Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Thanks to you, great King, my bear is saved!”

  Chram’s words provoked violent murmurs from the count’s leudes; not only did they see themselves deprived of a spectacle that was to delight their eyes, but they imagined themselves humiliated anew, now in the person of the master of the house, their count. The murmurs grew louder.

  “Chram is not King in this burg, Neroweg,” cried Sigefrid, one of the principal starters of the quarrel that was allayed just as Karadeucq entered the hall with his bear. “No, King Chram cannot by a word deprive us of an amusement that it pleases you to afford us. Neroweg is King in his burg.”

  “No, no,” loudly chimed in the other warriors of the count, “we want to see the fight with the bear. The dogs! the dogs! Neroweg alone commands here.”

  “Yes, and to the devil with the King!” cried Sigefrid.

  “The devil take Chram if he opposes our enjoyment! We are masters here.”

  “Only brutes of rustics send their guest to the devil when he is the son of their King,” put in the Lion of Poitiers with a threatening air. “Is that the example in courtesy that you set to your men, Neroweg? It seems so, judging by the conduct of your steward, who is hastening now, when the banquet is hardly over, to carry away your gold and silver vessels out of fear, I suppose, lest we steal them.”

  “My sons! My dear sons in Christ! Are you about to start quarreling anew? I order peace, my sons — in the name of heaven, keep the peace!”

  “Bishop, you are right to preach peace; these brave leudes who fear that I am interfering with their amusement did not understand me. I told the mountebank that I would not hinder him from earning his living.”

  “Thanks again, thanks again, great King.”

  “How much is your bear worth?”

  “He is priceless to me.”

  “Whatever sum you may fix will be counted out to you, in case your bear is killed.”

  The King’s words were received by the acclamations of the Franks, and allayed the quarrel that was on the point of breaking out. Karadeucq, however, without rising from his knees, cried:

  “Great King, no sum can repay me for my bear; mercy, beg the count to desist from his project.”

  “The dogs! Here are the dogs!”

  “In all my life I have not seen such mastiffs!” exclaimed Chram with admiration. “Count, if your whole pack is similarly fitted out, it will rival mine, which I considered matchless.”

  “What flanks! What enormous paws! Ha, Chram, if you only heard their voices, the bellowing of a bull is like the song of a nightingale beside their barking when they are on the tracks of a wild boar. I am justly proud of my dogs.”

  “I wager that one of them will be enough to kill the bear as truly as my name is Spatachair.”

  “Come, tie the bear to one of the beams, old mountebank, and let us begin.” “I told you, if your beast is killed, I shall pay whatever sum you may say, royally and without chaffering.”

  “Illustrious King, have pity on a poor man.”

  “Enough, enough — chain up the bear to one of the beams, and be done.”

  “Seigneur bishop, in the name of your blessed hand which you give me to kiss, be charitable towards my poor animal.”

  “Is he perchance a Christian that I should exercise charity towards him? Oh, mountebank, mountebank, had you not shown yourself a minute ago to be a pious man, I would consider this last request an outrage.”

  To insist any longer would have been to risk losing everything. Karadeucq understood this, and addressing himself to Chram, said:

  “Glorious King, let your will be done; but allow me to make one last request.”

  “Hurry up.”

  “The spectacle will only be a butchery; my bear being chained he will not be able to defend himself.”

  “Would you perchance leave him loose, old idiot, and have him devour us!”

  “No, King; but if you would wish an amusement that would last some time, then at least equalize the forces; permit me to arm my bear with a club.”

  “Has he not his nails?”

  “For the sake of prudence I have filed them off — you notice how smooth his paws are.”

  “Very well, he shall have a club — but do you think he will know how to help himself with it?”

  “Alas, the fear of being devoured will force him to defend himself as best he may; in all your life you will not have seen such a spectacle.”

  “And you, Neroweg,” said Sigefrid, more than any other of the leudes a stickler for the count’s dignity, “do you allow the bear to have a club? You alone have the right to say here: ‘I will.’”

  “Yes, yes, I allow the club — I think that the bear striking at the dogs with a club will be a wonderful spectacle. And yet, I would have greatly preferred to have seen the beast killed by Mirff and Morff. But that would have ended the sport too quickly. Come, let the slaves blow the horns, and you others, who beat the drums, blow and beat at your loudest, or you shall have your own backs drummed upon; and you, torch-bearing slaves, draw near the circle that is to be formed. Hold high your torches that we may see the combat well. Strike up, you drummers! blow on the hunting horns in order to excite the dogs well.”

  “To the beam; tie the bear to the beam!”

  Karadeucq led the lover of the bishopess to a corner of the hall, chained him to one of the beams of the colonnade, put between his paws the knotty club on which he had been riding and said to him:

  “Come, my poor Mont-Dore; courage; you will have to defend yourself well, seeing that you have to fight against two dogs for the amusement of the noble seigneurs; show yourself worthy of your race.”

