Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Dost thou hear, bishop?” broke in Ronan. “Dost thou hear, renegade Gaul? It is thy allies, the Franks, who in this as well as in the other provinces, put old men and babes to death as useless mouths, and carry away the men and women of our race to restock the lands of Gaul which the kings have parceled out among their warriors after plundering us of our patrimony. It is thy allies, thy friends, thy brothers in Christ and in God who commit these execrable deeds. And yet thou orderest these poor people, under the penalty of hell, to obey those plunderers, those thieves, those ravishers, those murderers, who violate and kill mothers under the very eyes of their daughters! Didst thou hear that story, Gallic bishop?”

  “The Franks respect the property of the Church and the servants of the Lord — while you, accursed pack, you dare to lift impious hands against both the property and the priests of the Church!”

  “Proceed,” said Ronan to Odille.

  “We arrived at the burg. The count had me taken to his chamber. He threw himself upon me; I tried to resist; he struck me in the face with his fist; my face was bathed in blood; pain and fright rendered me senseless, and the seigneur count violated me. I was afterwards locked up with other female slaves in the apartment of his wife Godegisele; a very gentle woman for so wicked a man. To-night, one of the leudes came for me and brought me hither on his horse. He said to me that I was to be the bishop’s slave.”

  “And does that frighten you, poor child, to be a slave of the seigneur bishop?”

  “My mother and relatives were killed; I am a slave and disgraced besides. I tried to strangle myself with my hair; but I was afraid — and yet I wish I could die.”

  “And she is only fourteen, bishop! Didst thou hear?”

  “Sit down on the steps of the altar, little Odille. Here you have only friends; you are still young, do not despair.”

  The child contemplated the Vagre with wondering eyes; he spoke to her in a gentle voice. She stepped towards the altar and sat down; she looked at Ronan only; she listened only to his words.

  “O! Master of the Hounds! Master of the Hounds!” cried one of the lusty Vagres, who stood near one of the small doors of the chapel opening into the garden. “Whither are you bound with the bishopess on your arm? Would she not like to come and see her darling husband, the holy Bishop Cautin, before we hang him?”

  “My good seigneurs Vagres,” said the bishopess, whose comely shape was hardly distinguishable in the shadow of the vaulted door of the chapel, “long have I cursed yonder man who is my husband. I now no longer curse him. Happiness renders one indulgent. Be merciful to him, as I pardon him. For the rest, I no longer was his wife — our carnal bonds were sundered. Let him go in peace. I at last enjoy my day of freedom and of love. Long live the Vagrery!”

  “Shameless and sacrilegious woman! Accursed burgess! You shall burn for this in the everlasting flames of hell!”

  But Cautin’s vituperation and threats were idle. The bishopess stepped out under the tall trees of the garden of the villa and continued her promenade, while Ronan again addressed the holy man:

  “Sentence shall be passed upon thee by those whom thou hast oppressed. Ye poor ecclesiastical slaves, what shall be done to this wicked and profligate religious humbug who buries the living with the dead?”

  “Let him be hanged! Death to the bishop!”

  “Yes! Yes! Let him be hanged!”

  “He will die but one death, the infamous scoundrel! And our lives have been one prolonged agony!”

  “What dost thou think of that?” said Ronan to the bishop. “Dost thou fancy the views of these poor people?”

  “Brothers, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, the friend of the sorrowful, pardon this guilty man if you find his repentance sincere.”

  Who was it that spoke thus? The hermit-laborer, who had until then kept himself concealed in the shadow under one of the vaults of the chapel. As he spoke he stepped into the light and stood before the Vagres and the slaves who were venting their rage.

  “The hermit-laborer!” cried the slaves with touching respect. “The friend of the poor, of the meek and the oppressed!”

  “The consoler of those who weep!”

  “How often has he not taken in the field the hoe of one of our exhausted companions, and himself finished the task of the slave in order to save him from the keeper’s whip!”

  “One day, as I was pasturing the sheep that I had in charge, two lambs went astray. The hermit-laborer looked for them until he found them and was able to bring them back to me. Blessed be he for his charity.”

  “Our little children always have a smile for the hermit-laborer.”

  “Oh! From the moment they see him they run to him and take hold of his robe.”

  “As poor as any of ourselves, he loves to make little presents to the children. He always has some fruit for them that he gathered in the woods, a piece of wild honey-comb, or some little bird that has fallen out of its nest.”

  “Love one another! Love one another like brothers, poor disinherited people! he always says to us. — Love renders toil less arduous.”

  “Hope! he also says to us. — Hope! The rule of the oppressors will pass away; and then the first will be the last, and the last will be the first.”

  “Jesus, the friend of the sorrowful, said the iron of the slave will be broken. Hope!”

  “Unite! Love one another! Help one another, children of one God, sons of one country! Disunited, you can do nothing; united you will be stronger than your oppressors. The day of deliverance may be nigh! Love, unity, patience!”

  “Aye! Aye! These are the precepts that the hermit-laborer teaches us!”

