments, if you refuse to give me absolution, I shall have you torn into pieces by four horses, or hacked to pieces by my leudes.”
“And I tell you that if you do not expiate your fratricide by a gift to the Church, you shall go to hell, like a new Cain who killed his brother.”
“What you are after is my hundred acres of meadow land, my twenty gold sous, and my pretty little blonde slave.”
“What I am after is the salvation of your soul, unhappy man! What I aim at is to save you the torments of hell, the very thought of which should make you shudder with terror.”
“You are always talking of hell. Where is hell?”
Bishop Cautin again struck the floor with his feet under the table.
“Count, do you smell that odor of sulphur?”
“I do feel a pungent odor.”
“Do you see the smoke that is coming up from between those stone slabs?”
“Whence does that smoke proceed?” cried Neroweg affrighted, rising from the table and jumping back from a near place where a thick black vapor was curling upward. “Bishop, what magic is this? Come to my help!”
“Oh, Lord God! You have heard the voice of your unworthy servant!” said Cautin clasping his hands and falling upon his knees. “You wish to manifest yourself to this barbarian!” And turning his head toward Neroweg: “You asked where hell was? Look at your feet — see the abyss — see that sea of flames, all ready to engulf you!”
As the bishop spoke, one of the mosaic slabs sank below the floor, drawn down by an artful contrivance of ropes and weights; a large gap was thus left open, and out of it a whirl of flames leaped up, spreading a suffocating odor of sulphur.
“The earth is opening!” cried the terrorized Frank. “Fire! Fire! My feet burn! Help! Help!”
“It is the everlasting fire,” said the bishop rising and striking a threatening attitude, while the count, dropping on both his knees, hid his face in his hands. “Ah! You asked me where hell was, impious, blaspheming brute!”
“Father! Good father — have pity upon me!”
“Do you hear those underground cries? It is the devils; they are coming for you. Listen! Do you hear them cry: ‘Neroweg! Neroweg! The fratricide! Come to us! Cain, you are ours!’”
“Oh! Those cries are frightful. Good father in Christ, pray to the Lord that he forgive me!”
“Ah! Now you are on your knees, pale and distracted, with hands clasped, your eyes closed with terror! Will you still ask where is hell?”
“No! No! Holy bishop! Holy Bishop Cautin! Absolve me of the death of my brother; you shall have the meadow lands, the twenty gold pieces—”
“And the pretty blonde slave?”
“Oh! You want my pretty blonde slave also?”
“I have a donation deed ready made out. You shall order one of your leudes to come in and sign the parchment as your witness — yonder hermit shall be my witness, and you will sign the document in their presence. The donation will then be in order and binding.”
“I consent to everything — have pity upon me. Order the devils back. Order them back! Oh! good father, order them away! Keep them from dragging me to hell!”
“They will certainly drag you thither if you fail in your promise.”
“I shall keep all my promises.”
“Seeing that you are no longer in doubt of the power of the Lord,” the bishop proceeded to say while he again stamped on the floor with his foot, “you may rise, count, open your eyes, the abyss of hell is closed again”; the slab had in the meantime been raised and adjusted in its former place. “Hermit, bring the parchment to me and writing materials. You shall be my witness.”
“I decline, seigneur bishop, to aid in the accomplishment of such a sacrilegious knavery,” the hermit-laborer answered in Latin, “but if I reveal your trick to that barbarian he will put you to death! I shall not be the means of your death. God will one day judge you! In the meantime I shall raise my voice against your unworthy comedies.”
“What! Would you be capable of abusing your influence over the masses in order to incite them to a rebellion in my diocese? Is it a declaration of war that you make to me? Do you not know that the officers of the Church must stand by one another? Or is it some favor that you mean to draw from me through intimidation? Answer!”
“To-morrow, before proceeding upon my journey, I shall tell you what I demand of you—”
Cautin, who stood in awe of the hermit, rang a bell while the count, who remained upon his knees, still trembled at every limb, and mopped the cold sweat that inundated his forehead. At the bishop’s call, the confidential servant appeared. The holy man said to him in Latin:
“The hell was very satisfactory. Have the fires put out!”
And he added in the Frankish tongue:
“Order one of the count’s leudes, one who can write, to step in. You shall come back with him; I shall need your services.”
The servant left, and the bishop addressed the kneeling Frank:
“You have believed, you repent — you may now rise!”
