Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Alas! good mother, they took them to the banks of the Rhine, where the Franks keep a large market of Gallic flesh. All the barbarians of Germany who have not yet broken into our unhappy country, repair thither to supply themselves with slaves of our race — men, women and children.”

  “And what becomes of those who remain in Gaul?”

  “The men of the fields are enslaved and made to cultivate under the rod of the Franks their own ancestral estates that King Clovis divided with his leaders, his old comrades in pillage and massacre, and whom he since has made dukes, marquises and counts of our country. But there are still some drops of generous blood left in the veins of old Gaul. Even if the rule of the Franks and the bishops is to endure, they will, at least, not enjoy their conquest in peace.”

  “How so?”

  “Did you ever hear of the Bagaudy?”

  “Certainly, and praisefully, too.”

  “What is the Bagaudy, grandfather?”

  “Let me first answer our friend the peddler — it will be information to you also. My grandfather Gildas told me that he heard from his father that, a few years after the death of Victoria the Great, the first Bagaudy took place, not in Britanny, but in the other provinces. Irritated at seeing herself again reduced to the level of a Roman province, as a result of the treason of Tetrik, and of being obliged to pay heavy imposts into the empire’s fisc, Gaul rose in rebellion. The uprisings were called ‘Bagaudies.’ They threw the emperor Diocletian into such consternation that he hurried an army into Gaul to combat them; at the same time, however, he remitted the imposts, and granted almost everything that the Bagauders demanded. As you see, it is only a question of knowing how to present one’s demand to kings and emperors. Bend your back and they will load it to the breaking point; show your teeth and they remove the load—”

  “Well said, old father — beg them with clasped hands, and they laugh; make your demand with clenched fists, and they yield — that was another good feature of the Bagaudy.”

  “Well, there were so many good features about it, that, towards the middle of last century, it was started against the Romans anew. That time it spread as far as Britanny, to the very heart of Armorica. But we only talked about it, there was no occasion for serious action. The time was well chosen; if my memory serves me right, I was one of those who accompanied our venerated druids to Vannes, to the curia of that town which consisted of Roman magistrates and officers. To them we said:

  “ ‘You govern us Breton Gauls in the name of your emperor; you lay rather heavy imposts upon us, always in the name and for the benefit of the same emperor. For a long time we have found that very unjust. We enjoy, it is true, our freedom and citizen rights. Nevertheless our subjection to Rome galls us. We think the hour has come for us to emancipate ourselves. The other provinces are of the same mind, seeing that they are rebelling against your emperor. Accordingly, it now pleases us to become free once more, as independent of Rome as we were before the Conquest of Caesar, as we were at the time of Victoria the Great. Accordingly, ye Roman officials and tax-gatherers, pack yourselves off. Britanny will henceforth keep her silver and gold to herself, and will govern herself without your help. A happy journey to you, and do not come back again; if you do, you will find us in arms ready to receive you with our swords, and, if need be, our scythes and forks.’

  “The Romans went, their garrisons along with them. Without troops to enforce their decrees, the magistrates took their departure, and never returned. The Bagaudy in Gaul and the Franks on the Rhine kept their hands full. This second Bagaudy, like the first, had its good effect, in our province even better than elsewhere, seeing that the bishops, having joined the Romans, succeeded in imposing themselves upon the other provinces of Gaul, but were prevented by the Bagaudy from making their weight felt as heavily as in former years. As to ourselves, of Breton Armorica, Rome never sought to resubjugate us. From that time on, and obedient to our ancient custom, each tribe chooses its own chief, and these choose a chief of chiefs who governs the land. He is kept if he does well, he is removed if he does not give satisfaction. It has continued so to this day, and I hope will ever be, despite the doings of the cursed Franks outside of Britanny. The last Breton will have died before our Armorica shall be conquered by the barbarians as they have done the rest of Gaul. And now, friend peddler, I understand you to say that the Bagaudy is again raising its head, now against the Franks? So much the better! They will, at least, as you say, not enjoy their conquest in peace, if the new Bagauders are worthy of the old.”

  “They are, good old man; they are; I have seen them at work.”