  “And these precepts, brothers, you must remember and act upon at this hour,” replied the monk-laborer. “Jesus said: ‘Woe to the hardened hearts! Mercy to those who repent!’”

  “Insolent monk, dare you accuse me!”

  “Hermit, good friend, you hear the ‘holy’ man — you perceive his repentance — what shall be done, my Vagres?”

  “Brothers, if you love me, grant me the bishop’s life!”

  “The bishop made us suffer. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!”

  “Will vengeance wipe out your past sufferings? Your ancestors astonished the world by their generous bravery — and would you slay a defenseless man?”

  Vagres and slaves remained silent for a moment. After a short consultation with Ronan they directed him to stipulate the conditions for Cautin’s life.

  “Bishop, choose! Either be our cook or hang!”

  “Sacrilegious bandits! After pillaging and setting my episcopal villa on fire, to demand that I be their cook! Monk, you hear them! Alas! Alas! And you have neither curse nor anathema for them! Is it thus that you defend me? What did you save my life for but in order to rejoice at my humiliation?”

  “Hold your tongue! Jesus of Nazareth, whose life was as pure as yours is sullied; Jesus, when in the Roman pretorium, amidst the soldiers who whelmed him with mockery and physical outrage said: ‘My God, pardon them, they know not what they do—”

  “But these scamps do know what they are doing when they make a cook of me! And would you have me pardon them their sacrilege!”

  “Consider your past life—”

  “Come, my Vagres,” said Ronan; “come, day is dawning. Let us pack our booty on the bishop’s wagons, and on the march! What a fine day will this be for the folks of this neighborhood!”

  And stepping towards the little slave girl, who, seated on the steps of the altar had quietly watched and listened to all that took place:

  “Poor child, you are without father or mother, will you come with us? The Vagrery is the world topsy-turvy. The slave and the poor are sacred to us; our hatred is for the wicked rich. If our life of adventure and dangers should frighten you, our friend the hermit will take you to some charitable person in a neighboring village, where you may be safe.”

  “I shall follow you, Ronan. I am a slave and an orphan,” answered Odille weeping. “W
hat can I do? Where would you have me go, if not with you who speak to me with so much kindness?”

  “Well, then, come with me, and dry your tears, little Odille. No tears are shed among the Vagres. You shall ride on one of the wagons of the villa in which our companions will carry the booty. Come, take my arm, and let us walk out, poor little child. We shall go whithersoever chance may take us!”

  And seeing that the hermit was stepping towards him:

  “Adieu, friend!”

  “Ronan, I shall accompany you.”

  “Will you join us in running the Vagrery? You, a hermit? You among us, ‘Wand’ring men,’ ‘Wolves,’ ‘Heads of Wolves,’ Vagres that we are? A saint in the company of demons?”

  “They that be whole need not the physician, but they that are sick.”

  “Monk, you are right!” said Cautin to him in a low voice. “You will not leave me alone in their hands? You will protect me against the Philistines?”

  “It is my duty to render these people better than they are.”

  “Better! The sacrilegious scoundrels, who pillaged my villa, stole my beautiful goblets, my vases and all my money—”

  “The homicidal sword will be turned into a pruning hook to prune the flowering vine; the peaceful and teeming earth will yield its fruit for all men; the lion will lie down beside the sheep, the wolf beside the lamb, and a little child will lead them! Do not blaspheme, bishop! The Creator made His children after his own image; He made them good in order that they may be happy; blind, wretched or ignorant are the wicked. Let us heal their ignorance, their wretchedness and their blindness — and good they will become!”

  “Lies!” cried the bishop excitedly. “Behold yonder the woman who was my wife, with her orange skirt and gold embroidered red stockings — behold her on the arm of that bandit with the black hair. The infamous woman — they are in each other’s arms.”

  “Jesus had only words of mercy for Magdalen the courtesan and for the adulterous woman; will you dare to throw the first stone at the woman who once was your wife? Come — come along — I pity you — lean upon my arm — you are about to faint—”

  “Alas! Where do these accursed Vagres propose to take me?”

  “That does not concern you — mend your ways — repent!”

  “My God! My God! And there is no hope of being delivered on the road! Oh! We live in frightful days!”

  “And who is it that made these days what they are, if not you, princes of the Church? Oh! For centuries did our fathers see Gaul peaceful and flourishing. She then was free!” replied the hermit with bitterness. “To-day she is again enslaved.”

  “Our fathers were miserable heathens! At this very hour they are gnashing their teeth in all eternity!” cried Cautin. “We, on the contrary, have the true faith — and the Lord has terrible punishment in store for the wretches who dare insult His priests and plunder the goods of His Church. Look yonder, monk, is not that a sight to make one’s heart break? Abomination and desolation!”

  CHAPTER VI.

  TO THE FASTNESS OF ALLANGE.

