by Eugène Sue
“Brunhild would have ordered my head cut off; she would have delivered my wife and daughters to the savage tribes of the other side of the Rhine as slaves! — Malediction! My two daughters Bathilde and Hermangarde, slaves! — The perspiration gathers on my temples at the bare thought of such a thing — let us not speak of it!”
“On the contrary, do let us speak of it! Who knows but that among those unknown slaves, whose freedom I am asking, there may be some with daughters whom they love as much as you love yours. — Judge of the joy that their deliverance would give them by the joy that you and your children would feel if, having become slaves, you were to be set free. Roccon, it is in your power to afford such ineffable joy to some captives. — Keep your dear daughters in mind.”
“Very well my dear father in Christ, I promise you ten slaves. Clotaire will not refuse them to me as my share of the booty of this war.”
“Seigneur duke,” said a servant who hurried into the tent, “the promenade of the camel is about to begin.”
“Oh! Oh! It is to be one of the best spectacles of the feast. — Come, my father in Christ!”
“Oh!” cried the aged man horrified. “I do not wish to stay an instant longer in this horrible place. — Adieu, Roccon!”
“Adieu, good father, you will pray to God for me, in order that I may have a good part of paradise.”
“Man finds paradise in his own heart when he acts justly: the priests who promise heaven are knaves. I shall pray to God that He may inspire you to perform charitable deeds. — Adieu.”
Loysik left the duke’s tent expecting to be able to leave the village instantly. His hope was not verified. As he walked away he found himself in a narrow street that divided two rows of huts and was cut at right angles by a wide highroad. Loysik was walking thither in order to rejoin the young brother who guarded his mule, when suddenly the uproar of voices, that had before smitten his ears several times, broke out louder and nearer. Immediately thereupon, a crowd of the people who had followed Brunhild to the village in order to enjoy the sight of her death, broke forth like an eruption out of the highway, poured over the narrow street, and despite Loysik’s efforts to disengage himself, carried him away like a straw by the torrent. The flood of people consisted of men, women and children; they were all in rags; they were slaves and were of the Gallic race. All cried at the top of their voices:
“Brunhild is coming out of the camp! She will pass this way!”
Loysik made no further efforts to contend against the crowd; he found himself pushed forward until further progress was barred at the sort of square in the center of which rose the tent of Clotaire II. A strong cordon of warriors drawn around the place, prevented the mob from entering it. As he stood there, in the very front ranks of the surging crowd Loysik witnessed the following spectacle:
Before him extended a rather wide avenue, now completely deserted of people; to his left the entrance to the royal tent; before the tent, Clotaire II, surrounded by the seigneurs of his suite, among whom was the Bishop of Troyes. Two slaves on foot brought and kept before the King a spirited stallion, which they were hardly able to curb by means of two thongs attached to his bit; the animal reared violently although his hind legs were hoppled. With blood-shot eyes and dilated nostrils, the powerful beast made such frantic efforts to tear himself from the two slaves that his deep black coat streamed with sweat on his flanks and chest. The animal carried no saddle; his long mane floated to the breeze, or fell down over and almost completely covered his savage head. Despite all, the slaves succeeded in leading the stallion to Clotaire’s tent. The King made a sign. Immediately, at the imminent risk of being trampled to pieces, the unhappy slaves crawled down upon their hands and knees, and slipped a rope with a running knot over each of the animal’s hind legs; other slaves thereupon kept the horse in sufficient control to allow the removal of his hopples. During this perilous process, the stallion became so furious that he reared and struck one of the slaves on the head with his front hoofs; the luckless fellow fell bleeding under the feet of the animal that then stooped, bit him ferociously, and crushed his bones with the trample of his hoofs. The corpse was removed, and two other slaves received orders to join those who, in order to control the stallion, clung with all their might to the thongs from his bit. Again cries were heard, first from a distance, but drawing nearer and nearer. The highroad, deserted but a moment before and running into the square in front of Loysik, was suddenly filled with a dense mass of foot soldiers, and presently a camel that towered by the full height of its body over the armed multitude, hove in sight of the aged monk. The troop of Frankish soldiers rent the air with their clamor:
“Brunhild! Brunhild! Triumph to Brunhild — Queen, look down upon your good people of Burgundy who are at your feet!”