  “The Bagauders are, then, numerous armed troops?”

  “Karadeucq, my pet, do not excite yourself — listen without interrupting.”

  “Bad boy, he can only think of battles, revolts and adventures!”

  And the poor woman added in a low voice in Araim’s ear:

  “Was there any occasion for the peddler to mention such matters before my son? Alas! I told you so, father, it is an ill wind that blew this man into our house.”

  “Do you think him in league with the Dus and Korrigans, Madalen?”

  “What I believe is, father, that a misfortune threatens this house. I wish this night were over, and it were to-morrow!”

  And the alarmed mother sighed while the peddler answered Karadeucq, who hung upon the stranger’s words:

  “The new Bagauders, my brave lad, are what the old ones were. Terrible to the oppressors, kind to the people.”

  “Do the people love them?”

  “Whether they love them! Aëlian and Aman, the two chiefs of the first Bagaudy who were put to death nearly two centuries ago in an old Roman castle near Paris, at the confluence of the Seine and the Marne — Aëlian and Aman are to this day loved by the people as martyrs!”

  “Ah! Theirs is a happy fate! To be still loved by the people after two centuries! Did you hear that, grandfather?”

  “Yes, I did, and so did your mother — see how sad she looks.”

  But the “bad boy,” as the poor woman called him, already seeming in thought to be running the Bagaudy, cast inquisitive and ardent looks at the peddler, and asked:

  “Did you ever see the Bagauders? Were there many of them? Had they already run any raids against the Franks and bishops? Is it long since you saw them?”

  “Three weeks ago, on my way hither, as I crossed Anjou. One day I missed my road in the forest. Night fell upon me. After having walked a long, long while, and going astray ever deeper in the woods, I noticed at a distance a bright light that issued from a cavern. I ran thither. There I found about a hundred lusty Bagauders. They were resting around a fire with their Bagaudines, because you must know that they are generally accompanied by determined women. A few nights before, they had made a descent upon some Frankish seigneurs, our conquerors, and attacked their ‘burgs’ as the barbarians term their castles. The Bagauders fought furiously and without neither mercy or pity; they pillaged churches and episcopal villas, exacted ransom from the bishops, hung from the trees the most perverse of the priests who fell into their hands, rifled the coffers of the royal tax-collectors, and slew whatever Frank came in their way. But, as fast as they took from the rich, they gave to the poor. They generously distributed among these the plunder of the rich prelates and Frankish counts, and set free all the chained slaves whom they found. Ah! By Aëlian and Aman, the patrons of the Bagauders, the life of those gay and brave fellows is a noble and happy one. Had I not been on my way to Britanny in order to see my old mother once more, I would have then and there joined them in running the Bagaudy in Anjou and the contiguous provinces.”

  “And what must one do in order to be admitted into the ranks of those intrepid people?”

  “The first thing to do, my brave lad, is to sacrifice one’s skin in advance; you have to be robust, agile, courageous; you must love the poor, swear eternal hatred for the Frankish counts and the bishops; feast by day and bagaude by night.”
/>   “And where are their haunts?”

  “You might as well ask the birds of the air where they perch, the beasts of the wood where they lie down. Yesterday on the mountain, to-morrow in the woods, marching ten leagues during the night, hiding for days in succession in the nearest cave — the Bagauder knows not to-day where he will be to-morrow.”

  “It must, then, be a lucky accident that would make one run across them?”

  “A lucky accident for good people, an unlucky one for counts, bishops or tax-collectors!”

  “Was it in Anjou that you met that troop of Bagauders?”

  “Yes, in Anjou — in a forest about eight leagues from Angers, whither I was then bound—”

  “Do you notice my pet Karadeucq? Look at him! See how his eyes sparkle and his cheeks burn. Truly, if he does not dream of little Korrigans to-night, he will surely dream of Bagauders. Am I wrong, my lad?”

  “Grandfather, what I say is that the Bretons and the Bagauders are and will be the very last Gauls. Were I not a Breton I would indeed run the Bagaudy against the Franks and the bishops.”