  THE SIGHT THAT excited the wrath of the holy man filled the hearts of the Vagres with joy. It was broad day. Four large wagons of the villa, each hitched to teams of oxen, were slowly rolling away from the smoldering ruins of the late episcopal mansion. The wagons were loaded with all manner of booty: gold and silver vases, curtains and beddings, feather mattresses and bags of wheat, boxes filled with linen, hams, venison, smoked fish, preserved fruits, and all sorts of eatables, heavy rolls of cloth that had been woven by weaver-slaves, soft cushions, warm coverlets, shoes, cloaks, iron pots, copper basins, tin cans — all of them dear to the heart of a housekeeper. The Vagres followed the train, singing like larks at the rise of the beautiful June sun. On the front wagon, and seated on one of the cushions, little Odille — whom the bishopess in loving tenderness thoughtfully clad in one of her own beautiful, although rather too long robes for the child — no longer timorous but still laboring under the effect of her wonderment, opened her beautiful blue eyes, and, for the first time since many a long day, breathed in freedom the fresh and invigorating morning air that reminded her often of that of her own mountains from which she was torn, poor child, and cast into the burg of the count. Ever and anon Ronan approached the wagon:

  “Take courage, Odille; you will get accustomed to us. The Vagres are not as wolfish as evil tongues pretend.”

  On another wagon, gorgeous in her gold necklaces and her most beautiful dress which her loving Vagre saved for her from the conflagration, the bishopess whiled away the time, either combed her long black hair with the aid of a little pocket mirror, or adjusted her scarf, or hopped about, crazy with joy, like a hen-linnet that had escaped from her cage. At last she enjoyed that day of freedom and love that she had so ardently dreamed about after having lived more than ten years almost a prisoner. The morning journey across the beautiful mountains of Auvergne, where at frequent intervals cascades of bubbling water were encountered, seemed to charm her. She chatted, laughed, sang, sang again, and threw sidelong glances at her Vagre every time that, with his light step and triumphant mien, he passed by her wagon. Suddenly, as her eyes happened to fall upon a distant object, she seemed moved with pity. She seized a straw-covered amphora that the Master of the Hounds had thoughtfully placed within her reach, and turning towards the rear of the car, where several women and girls, the bishop’s slaves, having gladly resolved to run the Vagrery together with their quondam mistress, were huddled, she said to one of them:

  “Carry this bottle of spiced wine to my brother, the bishop; the poor man loves to take what he calls his morning cup; but do not let him know that I sent you.”

  The young girl to whom the bishopess gave the flask answered with a nod of intelligence, leaped down from the cart, and looked for Cautin. Most of the ecclesiastical slaves fled into the mountains when the bishop’s house was set on fire; they feared the wrath of heaven if they joined the Vagres; the others, however, being of a less timorous turn, resolutely accompanied the troop of the lusty men. They should have been seen — alert, frisk as if they had just risen from a restful night spent under the foliage of the wood, they marched with elastic step, despite the orgy of the previous night, and went and came, and skipped and chatted, and exchanged kisses with the women who were willing or with the pouches of wine that they carried along, and bit lustily into the hams, the chunks of venison and the episcopal cakes.

  “How good it is to live a Vagre’s life!”

  On the last wagon, under the special watch of Wolf’s-Tooth and a few companions who brought up the rear, Cautin, bishop and Vagre’s cook, accustomed to strut on his traveling mule, or to ride through the forest on his vigorous hunting steed, found the road rough, dusty and unpleasant. He perspired, panted, tossed himself about, moaned, grumbled, grunted under the weight of his heavy paunch and invoked to his aid all the saints of paradise.

  “Seigneur bishop,” said the young girl whom the bishopess charged with the amphora of wine, “here is some good spiced wine; drink it; it will give you strength to support the fatigue of the journey.”

  “Give it to me! Give it to me, my daughter! God will reward you for your attachment to your father in Christ, who finds himself obliged to drink by stealth the wine of his own cellar—”

  And clapping the amphora to his lips, he drained it at one draught. When the flask was empty he dashed it against the floor, and looking at the young girl cried:

  “And so you propose to run the Vagrery, little she-devil, confounded wench?”

  “Yes, seigneur bishop; I am now twenty years of age, and this is the first day of my life that I have been able to say: ‘I belong to myself — I can go and come, jump, sing, dance, just as I please’—”

  “You belong to yourself, do you, brazen minx? You belong to me! But with the aid of God you will yet be re-captured either by the Church, or by some Frankish seigneur — and I hope you may fall into even worse slavery, God-forsaken wench!”

&nb
sp; “I will then, at least, have tasted freedom—”

  And the young woman dashed off, jumping and singing, in pursuit of a butterfly that fluttered in the bush.

  The troop of Vagres arrived at the hovels of some slaves that belonged to the domain of the Church, and that lay scattered along the road. Little wan, sickly looking children, absolutely bare by reason of their parents’ pinching poverty, were wallowing in the dust. Their fathers were off on the fields since dawn; their mothers, as wan-looking and thin as the children, sat at the entrance of their hovels upon bunches of decaying straw; they were clad in rags and busily plied their distaffs for the benefit of the bishop; their long and unkempt hair tumbled over their foreheads upon their bony shoulders; their eyes were hollow, their cheeks sunburnt and sunken; the aspect that they presented was at once so repulsive and painful that the hermit-laborer could not refrain from pointing them out to the bishop, saying: