Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “4th. Our successors are forbidden to demand, or extort, under the title of presents, anything whatever from the monastery or from the parishioners of the Valley.

  “5th. Our successors, unless they shall be requested by the superior of the community to come and pray at the monastery, shall never enter the said monastery, nor cross its outer precincts; and after the celebration of the holy mysteries, and after receiving short and simple thanks, the bishop shall forthwith return to his own residence without having to be requested to do so by anyone.

  “6th. If any of our successors (which may God forfend) filled with perfidy, and driven by cupidity, should, in a temerarious spirit, attempt to violate the matters hereinabove set forth, then, smitten by divine vengeance, he shall be submitted to anathema.

  “And in order that this constitution may ever remain in full force and vigor, we have willed that it be corroborated by our own signature. — Salvien.

  “Done at Chalon, on the 8th day of the calends of November, of the year of the incarnation, 613.”

  “Good brother Loysik,” said Ronan, “this charter guarantees our rights; thanks to you for having obtained it; but did we not have our swords to defend ourselves?”

  “Oh, always that old leaven of Vagrery! The swords, always the swords! Thus the best of things turn to evil through abuse and hot-headedness! Yes, the sword, resistance, revolt carried to the point of martyrdom whenever your rights are violated by force! But why shed blood, why fight when one’s right is recognized and guaranteed? Moreover, who tells you that you would again prevail if again put to it? Who tells you that the Bishop of Chalon, or his successor, would not, in case you refused to recognize his spiritual jurisdiction, call some Burgundian seigneur to his aid? You would know how to die, but why die if one can live free and peaceful? This charter binds the bishop and his successors to respect the rights of the monks of the monastery and of the inhabitants of this valley. It is an additional guaranty. Should it ever be trampled under foot, then the hour will have sounded for heroic measures. Until then, my friends, spend your days in the tranquility that this charter insures to you.”

  “You are right, Loysik,” replied Ronan, “that old leaven of Vagrery is ever fermenting in our heads. But is not this submission to the spiritual jurisdiction of the bishop, a submission that the charter consecrates, is it not a humiliation?”

  “Did he not before now exercise more or less spiritual authority over us? Formally to recognize his spiritual authority is a matter of but slight importance; to deny it would be to expose ourselves to interminable troubles. And all to what purpose? Is not the inviolability of our goods and our property acknowledged?”

  “That is so, brother.”

  “This charter, that, thanks to the firmness with which you resisted his iniquitous claims, instead of cowardly resigning yourselves to usurpations — this charter bears in itself the germ of the progressive enfranchisement of Gaul.”

  “How it that, Loysik?”

  “Sooner or later, what we have done in the Valley of Charolles will be repeated in other provinces; the old Gallic blood will not forever remain torpid; some day, waking up at last to their own numbers and power, our sons will in their turn say to the seigneurs and bishops: ‘Recognize our rights and we will recognize the powers that you have arrogated to yourselves; if not, war — war to the bitter end — war to the death — war to the point of extermination!”

  “And yet, Loysik,” cried Ronan, “what a shame, what an iniquity to recognize that accursed power, born of a bloody and confiscatory conquest! To recognize the right of theft, of brigandage and of murder! The oppression of the Gallic race by the bishops and the race of Franks!”

  “Brother, as much as yourself do I deplore these misfortunes. But what is to be done? Alas, the conquest and its accomplice the Church weigh down upon Gaul for over a century, and they have cast deep roots. Our descendants will be compelled to reckon with a power that years have fortified; they can not choose but recognize that power, while at the same time wresting from it, by force if necessary, a portion of the rights that our fathers were deprived of by the conquest. But what does it matter, my friends! The first step being taken others will certainly follow; and with each such step, marking its track with its own blood, our race will draw steadily nearer and nearer to ultimate deliverance. Aye, the brilliant day will finally dawn, the day that Victoria foretold, the brilliant day when Gaul, trampling under foot both the crown of the Frankish Kings and the tiara of the Popes of Rome, will re-arise proud, radiant and free. Have faith in the future!”

  The news of Loysik’s return flew from mouth to mouth, and spontaneously brought all the inhabitants of the Valley to the monastery. The day was celebrated with cordial joy. It gave new earnest of many years of quiet, prosperity and freedom to the monks of the monastery and to the colonists of the Valley of Charolles.

  I, Ronan, the son of Karadeucq, finished writing the above narrative two years after the death of Queen Brunhild, towards the end of the calends of October of the year 615. Clotaire II continues to reign over Gaul as the sole ruler, as his great-grandfather Clovis and his grandfather Clotaire I before him. The murderer of Brunhild’s grandchildren does not belie with his subsequent conduct the sinister character with which he started his reign. Nevertheless both the royal and the episcopal charter regarding the colony and the community of Charolles have been respected down to this date. My brother Loysik, my good old little Odille, the Bishopess and my friend the Master of the Hounds continue to defy age with their good health.

  I hereby entrust my son’s son with the mission of carrying this narrative to the descendants of Kervan, my father’s brother, both of whom were the sons of Jocelyn. Brittany still remains the only province of Gaul that preserves its independence. It has repelled the Frankish troops of Clotaire II as it repelled the attacks of his ancestors.

  My grandson will, I hope, arrive without encountering any mishap at the cradle of our family, situated near the sacred stones of Karnak. I hope he may successfully accomplish the pious pilgrimage, the same as I did more than fifty years ago.

  I wish to enter upon this leaf a matter of importance to our family, divided as it now is in two branches, one inhabiting Burgundy, the other Brittany. In these days of civil wars and general disorder, the peace and freedom that we now enjoy may at any time be violently assailed. Our descendants will know how to die rather than relapse into slavery. But should it happen that unforeseen causes prevent a heroic resolution, if our family should again be brought under the yoke of servitude and its members carried away captive, it will be well, as a matter of precaution against unhappy days, alas! always possible, that the members of our family should carry some sign of recognition indelibly marked upon an arm with the point of a needle reddened in the fire and dipped in the juice of the privet berry. The smart is but slight, and the tender skin of a child receives and forever keeps the indelible mark. The Gallic words Brenn and Karnak, words that recall the glorious past of our ancestors, are henceforth to be traced on the right arm of all the children that may succeed us, and so forward from generation to generation. Who knows but it may happen that members of our family, now divided into two branches, may, in the course of the ages cross one another’s path? In that sign they will find the means of recognizing each other, and render each other mutual assistance.

  And now, Oh, our children, leaving the branding needle that I have used upon my own grandchild as the symbol to accompany this narrative and be joined to Hena’s gold sickle, Guilhern’s little brass bell, Sylvest’s iron collar, Genevieve’s silver cross, Schanvoch’s casque’s lark and Loysik’s poniard’s hilt, I fervently hope that this narrative may, as all the preceding ones left by our ancestors, keep alive in your breasts the flame of an ardent love for your country and for your family. And may, Oh, my children! the moral conveyed by the adventures of my life, and of the lives of my father Karadeucq and my brother Loysik never be lost upon you. Gather from them instruction, example, hope an
d courage.

  THE END

  The Abbatial Crosier

  OR, BONAIK AND SEPTIMINE. A TALE OF A MEDIEVAL ABBESS

  Translated by Daniel de Leon

  It is now c. 730 CE and the reader is transported to the town of Narbonne, which is under Arab control. Although there is religious tolerance, merchants still trade in slaves in the marketplace and one of the wealthiest citizens, Abd-el-Kader, owns a white slave of rare beauty, Rosen-Aer. He and his five sons must leave their comfortable home and fight against the Franks, led by Charles Martel, who are marching to expel the Arabs from the land. Abd-el-Kader loves his slave and wishes her to be safe, so he orders her to go to his farm and work on the fields with other Gallic captives. A short time later, Charles and a small company of guards arrive at the monastery of St. Saturnine in Anjou, which he plans to gift to his loyal soldier, Berthoald. Inside the monastery is a young boy, the true heir to the throne that Charles usurped, held captive and tended by a young slave, Septimine. To his dismay, Berthoald is ordered to act as gaoler and take care of him. However, on arrival at the monastery, the Frankish soldiers discover there is a plot to free the young prince and Septimine is the instigator. Despite her crime, Charles frees her and sends her on her way. We next meet Septimine, now in the custody of the Abbess Meroflede, in a jewellery workshop, where she will learn to polish jewellery for the Abbess. Before long, Berthoald, who had been captivated by Septimine’s beauty, arrives at that same convent to take possession of it, little realising that the young girl who stole his heart is close by…

