by Eugène Sue
“‘We have learned that certain bishops wrongfully establish their own relatives or favorites as abbots in monasteries, and procure for them iniquitous advantages, in order to acquire through violence all that can be extracted from the monastery by the agent whom they have placed there.’”
The archdeacon bit his lips, and a volley of hisses drowned his voice as he attempted to make answer.
“That language, the language I have quoted to you as held by that council of 611, is the language of justice,” Loysik proceeded to say; “and I recognize in no council, in no prelate, in no King, in no Pope the right to dispossess honorable and industrious people of their goods, their lands and their freedom, all of which they hold by virtue of their natural rights, which are anterior and superior to all authority.”
“I say that your monastery is a new Babylon, a modern Gomorrah!” cried the archdeacon. “The Bishop of Chalon was so informed; I wished to convince myself by personal observation. I see women and young girls in this place which should be consecrated to austerity, to prayer and to seclusion. I see all the evidences of an unclean orgy, which was doubtlessly intended to be prolonged until morning — under your own eyes, in this monastery!”
“Enough!” cried Loysik in turn and indignantly. “I, as the head of this community, forbid you to soil the ears of these wives and young girls, who are here assembled with their families in order peacefully to celebrate the anniversary of our settlement upon this free soil!”
“Archdeacon, we have had a surfeit of words,” put in Gondowald haughtily. “To what purpose reason with these dogs — have you not my men here, ready to enforce obedience?”
“I wish to make one last effort to open the eyes of these unhappy blind people,” answered the archdeacon. “This unworthy Loysik keeps them under his infernal magic. All of you who hear my voice, tremble if you resist the orders of our bishop!”
“Salvien,” said Loysik, “these words are idle, your threats will be unavailing before our firm resolution to uphold the justice of our cause. We reject you as abbot of this monastery. These monk laborers and the inhabitants of this colony owe no one an account of their goods. This useless debate is wearisome; let us put an end to it. The door of this monastery is open to those who present themselves as friends, but it closes in the face of those who present themselves as enemies or masters, in the name of iniquitous pretensions. Withdraw from these premises!”
“Be gone, archdeacon of the devil!” yelled several voices. “Try not to disturb our celebration! You might be sorry for it!”
“Rebellion! Threats!” cried the archdeacon, and stepping aside to make room for the Frankish warriors to enter the courtyard, he added: “Gondowald, carry out the Queen’s orders!”
“But for your delays, her orders would long ago have been executed! Forward, my soldiers; bind the old monk, and exterminate the plebs if it offers resistance!”
“Forward, my boys! Down with these Franks, and long live old Gaul!”
Whose voice was that? It was the voice of old Ronan, close upon whose heels followed about thirty monk laborers and colonists, all picked men, resolute and strong, and fully armed with lances, axes and swords. These doughty men had noiselessly passed out of the precincts of the monastery through the yard of the stables and rounded the outside buildings till they reached a corner of the wall that surrounded the main building. There they halted, silent and in ambush, until the moment when Gondowald summoned his soldiers. Ronan’s men immediately and unexpectedly fell thereupon on the Franks. At the same moment and accompanied by an equally determined, strong and well armed body of men, Gregory was seen issuing from the interior buildings of the monastery, pushed his way through the crowd that now filled the courtyard and advanced in good order upon the enemy. The archdeacon, Gondowald and the twenty soldiers that constituted his escort, found themselves suddenly surrounded by over sixty determined men, in justice to whom be it said all of them were animated with evil intentions towards the Franks. The latter were not long in perceiving the hopelessness of their situation and the feelings entertained towards them. They offered no serious resistance; after a few passes they surrendered. Despite, however, the rapidity with which the manoeuvre was executed, Gondowald, who in his first impulse of surprise and rage had raised his sword over Loysik’s head and wounded one of the monks who covered the aged superior with his body — Gondowald, for all that he rejoiced in the office of chamberlain to the glorious Queen Brunhild, was thrown to the ground and soundly drubbed before his disarmed men. Thanks to Loysik’s intervention, no blood flowed in the rapid melee other than that of the monk who was slightly wounded by Gondowald. As a matter of precaution, the noble chamberlain was bound fast and handcuffed with the identical rope and manacles that, with a foresight for which old Ronan felt duly grateful, he had intended for Loysik.
