by Eugène Sue
Aye, slavery thus rendered the rich Gaul, who was ever accustomed to comforts, the brother in misery and sorrow of the poor Gaul who previously knew what arduous work was. Aye, the woman of white hands and delicate complexion was thrown together with the woman whose hands toil had roughened and whose complexion the sun had tanned — both were rendered by slavery sisters in dishonor and shame, and were cast weeping, or, if they resisted, bleeding into the bed of the Frankish seigneur, whom, on the Sunday following a Gallic priest would regularly give remission for his sins!
Oh, our fathers! Oh, our mothers! By all the sorrows that you underwent! Oh, our brothers and our sisters, by all the sorrows that you now undergo! Oh, our sons! Oh, our daughters! By the dregs of the cup of humiliation and disgrace that you are made to drain! Oh, you all, by the tears that drop from your eyes, by the laceration of your bodies — you will be avenged! You will be avenged upon these abhorred Franks!
But let us step into the burg of the seigneur. By the faith of a Vagre! By the sweat and the blood of our fathers that have moistened and crimsoned every beam, every stone of this structure — it is a comfortable, spacious and handsome building, this burg of the seigneur count! Twelve well rounded oaken beams support the portico; it leads directly into the mahl, as these barbarous chiefs style the tribunal where they dispense their seigniorial justice — a vast, spacious hall, in the rear of which, and raised on a platform, is the seat of the count, and the benches of the leudes who assist him in the ceremony. There he holds his mahl and judges the crimes committed on his domains. In a corner of the room a stove, a rack and pincers are seen — no justice without torture and execution. In yonder opposite corner and even with the floor is a wide tank full of water and deep enough for a man to drown in. Near the tank lie nine plow-shares. These are all instruments for judicial trials; they are prescribed by the Salic Law, the law of the Franks, to which Gaul is now subject, seeing the land is in the power of Frankish conquerors.
And yonder door, made of solid oak, thick as a hand’s palm, and covered with sheets of iron and enormous nails — that door is the door of the chamber in which the treasures of the noble seigneur are kept. Only he keeps the key. In that apartment are the large boxes, likewise ribbed with iron, where he locks up his gold and silver sous, his precious stones, his costly vases, both sacred and profane, his necklaces, his bracelets, his gold-hilted parade sword, his handsome bridle with its silver bit and his elaborately silver-ornamented saddle with stirrups of the same metal — all stolen from this noble land of Gaul.
Let us enter the banquet hall. It is night. By my faith! Those are curious candelabras. They are made of flesh and bone. Ten slaves — all burnt by the sun, worn and barely clad in rags — are ranked five on one side, five on the other of the table. They stand motionless as statues and hold aloft large flaming torches of wax that barely serve to light the place. A double row of rounded oak trunks, a sort of rustic colonnade, divides the spacious hall into three compartments along its full length, reaching at one end the door of the mahl, and at the other to the count’s chamber, which, in turn communicates with the apartments of Godegisele and her women.
Between the two rows of pillars stands the table of the count and of the leudes, his peers. To the right and left, and on the other sides of the two rows of pillars, stand two other tables — one is reserved for the warriors of inferior rank, the other for the principal servants of the count: his seneschal, his equerry, his chamberlains, seeing that the seigneurs imitate closely the customs and style of the royal courts. In the four corners of the hall, the floor of which is, obedient to custom, strewn with green leaves in summer, and straw in winter, stand four large barrels, two of hydromel, one of beer, and one of herbed wine, Auvergne wine mixed with spices and absinthe — a beverage pressed by the slaves of the burg. Along the wainscoting hang the count’s hunting trophies, together with his arms of war and the chase — heads of stags, does and wild goats, all garnished with their horns; wild boars’ and wolves’ heads with their fangs exposed. The flesh and skin have been removed from these trophies; nothing remains but the whitened bones. Boar-spears, pikes, hunting-knives and horns, fishing-nets, falcon coifs, implements of war, lances, francisques or double edged axes, swords, bucklers and shields painted in garish colors — all these are ranged along the walls. On the table lie spread sheep and wild boars roasted whole, mountains of ham and smoked venison, avalanches of cabbage in vinegar, the latter being a favorite dish with the Franks; chunks of beef, mutton and veal of the cattle fattened in the count’s yards; small game, poultry, carps and pikes, the latter of which are of extraordinary size; vegetables, fruit and cheese raised and prepared on the fertile fields and farms of Auvergne; bowls and amphoras, incessantly replenished by butlers who run from the tables to the barrels and back again, are as speedily emptied by the Franks with the aid of wild bulls’ horns that serve as their usual goblets. The horn used by Neroweg must have belonged to an animal of monstrous size. It is black and hooped from top to bottom in gold and silver. From time to time the seigneur makes a sign, whereupon several slaves standing at one end of the hall with drums and hunting horns, strike up an infernal music, which, however, is less discordant and deafening than the cries and laughter of the blockish Teutons, gorged gluttons, most of whom are at an advanced state of intoxication.
Who produced these wines, these mountains of venison, of fish, of beef, of pork, of mutton, of game, of poultry, of vegetables and fruit? Gaul! The country that is cultivated and rendered fruitful by a population of starvelings, whose representatives, wan with hunger and privation in the midst of such plenty, officiate as living torches to light the banquet. That heap of good things is produced by men and women who, huddled in mud and straw huts, are, at that very moment, and in utter exhaustion, partaking of a tasteless pittance.
Behold the Franks, gorged with food and wine; obscene jokes and challenges to drink and drink still more are bandied backward and forward; the hall is a roar of boisterous laughter; beyond all others the seigneur count is hilarious. At his side sits his clerk, who serves as his secretary and officiates in the oratory of the burg. According to the newly introduced custom that the Church authorized, the Frankish seigneurs are allowed to keep a priest and chapel in their houses. The clerk has been assigned to Neroweg by Cautin. When making the assignment, the wily prelate said to the stupid barbarian: “This clerk can neither grant you remission for the sins that you may commit, nor can he snatch you from the claws of Satan; only I have that power; but the constant presence of a priest at your side will render the attempts of the demon more difficult; that will afford you time, in urgent cases, to wait for my arrival without danger of your being carried off to hell.”
The boisterous mirthfulness of the leudes is at its height. Neroweg wishes to speak. Three times he strikes on the table with the handle of his scramasax, the name given by the barbarians to the knife used at table, and habitually worn at the warrior’s belt. Silence, or some degree of silence ensues. The count is to speak. With both his elbows leaning upon the table, he strokes and restrokes his long, reddish, greasy and wine-soaked moustache between his thumb and index. The posture and gesture always announces with him some scheme of vicious cruelty. The leudes are aware of this and greet his words in advance with gross and confident laughter. Without saying a word, Neroweg points out to his peers one of the slaves who, motionless, has been holding up a torch at the banquet. The fellow is a poor old man, wrinkled and haggard; his hair and beard are white and long; for only clothing he wears a tattered blouse and hose which expose his skin, yellow and tanned like parchment; his hose do not reach his bony knees; his bare and lank legs, scarred by the brambles among which he is forced to work, seem hardly able to support him. Compelled, like the rest of his torch-bearing companions, to hold up the light with outstretched arm, and the whip of the Frankish overseer being ever ready to enforce the order with merciless cruelty, he felt his lean arm grow numb, weaken and tremble despite all he could do to prevent it.
After pointing at the slave, Neroweg turned to his leudes with cruel hilarity and said:
“Hi — hi — hi — we shall now have a good laugh. You old toothless dog, why do you not hold the candle straight?”
“Seigneur, I am very old — my arm grows tired despite myself.”
“So, then, you are tired?”
“Alas! Yes, seigneur!”
“Yet you know that he who does not hold up his torch straight is regaled with fifty lashes!”
“Seigneur, my strength fails me!”
“Do you say so?”
“Yes, yes, seigneur — my fingers are numb — they can no longer hold the torch — it will soon fall down—”
“Poor old man — come, put out your torch.”