“My good father, I am afraid of returning to my burg to-night. The devils might come for me on the road and take me to hell. I am terror-stricken. Keep me in your house to-night!”
“Y
ou shall be my guest until to-morrow. But I want the pretty blonde slave to be delivered to me this very evening. I promised her to my bishopess, who was once my wife according to the flesh, and is to-day my sister in God. She needs a young girl for her service — and I promised her that one. The sooner she has her, all the better pleased will she be.”
“And so, bishop,” said the count scratching himself behind his ear, “you must have that blonde slave?”
“Will you dare to break your engagement?”
“Oh, no! No, father! One of my leudes shall take horse, ride to my burg, and bring the slave to you on the crupper.”
The deed of the donation was signed and duly witnessed by the bishop’s servant and one of the count’s leudes. It provided that Neroweg, count of the King of Auvergne and the city of Clermont, donated to the Church, represented by Cautin, and in remission of his sins, a hundred acres of meadow land, twenty gold sous, and a spinner female slave, fifteen years old, named Odille. After the ceremony of signing was concluded the bishop gave the Frankish count absolution for the murder of his brother and offered him three full cups of wine to comfort him.
“Sigefrid,” said the count to his leude, smothering a last sigh of regret, “be a good friend to me; ride to my burg; take Odille the spinner girl on the crupper of your horse and bring her here.”
CHAPTER III.
AT THE CHAPEL OF ST. LOUP.
THE VAGRES ARRIVED near the episcopal villa.
“Ronan, the gates are solid, the windows high, the walls thick — how shall we penetrate into the place and reach the bishop?” asked the Master of the Hounds. “You promised to lead us to the very heart of the house. As for me, I’m off to the heart of the bishopess.”
“Brothers, do you see yonder, at the foot of the hill, that little structure surrounded by pillars?”
“We see it — the night is clear!”
“That building was formerly a warm water bath. The warm spring lay in the mountain. The bath is reached from the villa by a long underground gallery. The bishop had the stream turned away, and transformed the former bath into a chapel that he consecrated to St. Loup. Now, then, my sturdy Vagres, we will penetrate to the very heart of the episcopal villa by that underground gallery, without need of boring holes through walls or breaking doors or windows. If I promised, did I keep?”
“As always, Ronan! You promised and kept!”
The troop entered the former warm water bath, now chapel of St. Loup. It was dark as a pocket. A voice was heard saying:
“Is that you, Ronan?”
“I and mine. Lead, Simon, you good servant of the episcopal villa! Lead on, we follow.”
“We shall have to wait.”
“Why delay?”
“Count Neroweg is still with the bishop, with his leudes.”
“All the better! We shall capture a fox and a wild-boar at once! A superb hunt!”
“The count has with him twenty-four well armed leudes.”
“We are thirty! That is fifteen Vagres more than enough for such a raid. Lead on, Simon, we follow.”
“The passage is not yet free.”
“Why is not the passage free that leads underground into the banquet hall?”
“The bishop prepared a miracle for this evening, in order to frighten the Frankish count with hell. Two clerks carried into the apartment under the banquet hall large bales of hay, bundles of fagots and boxes of sulphur. They are to set them on fire and yell like devils possessed; then one of the mosaic slabs of the flooring in the hall will sink down; it drops by means of the same contrivance that used to remove it in order to descend to this gallery for the warm baths.”
“And the stupid Frank, imagining he sees one of the mouths of hell yawning wide, will make some generous donation to the holy man—”
“You guessed it, Ronan. So, then, we shall have to wait until the miracle is over. When the count is gone and the villa slumbering you and your men can come in safely.”
“The bishopess for me!”
“To us the iron money-chest, the gold and silver vases! To us the bishop’s full money-bags — and then we shall scatter alms among the poor who have not a denier!”
“To us,” cried another set, “the full wine pouches and bags of grain — to us the hams and smoked meats! Alms, alms to the poor who hunger!”
“To all of us the wardrobes, the fine clothes, the warm robes — and then alms, alms to the poor who suffer with cold!”
“And then, fire to the episcopal villa — and to the sack!”
“Freedom to the slaves!”
“We shall take with us the young girls, who will follow us gladly!”
“Long live love and the Vagrery!” cried Ronan, saying which he struck up the song:
“My father was a Bagauder, and I a Vagre am; born under the green foliage as any bird in May.
“Where is my mother? I do not know, forsooth!
“A Vagre has no wife.