  “And it is my opinion, my grandson, that you will surely run it to-night with your head upon your pillow. I wish you pleasant dreams of the Bagaudy, my pet. Now go to bed, it is late; you are making your mother feel unnecessarily uneasy.”

  CHAPTER IV.

  OFF TO THE BAGAUDY!

  I BROKE OFF this narrative three days ago.

  I began writing it on the afternoon of the day when the peddler, after having spent the night under our roof, proceeded on his journey. When he appeared at the hall the next morning the tempest had subsided. After the peddler left the house, before he disappeared at the turning of the road, and as he waved us a last adieu, I said to Madalen:

  “Well, now, you silly thing! You poor frightened mother — did the angry gods punish my pet Karadeucq for having wished to see the Korrigans? Where is the misfortune that this stranger was to bring down upon our house? The tempest has blown over, the sky is serene, and the sea is calming down and looking as blue again as ever! Why is your mien still preoccupied? Yesterday, Madalen, you said: ‘To-morrow rests with God.’ Here we are at yesterday’s to-morrow. What evil has befallen us? Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

  “You are right, good father, my forebodings have proved false. And yet, I do not feel at ease. I still am sorry that my son spoke the way he did of the Korrigans.”

  “Turn around, here is your Karadeucq with his hunting dog in the leash, his pouch on his back, his bow in his hand, his arrows at his side. How handsome he is! How handsome! How alert and determined his mien!”

  “Where are you going, son?”

  “Mother, yesterday you said to me that it was two days since we have had any venison in the house. This is a good day for the purpose. I shall endeavor to bring down a doe in the forest of Karnak. The chase may take me long; I am carrying some provisions along — bread, fruits and a bottle of our wine.”

  “No, Karadeucq, you shall not go hunting to-day; I shall not allow it—”

  “And why not, mother?”

  “I do not know. You might lose your way and fall into some pit in the forest.”

  “Mother, do not feel alarmed; why, I know all the paths and pits in the forest.”

  “No, no; you shall not go hunting to-day. I forbid you to leave the house.”

  “Good grandfather, intercede for me—”

  “Willingly. I delight in eating venison. But you must promise me, my pet, that you will not go on the side of the spring where you may encounter the Korrigans.”

  “I swear to you, grandfather!”

  “Come, Madalen, let my skilful archer depart for the chase — he swears to you that he will not think of the fairies.”

  “Is it really your wish that he go, father?”

  “I beg you; let him go; see how crossed he looks.”

  “Well, let it be as you wish — it is against my wish, however!”

  “A kiss, mother!”

  “No, bad boy, leave me alone!”

  “A kiss, good mother; I beg you — do not deny me a caress—”

  “Madalen, see those big tears in his eyes. Would you have the courage to refuse him an embrace?”

  “Kiss me, dear child — I felt sorrier than you. Be gone, but come back early.”

  “One more kiss, good mother — good-bye — good-bye!”

  Karadeucq left, wiping his tears. Three or four times he turned around to look at his mother — he then disappeared behind the trees. The day passed. My favorite did not return. The chase must have carried him far away. He will be here in the evening. I started to write this narrative that sorrow interrupted. It grew dark. Suddenly someone burst into my room. It was my son Jocelyn, closely followed by his wife. He cried.

  “Father! Father! A great misfortune.”

  “Alas! Alas! father. I told you that the Korrigans and the stranger would be fatal to my son. Why did I yield to you? Why did I allow him to depart this morning? Why did I allow my beloved Karadeucq to go away! It is done for him! I shall never more see him again! Oh! unhappy woman that I am!

  “What is the matter, Madalen? What is the matter, Jocelyn? What makes you look so pale? Why those tears? What has happened to Karadeucq?”