Although in a dying state, although broken down by the tortures that she had undergone during the last three days, still the old Queen, recalled from her stupor by the loudness of the yells that broke out all around her, found strength enough to raise herself for a last time upon the back of the camel, astride of whose back she had been placed and firmly bound. She was only a few steps from where Loysik stood. What the venerable monk then saw — Oh, what he saw is nameless, like the crimes of Brunhild herself. Her long, white, tangled, blood-clotted hair was the only — the only cover to the nakedness of the old Queen. The woman’s legs; her thighs, her shoulders, her bosom, in short her every limb was no longer of human shape; it was but a heap of palpitating wounds and swollen, blackened, bleeding burns; two of her toe-nails, that had been pulled out, still hung dangling from reddening pellicules at her great toes; in the other toes of her feet and in her fingers, long iron needles were seen inserted between the nail and the flesh. Only her face had been spared. Despite its cadaverous paleness; despite the traces of the unheard-of superhuman sufferings that it registered, left there by the tortures inflicted during the three consecutive days; — despite all, her face still bore the stamp of pride; a frightful smile curled the Queen’s purplish lips; a flash of savage haughtiness illumined from time to time her breaking eyes. And, oh, fatality, those eyes alighted accidentally upon Loysik at the moment that Brunhild passed before him. At the sight of the monk, whose robe, long white beard and tall stature had attracted the dying Queen’s eyes, her body seemed thrilled by a sudden emotion; she straightened in her seat; and gathering the little strength that still remained to her, she cried in a voice of despair, that sounded almost repentant:
“Monk, your speech was soothe — there is a justice in heaven! At this hour I am thinking, I am thinking — I am thinking of the death of Victoria.”
The furious hootings of the crowd drowned Brunhild’s voice; her last effort, put forth in raising herself and speaking to Loysik exhausted her failing strength. She fell over backward, and her inert body jolted up and down over the camel’s crupper. Loysik had long struggled against the horror of the shocking spectacle. Hardly had Brunhild’s voice ceased to be heard than he felt his head swim and his knees sink under him. But for two poor women, who, struck with compassion for his old age, supported him, the monk would have fallen to the ground and been trampled to death.
Loysik remained for a long time deprived of consciousness. When he recovered, night had come. He found himself lying in a hut upon a bed of straw. Beside him sat the young brother, who had succeeded in finding him. The two poor slave women had transported Loysik to their miserable hut. The first words pronounced by the monk, whose mind still labored under the effect of the horrible scene that he had witnessed, was the name of Brunhild.
“Good father,” said one of the women, “the hated Queen was taken down from the camel; she was then only a corpse; she was fastened with ropes by the hands to the tail of a fiery horse, and the animal was then let loose; but that part of the execution did not last long; at the very first bound given by the horse it shattered Brunhild’s head; her skull broke like the shell of a nut, and her brains were scattered in all directions.”
Sud
denly the young monk laborer said to Loysik, pointing in the direction of the glimmer that must have been produced by the reflection of a great but distant fire:
“Do you hear those distant yells? Do you see that light?”
“That light, my son, is the light cast by the pyre that Clotaire II ordered raised,” said one of the two old women; “those yells are the yells of the people dancing around the fire.”
“What pyre?” asked Loysik with a shudder. “Of what pyre are you speaking?”
“After the wild horse broke the head of Brunhild, the people who came to the village in order to see her die besought the King to have the accursed remains of the old she-wolf placed upon a pyre; the King gave his consent before his departure; he departed soon afterwards. The pyre was raised yonder at the square, and the light reaches us.”
The evening breeze carried to Loysik’s ears the cries of frantic joy, uttered by the crowd, wild with the intoxication of vengeance:
“Burn, burn, old bones of Brunhild, the accursed! Burn, burn, old accursed bones!”
As Loysik caught these words he cried:
“Oh, formidable contrast, formidable like the voice of history! The pyre of Brunhild — the pyre of Victoria!”
EPILOGUE
RONAN, OLD LITTLE Odille, the Master of the Hounds and the Bishopess were promenading along the bank of the river Charolles, near the lodge where the monks of the monastery and the inhabitants of the Valley took their turns as sentinels near the landing-place of the punt. Since the revelation of the pretensions of the Bishop of Chalon, besides the regular sentinel, ten brothers and twenty colonists, all well armed, took turns in guarding the crossing, and encamped in an improvised block-house.
“Old Master of the Hounds,” Ronan observed sadly, “this is the seventh day since Loysik left; he is not yet back; I can not overcome my uneasiness.”
“Why, there he is!” cried Odille in great glee. “Do you not see his white mule? He is riding down the slope of the hill in great hurry; he is coming down to the river bank; send the punt across for him.”
Ronan, the Master of the Hounds, Odille, the Bishopess, all their children, together with several monks and colonists threw themselves into the punt. The river was quickly crossed, the landing made, and all ran to meet the monk. Old Odille and the venerable Bishopess found again on that day their young limbs of girlhood. Loysik was given hardly time to alight from his mule. It was a pell-mell of arms, hands, heads around the respected old man. Whom was he to embrace first? He knew not whose caresses to respond to. After a while the tempest of tenderness subsided. Calm was restored. Joy no longer choked their throats. Conversation started on the way to the monastery, and Loysik narrated to his friends what he learned concerning the tortures of Queen Brunhild. He informed them of the confirmation of the charter of Clotaire I by Clotaire II.
“And lastly,” Loysik proceeded to say, “upon my return from Ryonne, I called upon the Bishop of Chalon. The confirmation of the charter by Clotaire II was a good deal, but that was not all that was needed. There were still some formalities to fulfill.”
“Brother Loysik,” put in Ronan, “we heard from the Bishop of Chalon. It came about this way: After the departure of Brunhild’s men-at-arms, whom we released upon receipt of the orders you sent us when you escaped death at the monster’s hands, what should the archdeacon do but have the audacity to return at the head of about fifty of his tonsured fraternity, together with as many poor slaves of the bishopric. The slaves and the tonsured friars were armed at haphazard, and bore before their clerical troop a cross in lieu of a banner; they approached bravely to declare war to us, if we refused to obey the orders of the bishop, and to allow him to place our goods into his episcopal pockets.”
“Ah! What a fine day we had of it!” said the Master of the Hounds. “The clerical troop brought along a boat upon their wagons in order to cross the river. That day I was on guard with about thirty of our men. We saw the boat launched, and the archdeacon step in with two clerks for oarsmen. Three men gave us little concern. We allowed them to land. The archdeacon stepped ashore with casque and cuirass over his priestly robes, a long sword in his hand.
“‘If you will not submit to the orders of the Bishop of Chalon,’ the basilica captain cried out to us in a triumphant voice, ‘my troop will enter the Valley and reduce it to obedience by force of arms. I grant you a quarter of an hour to surrender yourselves.’
“It does not take me quite so long to make up my mind what to do. So I answered him back on the spot: ‘We have already once set you free with your skin whole, notwithstanding your insolent language; this time, however, you will receive a rougher lesson, my basilica captain!’”
“Oh, old Vagre, old Vagre!” said Loysik shaking his head. “I disapprove of such violent language. Had I been here, you would not have spoiled your cause in that manner.”
“Good father,” answered the Master of the Hounds, smiling, as well as Ronan, “the only thing spoiled was the archdeacon’s hide. As soon said as done. Our good man was seized, his clerical robe raised, and the straps of our belts administered a thorough discipline to the basilica captain, all casqued and cuirassed as he was. After that he was deposited into our punt; my men and I stepped in, crossed the river and met the clerical army drawn up in line of battle on the opposite bank. Five or six of the tonsured gentry had armed themselves with bows and arrows. They shot a volley at us; the aim was taken badly enough; but accident willed it that they killed one of our men and wounded two. We were thirty at the most, but entered upon close quarters with the five score churchmen and poor slaves that they dragged after them. They tried to withstand us, but we invoked our own special trinity — lance, sword and axe. It was not long before the redoubtable warriors of the Bishop of Chalon displayed to us the seams of the backs of their breeches in full view. The glorious episcopal captain leaped upon his mule and gave the signal to retreat by himself fleeing at full tilt; his tonsured brethren followed his example — we buried about a dozen dead, and picked up a few wounded ones, who were taken care of at the monastery and afterwards set at large. We have not since heard again from the brave episcopal army.”
“I knew all that, my friends, and I approve your action, except the discipline that you administered to the archdeacon, that I strongly condemn,” said Loysik; “I had much trouble in calming the anger of the Bishop of Chalon upon that particular head. For the rest, you deported yourselves as the occasion demanded. Aye, to defend one’s rights and repel force with force is but just; moreover, a resistance carried to the point of heroism is often politic. Brunhild recoiled before the idea of driving you to desperate means. Well, as I was saying to you, I called upon the bishop on my return from Clotaire’s camp. I found him furious by reason of your resistance, and the insult to the archdeacon. I told him that I condemned the insult, but that I approved the legitimate resistance of my brothers of the Valley. ‘What is the good of your resorting to violent means?’ I said to him. ‘You, a churchman, sent armed men against monks and colonists, who only ask to be allowed to live in quiet and by the sweat of their brow, as is their right. Your men were beaten back, and will be beaten back again if they return to the charge. I pray you to renounce all claims against the Valley; we, on our part, will recognize your right to spiritual jurisdiction, but nothing more.’ The bishop answered me furiously: ‘I shall then take away from you the priests that I send you to say mass at the monastery! I shall excommunicate the Valley!’ ‘If that be your pleasure, bishop, why, then we shall be excommunicated; for all that you will see the grass on our meadows continue to grow green, our woods to set forth fresh branches, our fields to produce wheat, our vines to yield their juice as plentifully as ever, our cattle their milk, our bees their honey; children will continue to be born robust and ruddy as hitherto; your excommunication can in no manner change things. The only thing that could happen is that our neighbors will say: “Oh, behold an excommunicated Valley continuing to be fertile; excommunicated people remaining
in a happy frame of mind and thriving; why, excommunication must be a farce!” So, then, bishop, the ultimate result would be that a punishment, that so many poor people imagine to be frightful, will be thought little or nothing of. Take my advice; give up all thought of violence and of coercion; respect our goods, our rights, our freedom, and we, in turn, will respect your spiritual jurisdiction — if not, not; the misfortunes that your iniquity may lead to will then fall upon your own head!’ To make a long story short, my friends, after protracted debates, I obtained a new charter from the bishop. I shall read it to you. Listen carefully. It bears, perhaps, the germ of the enfranchisement of Gaul.”
And Loysik read as follows:
“To the holy and venerable brother in Christ — Loysik, superior of the monastery of Charolles, built in the valley of that name, conceded to the said brother Loysik in perpetual donation, by virtue of a charter granted by the glorious King Clotaire I in the year 558, and confirmed by the illustrious Clotaire II this year of 613, I, Salvien, Bishop of Chalon. We believe it our duty to insert on this leaf what we and our successors must do with the aid of our Lord God:
“1st. The Bishop of Chalon, out of respect for the place, and without receiving therefor any price whatever, shall bless the altar of the monastery of Charolles, and, if requested shall grant the holy chrism every year.
“2nd. Whenever by the will of God a superior may have passed from the monastery to the bosom of God, the bishop shall, without receiving any recompense therefor, raise to the rank of superior the monk who, by virtue of the worthiness of his life, may have been chosen by the community.
“3rd. Our successors, both bishops and archdeacons, or any other administrators, or any other dignitaries whatever of the city of Chalon, shall arrogate no other power over the monastery of Charolles, either in the ordination of persons, or the goods, or the farms of the Valley already given by the glorious King Clotaire I and confirmed by the illustrious King Clotaire II.