  CONTENTS

  TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  PART I. THE CONVENT OF ST. SATURNINE

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  PART II. THE ABBEY OF MERIADEK

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  CHAPTER V.

  CHAPTER VI.

  CHAPTER VII.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  CHAPTER IX.

  CHAPTER X.

  CHAPTER XI.

  CHAPTER XII.

  TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE

  The turbulent epoch that rocked the cradle of the Carlovingian dynasty, the dynasty from which issued the colossal historic figure of Charlemagne, is the epoch of this touching story — the eighth of the series of Eugène Sue’s historic novels known collectively under the title “The Mysteries of the People; or, History of a Proletarian Family Across the Ages.” From the seething caldron of the valleys of the western Rhine, inundated by the Arabs from the south, the Frisians from the north, the Saxons from the west, and in which the chants of Moslems, of Christians and of barbarians mixed into the one common cry of desolating war, the feudal social system, previously introduced by Clovis, and now threatened to be engulfed, emerged from the chaos as a social institution. Many a characteristic of feudalism would be missed if this, a crucial period of its existence, is not properly apprehended. As in all the others of this series of Eugène Sue’s stories, the information is imparted without the reader’s knowledge. What may be termed the plot seizes and keeps the interest from start to finish, steadily enriching the mind with knowledge historically inestimable, besides connecting with the era described in the previous story — The Branding Needle; or, The Monastery of Charolles — and preparing the ground for the thrilling events that are the subject of the succeeding narrative — The Carlovingian Coins; or, The Daughters of Charlemagne.

  DANIEL DE LEON.

  New York, 1904.

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER I.

  NARBONNE.

  CRUEL INTESTINE WARS between the descendants of the Frankish conquerors were devastating Gaul when the Arab invasion took place in 719. The invaders poured down from the Pyrenees and drove back or subjugated the Visigoths. The exchange of masters was almost a gain to the inhabitants of the region. The conquerors from the south were more civilized than those from the north. Many of the Gauls, — either freemen, or colonists or slaves — took so strongly to the southern invader that they even embraced his religion, the religion of Mahomet, allured thereto by the promises of a paradise peopled with houris. “The virtuous believer,” declared the Koran, “will be taken to the delicious home of Eden, enchanted gardens, through which well-shaded rivers flow. There, ornamented with bracelets of gold, clad in green clothes of woven silk and resplendent with glory, the faithful will recline upon nuptial beds, the happy prize in the dwelling of delights.” Preferring, accordingly, the white houris promised by the Koran to the winged seraphs of the Christian paradise, many Gauls embraced Mohamedanism with ardor. Mosques rose in Languedoc beside Christian churches. More tolerant than the bishops, the Arabs allowed the Christians to follow their own religion. Moreover, Mohamedanism, founded by Mahomet during the previous century, 608, acknowledged the divinity of the Scriptures and recognized Moses and the Jewish prophets as beings chosen by God, only it did not recognize the godship of Jesus. “Oh, ye, who have received the Scriptures, keep within the bounds of the faith. Speak only the truth about God. Jesus is the son of Mary, and he was sent by the All-High, but is not his son. Say not that God is a trinity. God is one. Jesus will not blush at being the servant of God. The angels that surround the throne of God obey God!” — thus spoke the Koran.