“Thanks, thanks, seigneur!”
“Wait a moment. What are you doing?”
“I am going to blow out the torch — as you ordered me—”
“Oh, I did not mean it in that way.”
And ever caressing his moustache, Neroweg cast ironical and cruel glances at his leudes.
“Seigneur, how will you have me extinguish my torch?”
“I wish you to put it out between your knees.”
The Frankish leudes received the comical idea of the count with loud applause and wild yells and laughter. The old Gaul trembled from head to foot, looked imploringly at Neroweg, lowered his head and murmured:
“Seigneur, my knees are bare, the torch will burn me—”
“Ho! You old brute! Do you imagine I would order you to extinguish the torch between your knees if they were covered with oxhide or jambards of iron?”
“Seigneur, good seigneur, it will smart me terribly; for pity’s sake, do not impose such a torment upon me.”
“Bother! Your knees are bones!”
The bright sally on the part of the count redoubled the laughter and hilarity of the leudes.
“It is true I am only skin and bones,” answered the old man seeking to soften his master’s heart; “I am quite weak — please spare me the pain, my good seigneur.”
“Listen — if you do not on the spot extinguish your torch between your knees, I shall have my men seize you and extinguish the torch in your throat — take your choice, quickly!”
A fresh explosion of hilarity proved to the old Gaul that he had no mercy to expect from the Franks. He looked down weeping upon his frail and tremulous legs, and yielding to one last ray of hope he addressed the clerk in suppliant accents:
“My good father in God — in the name of charity — do intercede in my behalf with my good seigneur count!”
“Seigneur, I ask grace for the poor old man.”
“Clerk! Does the slave belong to me — yes or not? Am I his master — yes or not?”
“He belongs to you, noble seigneur.”
“Can I dispose of my slave at my pleasure, and chastise him as I may choose?”
“My noble seigneur, it is your right.”
“Very well, then! I want him to extinguish the torch between his knees; if not, by the great St. Martin! I shall extinguish it myself in his throat!”
“Oh, my good father in God — do intercede again for me! I beg you!”
“My good son,” said the clerk with unction to the slave, “we must accept with resignation the trials that heaven sends us.”
“Will you have done!” cried the count again smiting the table with the handle of his scramasax. “We have had words enough — take your choice — either your knees or your throat for an extinguisher! Do you hesitate—”
“No, no, seigneur, I obey—”
And it was a very comical scene for the Franks. By the faith of a Vagre, there was truly cause for laughter. With tears rolling down his cheeks, the poor old Gaul first approached the burning torch to his trembling knees; the instant the flame touched him he quickly withdrew it again. But the count, who, with both his hands upon his paunch swollen with food and drink, was roaring with laughter and, like the rest of the leudes, shook with mirth, again smote the table violently with the handle of his scramasax. The slave understood the signal. With trembling hands he again drew the torch close to his icy knees, and assayed to put a quick end to the torture; he parted his legs a little and then brought them twice quickly and convulsively together so as to extinguish the flame between his knees. He succeeded in this, but not without emitting a piercing cry of pain; such was the pang he suffered that the old man fell over upon his back and lay on the floor deprived of consciousness.
“I smell grilled dog!” said the count dilating his nostrils like a beast of prey. The odor of burnt human flesh doubtlessly acted as an appetizer upon him, and he cried as if struck by a new idea: “My valiant leudes, the burg’s prison is well stocked, I know. We have in the ergastula, loaded with chains, first of all, Ronan the Vagre and the hermit-laborer; they are now both nearly healed of their wounds; then we have the little blonde slave, she is not yet well, she still seems to be at death’s door; besides that, we have the handsome bishopess — she is not wounded but is possessed of the devil—”.
“But, count,” spoke up one of the leudes, “what do you propose to do with those cursed Vagres, the little Vagress and the handsome witch whom we brought prisoners with us from the combat at the fastnesses of Allange? What manner of torture will you inflict upon them?”
“Oh! how I regret that they have not a thousand members to burn and hack to pieces in order to expiate the death of our companions in arms whom they killed in the fastness!”