  “Read, father, read this little parchment that Yvon the neat-herd has just brought me—”

  “Oh! A curse! A curse upon that peddler with his Bagaudy! He bewitched my son — the Korrigans are the cause of this misfortune—”

  While my son and his wife wrung their arms in desolation I read what my grandson had written:

  “Good father and good mother — when you will read this I, your son Karadeucq, will be very far away from our house. I have told Yvon the neat-herd, whom I met this morning in the fields, not to put this parchment into your hands until night, to the end that I may have twelve hours the lead, and may thus escape your efforts to overtake me. I am going to run the Bagaudy against the Franks and bishops. The times of the Chiefs of the Hundred Valleys, the Sacrovirs and Vindexes are past. But I could never remain quiet in a corner of Britanny, the only free section of Gaul, without avenging, if but upon one of the sons of Clovis, the slavery of our beloved country. Good father, good mother, you have left beside you my elder brother, Kervan, and my sister Roselyk. Be not angry with me. And you, grandfather, who love me so much, obtain my pardon and keep my dear parents from cursing their son — Karadeucq.”

  Alas, all efforts to recover the unhappy boy were futile.

  I started this narrative because the conversation of the peddler impressed me deeply. I talked long with the stranger, who for twenty years had been traveling over all parts of Gaul and who thus had exceptional opportunities to observe events. He solved to me the mystery — how our people, who had known how to emancipate themselves from the powerful Roman yoke, fell and remained under the yoke of the Franks, a people whom our own surpass a thousandfold in courage and in numbers.

  I had meant to insert here the stranger’s answer. But the departure of that unhappy boy who was the joy of my old days, has broken my heart. I lack the courage to continue this narrative. Later, perhaps, if some good news from my pet Karadeucq should revive the hope of seeing him again, I shall finish what I meant to say. Alas! Shall I ever hear from him? Poor boy! To leave all alone, at the age of seventeen, to run the Bagaudy!

  Can it be true, after all, that the gods punish us for wishing to see the malign spirits? Alas! Alas! I now also say, with the poor mother, who incessantly runs to the door demented in the hope that she may be able to see whether her son is coming back:

  “The gods have punished Karadeucq, my pet, for having wished to see the Korrigans!”

  * * * * * * *

  My father Araim died of a broken heart shortly after the departure of my second son. He left me the family archives.

  I write these lines ten years after my father’s death, and have never had any tidings of my poor son Karadeucq. He probably met his death in the adventurous
life of a Bagauder.

  Britanny preserves her independence, the Franks dare not attack us. All the other provinces of Gaul have remained under the yoke of the bishops and the sons of Clovis. The latter, it is said, surpass their father in ferocity. Their names are Thierry, Childebert and Clotaire; the fourth, Chlodomir, is said to have died this year.

  How many years of life are left to me and what events are in store for me? I know not. But I wish this day to bequeath to you, my eldest child, Kervan, the chronicles of our family. I bequeath them to you five hundred and twenty-six years after our ancestress Genevieve witnessed the death of Jesus of Nazareth.

  * * * * * * *

  I, Kervan, the son of Jocelyn, who died seven years after he bequeathed to me our family archives have this to add:

  The narrative that follows was brought to me here, at my house, near Karnak, by Ronan, one of the sons of my brother Karadeucq, who left our house to run the Bagaudy, the year after the death of Clovis. These two narratives contain the adventures of my brother Karadeucq and of his two sons Loysik and Ronan. The first portion of the narrative brought to me by Ronan, and which I here subjoin, entitled “The Vagres,” and “The Burg of Neroweg,” was written by Ronan himself in the ardor of youth, and in a style and form that differ greatly from those of the previous narratives of our family chronicle; the second, which I have entitled “Ghilde,” I wrote from the word of mouth account that Ronan left with me, and which I think should not be lost.

  Britanny, still in peace, governs herself by chiefs of her own choice. The Franks have not dared to penetrate into our fastnesses. But in the course of my nephew’s narrative, our descendants will find the secret of that mystery that my grandfather Araim had not the courage to put in writing:

  “How the Gallic people, who had known how to emancipate themselves from the powerful Roman yoke, fell and remained under the yoke of the Franks, whom they surpass a thousandfold in courage and in numbers.”

  May it please the gods that it may not some day be in Britanny as in the other provinces of Gaul! May it please the gods that our country, the only one that to-day remains free, may never fall under the domination of the Franks and the bishops of Rome. May our druids, both the Christian and the non-Christian, continue to inspire us with a love for freedom and with the virile virtues of our ancestors.