“In the name of the Holy Roman and Apostolic Church, I excommunicate you all!” cried the archdeacon livid with rage. “Anathema upon whosoever should dare to lift a sacrilegious hand against a priest of the Church, an anointed of the Lord!”
“Tempt me not, archdeacon of Satan! By the faith of a Vagre, old as I am, I have a good mind to deserve your anathema by letting loose upon your sacred back a shower of blows with the scabbard of my sword.”
“Ronan, Ronan, no violence!” said Loysik. “These strangers came here as enemies; they were the first to shed blood; you have disarmed them; that was just—”
“And their arms will enrich our arsenal,” Ronan broke in saying. “Come, boys, gather in that goodly harvest of iron. By my faith, we shall now be armed like royal warriors!”
“Take those soldiers and their chief into one of the halls of the monastery,” Loysik ordered. “They are to be kept locked up; armed monks shall mount guard at the doors and windows. We shall later decide upon what is to be done.”
“To dare hold me a prisoner, me, an officer of Queen Brunhild’s household!” cried Gondowald grinding his teeth and struggling to free himself from his bonds. “Oh, you will pay dearly for such audacity, insolent monk! The Queen will take revenge for me upon your old hide!”
“Queen Brunhild has acted in defiance of law and justice by sending hither armed men to support with force the message of the Bishop of Chalon. She did wrong, even if his pretensions were as just as they are iniquitous,” Loysik answered Gondowald; and turning to his monks he proceeded: “Take away those men; above all guard against any injury being done to them; if they need food, let them be supplied. Let us prove ourselves merciful.”
The monks led away the Frankish soldiers and their chief, the latter of whom had to be carried in their arms, seeing that he wrathfully refused to walk. This being done, Loysik said to the archdeacon, who snarled out of breath with rage like a fox caught in a trap:
“Salvien, before aught else I must insure the safety and tranquility of this colony and community. I am, consequently, compelled to order you to remain a prisoner in this monastery. Fear not; you will be treated with consideration; your prison will be the precinct of the monastery. Within three or four days at the latest — when I shall be back here — you will be set free to return to Chalon.”
After the archdeacon was removed from their presence, Ronan said to Loysik:
“Brother, you spoke of your return; are you going away? Where to?”
“Yes; I depart this instant. I am going to Chalon, to speak with the bishop and the Queen.”
“What, Loysik!” cried Ronan with painful anxiety. “You leave us? You propose to face Brunhild? Do you forget that that name spells ‘Implacable Vengeance,’ Loysik? You would be running to your perdition! No — no! You shall not undertake such a journey!”
The monk laborers as well as the rest of the colonists shared the apprehensions of Ronan, and began to ply Loysik with tender and pressing entreaties, in order to draw him from his foolhardy project. The old monk was not to be moved. While one of the brothers who was to accompany him hastily made the preparations for the journey, he repaired to
his own cell in order to take the charter of King Clotaire, which he kept there. Ronan and his family followed Loysik, still seeking to dissuade him from his project. He answered them sadly:
“Our situation is beset with perils. Not the fate of the monastery alone but of the whole colony is at stake. You could easily prevail over a handful of soldiers; but we cannot think of resisting Brunhild by force. To attempt any such thing would be to invite the utter ruin of the Valley, the slaughter of its inhabitants and slavery for the survivors. Clotaire’s charter establishes our rights; but what is law or right to Brunhild?”
“But that being so, what do you purpose to do at Chalon, in the very den of the she-wolf?”
“To demand justice of her!”
“But you just said yourself ‘What is law or justice to Brunhild!’”
“She sports with justice as she does with the lives of her men; and yet I entertain some slight hope. I wish you to keep the archdeacon and his soldiers prisoners — first, because in their fury they certainly would have me waylaid and killed on the road; I cling to life in order to lead to a successful issue the business that I now have in hand; secondly, because, rather than have the archdeacon and the chamberlain precede me in making the report of to-night’s occurrence, I prefer myself to inform the bishop and Brunhild of the resistance that we offered.”