“The poniard in one hand, the torch held in the other, he moves from burg to burg and villas kept by bishops; he carries off the wives or concubines of bishops and of counts, and takes the belles along into the thickest of the woods!
“And first they weep and then they laugh. The jolly Vagre knows the art of love. In his strong arms the loving belles forget full soon the cacochymic bishop or the brutified duke!”
“Long live the Vagre’s love!”
“You are in rollicking mood—”
“Aye, Simon, we are about to put a bishop’s house to the sack!”
“You will be hanged, burned, quartered!”
“No more nor less so than Aman and Aëlian, our prophets, Bagauders in their days as we are Vagres in ours. For all that, the poor say: ‘Good Aëlian!’ ‘Good Aman!’ May they some day say: ‘Good Ronan!’ I would die happy, Simon!”
“Always living in the recesses of the woods—”
“Verdure is so cheerful!”
“At the bottom of caverns—”
“It is warm there in winter, cool in summer!”
“Always on the alert; always on the run over hill and valley; always wandering without hearth or home—”
“But always living free, old Simon. Yes, free! free! instead of leading a slave’s life under the whip of some Frankish master or some bishop! Join us, Simon!”
“I am too old for that!”
“Do you not hate your master, Bishop Cautin, and the whole seigniory?”
“One time I was young, rich and happy. The Franks invaded Touraine, my native country. They slew my wife after violating her; they dashed my little girl’s head against the wall; they pillaged my house; they sold me into slavery, and from master to master, I have finally fallen into the hands of Bishop Cautin. So you see, I have every reason to execrate the Franks; but worse than them, if possible, I execrate the Gallic bishops, who hold us Gauls in bondage, and sanctify the crime of our foreign oppressors. I would hang them all if I could!”
“Who goes there?” cried Ronan noticing a human form on the outside, creeping on its knees and approaching the door of the chapel in that posture. “Who goes there?”
“I, Felibien, ecclesiastical slave of our holy bishop.”
“Poor man! Why do you crawl on your knees in that style?”
“It is in obedience to a vow that I took. I come on my knees — over the stones of the road — to pray to St. Loup, the great St. Loup, to whom this chapel is dedicated. I come at night so that I may be back at dawn when I must start to work. My hut is far from here.”
“But why do you inflict such a punishment upon yourself, brother? Is it not hard enough to have to rise with the sun, and to lie down upon straw at night worn out with fatigue?”
“I come upon my knees to pray St. Loup, the great St. Loup, to request the Lord to grant a long and happy life to our seigneur, the bishop.”
“To pray for a long and happy life for your master is to pray for a lengthening of the whip of the superintendents who flay your back.”
> “Blessed be their blows! The more we suffer here below, all the happier will we be in paradise!”
“But the wheat that you sow is eaten by your bishop; the wine that you press is drunk by him; the cloth that you weave, clothes him — and you remain wan, hungry, in rags!”
“I would be willing to feed on the offal of swine, clothe myself in thorns that tear my skin to the veins — my happiness will be all the greater in paradise!”
“The Lord created the grain, the grapes, the honey, the fruits, the creamy milk, the soft fleece of the sheep — was all that done in order that any of His creatures should live on ordure and dress in thorns? Answer me, my poor brother.”
“You are an impious fellow!”
“Alas! Almost all the slaves are, like this unhappy fellow, steeped in the abjectest besotment — the evil spreads by the day — it is done for old Gaul—”
“If so, let us sing the refrain of the Vagres:
“The Franks call us ‘Wand’ring Men,’ ‘Wolves,’ ‘Wolves’ Heads’ — Let us live like wolves! Let us live in joy! In summer under the green foliage, in winter in caverns warm!”
“Come, Simon, the bishop’s miracle must be over by this time.”
“Yes — I shall precede you alone, a little way in this underground passage; should I see light I shall return and notify you.”
“But what about that slave, who is mumbling his prayers on his knees to the great St. Loup?”
“Lightning might strike at his very feet and he would not budge from the spot — he will go back as he came, on his knees. Follow me!”
And led by the ecclesiastical slave, the Vagres vanished in the subterranean passage which led from the former warm baths into the episcopal villa. As they proceeded in the dark, they sang in an undertone:
“The jolly Vagre has no wife. The poniard in one hand, the torch held in the other, he moves from burg to burg and villas kept by bishops; he carries off the wives and concubines of bishops and of counts, and takes the belles along into the thickest of the woods!”
CHAPTER IV.
THE DEMONS! THE DEMONS!