  The town of Narbonne, capital of Languedoc under the dominion of the Arabs, had in 737 quite an Oriental aspect, due as much to the clearness of the sky as to the dress and customs of a large number of its inhabitants. The laurel shrubs, the green oaks and palm trees recalled the vegetation of Africa. Saracen women were seen going to or coming from the fountains with earthen vessels nicely balanced on their heads, and draped in their white clothes like the women of the time of Abraham, or of the young master of Nazareth. Camels with their long necks and loaded with merchandise left the town for Nimes, Beziers, Toulouse or Marseilles. The caravans passed on these journeys, along the fields, a great variety of settlements — mud hovels thatched with straw and inhabited by Gallic peasants, who were successively the slaves of the Visigoths and of the Musselmen; tents of a Barbary tribe, Arabian mountaineers who had descended to the plains from the peak of Mt. Atlas, and who preserved in Gaul the nomad habits of their old home, warriors, ever ready to mount their tireless and swift horses in answer to the first call of battle from the emir of the province; finally, and at long distances apart, on the crests of the mountains, high towers where, during war, the Saracens lighted fires for the purpose of signaling the approach of the enemy to one another.

  In the almost Musselman town of Narbonne, the same as in all the other towns of Gaul under the sway of the Franks and the bishops, there were, sad to say, public market-places where slaves were set up for sale. But that which imparted a peculiar character to the market of Narbonne was the diversity of the races of the captives that were offered to purchasers. There were seen negroes and negresses in large numbers, as well as Ethiopians of ebony blackness; copper-colored mestizos; handsome young Greek girls and boys brought from Athens, Crete or Samos and taken prisoner on some of the frequent maritime raids made by the Arabs. A skilful politician, Mahomet, their prophet, had incited in his sectarians a passion for maritime expeditions. “The believer who dies on land feels a pain that is hardly comparable with the bite of an ant,” says the Koran, “but the believer who dies at sea, feels on the contrary the delicious sensation of a man, who, a prey to burning thirst, is offered iced water mixed with citron and honey.” Around the slave market stood numerous Arabian shops filled with merchandise mainly manufactured at Cordova or Granada, centers, at the time, of Saracen art and civilization: brilliant arms inlaid in arabesques with gold and silver, coffers of chiseled ivory, crystal cups, rich silk fabrics, embroidered hose, precious collars and bracelets. Around the shops pressed a crowd of as various races as costumes: aboriginal Gauls in their wide hose, an article
that gave this section of Gaul the name of “Bracciata” with the Romans; descendants of the Visigoths who remained faithful to their old Germanic dress, the furred coat, despite the warmth of the climate; Arabians with turbans of all colors. From time to time, the cry of the Musselman priests, calling the believers to prayer from the height of the minarets, mixed with the chimes of basilicas that summoned the Christians to their devotions.

  “Christian dogs!” said the Arabs or Musselman Gauls. “Accursed heathens, damned degenerates!” answered the Christians; whereupon both proceeded to exercise their own cult in peace. More tolerant than the bishops of Rome, Mahomet said in the Koran: “Do not do violence upon men for reason of their religion.”

  CHAPTER II.

  ABD-EL-KADER AND ROSEN-AER.

  ABD-EL-KADER, ONE OF the bravest chiefs of the warriors of Abd-el-Rhaman during the life of this emir, who was killed five years before on the field of Poitiers where he delivered a great battle to Charles Martel (the Hammer) — Abd-el-Kader, after ravaging and pillaging the country and the churches of Tours and of Blois, occupied one of the handsomest dwellings in Narbonne. He had the house arranged in Oriental fashion — the outside windows were closed up, and laurels were planted in the inner courtyard, from the center of which a fountain jetted its steady stream. His harem occupied one of the wings of the house. In one of the chambers of this harem, covered with rich carpets of gay colors, furnished with silk divans, and lighted by a window with gilded bars, sat a woman of rare beauty, although about forty years of age. It was easy to recognize by the whiteness of her skin, the blondness of her hair and the blue of her eyes that she was not of Arabian stock. Her pale and sad face revealed a settled and profound sorrow. The curtain that covered the door of the chamber was pushed aside and Abd-el-Kader entered. The swarthy-complexioned warrior was about fifty years of age; his beard and moustache were grizzled; his face, calm and grave, expressed dignity and mildness. He stepped slowly towards the woman and said to her: “Rosen-Aër, we meet to-day for the last time, perhaps.”