“But, brother, suppose justice is refused you; suppose the implacable Queen orders you to be slain — as she has done with so many other victims of her injustice!”
“In that event the iniquity will be accomplished. In that event, if their purpose is not only to subject your goods and persons to the tyranny and exactions of the Church, but also to despoil you forcibly of the soil and the liberty that you have reconquered and which a royal charter guarantees to you, in that event you will be forced to take a supreme resolution. Call together a solemn council, as our fathers of yore were in the habit of doing whenever the safety of the land was in peril. Let the mothers and wives take part in that council, as was the ancient custom of Gaul, because the fate of their husbands and children is to be determined upon. You will then with calmness, wisdom and firmness decide upon one of these three alternatives — the only ones, alas! left to you: Whether to submit to the pretensions of the Bishop of Chalon, and accept a disguised servitude that will soon transform our free Valley into a domain of the Church, to be exploited for his benefit; whether you will bow before the will of the Queen if she tramples your rights under foot, tears up the charter of Clotaire, and declares our Valley a domain of the royal fisc, which will mean to you spoliation, misery, slavery and shame; or, finally, whether, strong in your own right, but certain of being crushed by superior numbers, to make protest against the royal or episcopal iniquity by a heroic defense, and bury yourselves and your families under the ruins of your homes. You will have to decide upon one of these three measures.”
“All of us, without exception, men, women and children, will know how to fight and die like our ancestors, Loysik! And perhaps it may happen that the bloody lesson and example may shake the surrounding populations from their torpor. But, brother — brother — to think of your starting alone, and alone confronting a danger that I cannot share with you!”
“Come, Ronan, no weakness. See to it that all the fortified posts of the Valley be occupied as was done fifty years ago at the time of the invasion of Burgundy by Chram. The old military experience that you and the Master of the Hounds have acquired will now be of great service. For the rest, there will be no fear of any attack during the next four or five days. It will take me two days to reach Chalon, and an equally long time for the Queen’s troops to reach the Valley, in the event of her resolving upon violence. Until the moment of my arrival at Chalon, both the bishop and Brunhild will be in the dark as to whether their orders were enforced or not. They can receive no tidings seeing that the archdeacon and the chamberlain, together with their troops, remain prisoners in the Valley and under safe surveillance.”
“And in case of need they will serve as hostages.”
“It is the law of war. If the insane bishop, if the implacable Queen wish war, we must also keep as prisoners the two priests, the infamous hypocrites, who treacherously brought the archdeacon into the Valley.”
“I overheard the monks argue upon the lesson that they should administer to the two spies — they spoke of a strapping.”
“I expressly forbid any act of violence towards the two priests!” said Loysik in a tone of severe reproof, addressing two monk laborers who happened to be at the time in the cell. “Those clerks are but the creatures of the bishop; they merely obeyed his orders. I repeat it — no violence, my children!”
“Good father Loysik, seeing you so order it, no harm shall be done them.”
Heartrending was the leave-taking between Loysik and both the inhabitants of the colony and the members of the community. Many tears flowed; many childish hands clung to the monk’s robe. Vain were the recurring entreaties not to depart on his errand. He took his leave, accompanied as far as the punt by Ronan and his family. At the landing of the punt they found the Master of the Hounds and his posse ready posted to cut off the retreat of the Franks. As he took his post, the Master of the Hounds noticed on the other side of the river a number of slaves guarding the mounts of the warriors and the archdeacon’s baggage. The Master of the Hounds considered it prudent to seize both men and animals. Leaving one-half of his companions at the lodge, he crossed the river at the head of the rest. The slaves offered no resistance, and three trips sufficed to transport the men, the animals and the wagons to the opposite shore. Loysik approved the manoeuvre of the Master of the Hounds. Seeing that neither the archdeacon nor Gondowald returned, the slaves might have run back to Chalon and given the alarm. It was important to the project upon which the monk was bent that the recent occurrences at the monastery remained a secret. Considering his advanced age and the long road that he had to travel, Loysik decided to use the archdeacon’s mule for the journey. The animal was re-embarked on the punt, which Ronan and his son Gregory decided themselves to take to the other shore, so as to remain a few minutes longer with Loysik. The craft touched ground; the old monk laborer embraced Ronan and his son once more, mounted his mule, and, accompanied by a young brother of the community, who followed him on foot, took the road to Chalon-on-the-Saone, the residence of the redoubted Queen Brunhild.