“Will you have them tried here, count?”
“No — no — they shall be tried at Clermont. Bishop Cautin insists upon his jurisdiction over them. Oh! By the Terrible Eagle, my ancestor who skinned his prisoners alive, the Vagre, the hermit-laborer and the witch shall be submitted to frightful tortures. But they do not concern us this evening. When I mentioned to you the prisoners in the ergastula, my good leudes, what I meant to say was that we have there one of my domestic slaves who is charged with larceny by the cook slave. The latter asserts, the former denies the theft. Which of the two lies? In order to ascertain the truth, let us put the two cubs to the cold water and hot iron trials, according to the law of our Salic Franks.”
CHAPTER II.
THE MAHL.
THE TRIBUNAL ASSEMBLES. The count presides over the mahl on his seat; seven leudes, ranked on benches on either side, assist him. The torch-bearing slaves stand behind the judges. The judgment seat is well lighted, while the rear of the hall, where the other leudes and warriors of the burg are grouped, remains in semi-obscurity, brightened, however, from time to time by the reflexion of the fire in the large stove which the blacksmith of the stables has lighted and blows into flame. The nine plow-shares are being heated red in the stove. Before the stove, and even with the ground, is the wide and deep tank filled with water. The slave charged with larceny stands at the foot of the tribunal with his arms tied behind his back. He is a young man and looks frightened at the judges. The accuser, a man of ripe age, contemplates the tribunal confidently. Agreeable to the usage in such instances, six other slaves surround the two men. They are chosen by the accuser and the accused to affirm under oath what they believe to be the truth. They are called conjurators.
“To the trial! To the trial!” cries the count. “Mayor, inform the slave anew of the charge against him.”
“Justin, a cook-slave of our seigneur, the count, happened to be alone in the kitchen; on the kitchen table lay a small silver dish used by dame Godegisele, the noble spouse of our master. Peter, this other slave, entered the kitchen bringing in some kindling wood. Immediately after his departure, Justin noticed that the silver dish had disappeared. He immediately announced the theft and accused Peter of having committed it. I told Justin that one of his ears would be cut off if the dish was not found. He answered me that he swore by the salvation of his soul that he told the truth and that the thief was this other slave.”
“And I repeat it again, seigneur count. If the dish was st
olen it could have been stolen only by Peter. I swear it upon my share of paradise. I am innocent. My conjurators are all ready to swear like myself upon the salvation of their souls.”
“Yes, yes,” answered the six slaves in chorus; “we swear that Justin is innocent of the theft — we swear upon the salvation of our souls, we swear upon our share of paradise.”
“Do you hear, dog?” said Neroweg turning towards Peter. “What have you to say? What became of the silver dish, a precious article that I brought from the pillage of the town of Issoire? Will you answer, dog?”
“Seigneur, I did not steal the dish, I did not even see it on the table — my conjurators are ready to swear to it, like myself, upon my salvation — upon my share of paradise—”
“Yes, yes,” put in the six in their turn, the conjurators of the accused slave. “Peter is innocent; we swear upon our salvation.”
“My dear brother in Christ,” said the clerk to the accused slave, “think of it. It is a grave sin, theft is, and falsehood is another grave sin. Take care — the Almighty sees and hears you — His hand lies heavy upon thieves and liars—”
“My good father, I stand in great fear of the Almighty; I follow His commandments as you teach them to us; I support my trials with resignation; I obey my master, the seigneur count, with the submission that you order us to the end that we may gain paradise; but I swear I did not steal the dish.”
“Seigneur count,” said Justin, “I swear by the eternal flames that I did not steal the dish, and only Peter can be the thief — I am innocent.”
“Justin affirms and Peter denies; now I, Neroweg, order that, in order to ascertain the truth, they be both put to the trial — one to the trial of cold water, the other to the trial of burning irons—”
“Seigneur count,” broke in the clerk, “you order that both the accuser and the accused be subjected to trial. But should the judgment of the Almighty prove that the accused is guilty, is not the accuser thereby declared innocent? Why should both be put to the trial at the same time?”