PART II. THE CASTLE OF BRUNHILD
CHAPTER I.
IN THE TOWER-ROOM.
“LONG LIVE HE who loves the Franks! May Christ uphold their empire! May He enlighten their chiefs and fill them with grace! May He protect the army, may He fortify the faith, may He grant peace and happiness to those who govern them under the auspices of our Lord Jesus Christ!”
By the faith of a Vagre! That passage from the prelude to the Salic Law always recurs to the mind when Frankish kings or queens are on the tapis. Let us enter the lair of Brunhild — splendid lair! Not rustic is this burg, like Neroweg’s, the large burg that we old Vagres reduced to ashes! No; this great Queen has a refined taste. One of her passions is for architecture. The noble woman loves the ancient arts of Greece and Italy. Aye, she loves art! Regale your sight with the magnificent castle that she built at Chalon-on-the-Saone, the capital of Burgundy. Magnificent as are all her other castles, none, not even that of Bourcheresse, can compare with her royal residence, the superb gardens of which stretch to the very banks of the Saone. It is a palace at once gorgeous and martial. In these days of incessant feuds, kings and seigneurs always turn their homes into fortifications. So also did Brunhild. Her palace is girt by thick walls, flanked with massive towers. One only entrance — a vaulted passage closed at its two extremities by enormous iron-barred doors — leads within. Night and day Brunhild’s men-at-arms mount guard in the vault. In the inside courtyards are numerous other lodges for horsemen and footmen. The halls of the palace are vast; they are paved in marble or in mosaics, and are ornamented with colonnades of jasper, porphyry and alabas
ter surmounted with capitals of gilded bronze. These architectural wonders, masterpieces of art, the spoils of the temples and palaces of Gaul, were transported with the help of an immense number of relays of slaves and beasts of burden from their original and distant sites to the palace of the Queen. These vast and gorgeous halls, which are furthermore stored with massive ivory, gold and silver furniture, with exquisitely wrought pagan statues, with precious vases and tripods, are but vestibules to the private chamber of Brunhild. The sun has just risen. The spacious halls are filling with the Queen’s domestic slaves, with officers of her troops, with high dignitaries of her establishment — chamberlains, equerries, stewards, constables — all coming to receive their mistress’s orders.
A circular apartment, contrived into one of the towers of the palace, connects with the chamber that the Queen habitually inhabits. The walls are pierced by three doors — one leads to the hall where the officers of the palace are in waiting; another into Brunhild’s bedroom; the third, a simple bay closed by a curtain of gilded leather, opens upon a spiral staircase that is built into the hollow of the wall itself. The Queen’s chamber is sumptuously furnished. Upon a table, covered with a richly embroidered tapestry, lie rolls of white parchment beside a solid coffer studded with precious stones. Around the table a number of chairs are arranged, all of which are furnished with soft purple cushions. Here and there the shafts of pillars serve as pedestals for vases of jasper, of onyx, or of Corinthian bronze, a material more precious than gold or red alabaster. Upon an antique green plinth rests a group exquisitely wrought in Parisian marble and representing the pagan god of Love caressing Venus. Not far from that group, two statues of bronze that age has turned green represent the obscene figures of a fawn and a nymph. Between these two masterpieces of pagan art, a picture painted upon wood and brought at great expense from Byzantium, represents the infant Christ and John the Baptist, the latter also as a child. This picture of holiness indicates that Queen Brunhild is a fervent Catholic. Does she not carry on a regular correspondence with the Pope of Rome, the pious Gregory, who can not bestow too many blessings upon his holy daughter in Christ? Further away, upon yonder ivory stand, is an elaborately carved case in which large Roman and Gallic medals of silver and gold are displayed. Among these medals is one of bronze, the only one of that metal in the collection. What does it represent?