  A wide circle was formed, lighted by the torch-bearing slaves. In the front rank of the audience stood King Chram, his three favorites, the count, the bishop and several leudes; all the others mounted the table. In the center of the circle, clad in his ample jacket, which had fortunately been left to him, stood the Vagre-bear; he preserved an intrepid countenance; he naïvely sat down on his haunches, like a bear who expects no evil, and nonchalantly held his club between his fore paws; occasionally he leaned the club against his body in order to scratch himself with a movement of graceful and easy abandon. Suddenly the hunting horns struck up their deafening uproar. Gondolf, the count’s master of the hounds, stepped into the circle holding the two monstrous mastiffs by the leash. From their enormous necks a dewlap similar to that of a bull dropped down upon their chests; their large bloodshot eyes were half hidden under their long and drooping ears; black, white and yellow streaks ran over their shaggy skin which bristled up on their backs the moment they perceived the bear. Instantly they barked furiously, and dashing forward wildly they broke the leash that Gondolf still held in his hand. In two bounds they precipitated themselves upon the lover of the bishopess.

  “At him, Mirff! At him, Morff!” cried the count clapping his hands. “At him! At the quarry, my wild fellows! Leave him not a shred of flesh on his bones!”

  “Unless a miracle of strength and skill takes place, my companion will be torn to pieces, our strategy discovered, and the last chance of my sons’ escape will be lost; if so, I shall swiftly stab both the King and the count at their hearts,” said Karadeucq to himself, and as he did, his hand reached under his blouse, for the dagger that he had there hidden. His hand firmly seized it, ready for immediate use.

  Seemingly unaffected by the sight of the dogs, the Vagre-bear continued to perform his role with unaltered presence of mind, bravery and skill; he made a momentary movement of surprise, but immediately backed up against the beam and held himself ready, with uplifted club, to repel the attack of the dogs. Mirff was the first to dash forward, aiming at his belly, but that very instant the Vagre-bear struck him so violent a blow over the head that the club broke in three, and Mirff dropped as if struck by thunder, and emitting terrible howls.

  “Malediction!” cried the count. “There goes a mastiff that cost me three gold sous! Here, my men, have that ferocious bea
r immediately disemboweled with your boar spears and iron bars!”

  The count’s imprecations were drowned by the frantic shouts of the rest of the audience, who, themselves more disinterested than Neroweg in the course that the combat was taking, applauded the bear’s valor and awaited the issue of the struggle with anxious curiosity. The Vagre-bear, now disarmed and wholly exposed, was at close quarters with the other mastiff, that, the moment the club was broken, seized his adversary in the thigh with his formidable fangs and threw him down with the impetuosity of the shock. The blood of Karadeucq’s companion flowed copiously and reddened the leaves with which the floor was strewn. Twice did the bear and the dog roll over each other; at the third time, pinning to the ground with the full weight of his body the mastiff, that, like Deber-Trud, did not loosen its teeth from its enemy, the Vagre clutched the brute by the throat and held him in such a tight clutch between his vigorous hands, that the animal was strangled. During this doubly terrible struggle not only did the mastiff’s bite cause the Vagre an intense pain, but he ran at every instant the risk of being cut to pieces, together with Karadeucq, if, by the slightest accident, he but betrayed himself; — the lover of the bishopess remained true to his ursine role; he emitted no sound other than a few muffled grunts. The combat being over, the worthy animal crouched down in a lump at the foot of the beam between the corpses of the two mastiffs; with his head between his fore paws he seemed patiently to lick his bleeding wound, while Chram, his favorites and several even of the count’s leudes vociferously acclaimed the triumph of the bear.

  “Alas, alas!” murmured old Karadeucq as he approached his companion. “My poor bear is wounded, mortally perhaps. I have lost my bread winner.”

  “Fetch boar spears and axes!” cried the count foaming at the mouth with fury. “Let the ferocious brute be cut to pieces on the spot; he has just killed Mirff and Morff, the best two dogs of my pack! By the Terrible Eagle, my ancestor, I order that the cursed bear be cut to pieces instantly! Did you hear me, Gondolf?” he added, addressing his master of the hounds and trembling with rage. “Take down one of those hunting spears from the wall — kill that bear, kill him on the spot!”

  Gondolf hastened to arm himself as he was ordered, while Karadeucq, kneeling down again, cried to Chram with outstretched arms:

  “Great King, my only hope rests with you. I implore mercy from you. I place myself under your protection and under the protection of your royal suite. Oh, redoubtable and invincible warrior! Oh, ye other valorous warriors of the King’s suite, as terrible in battle as you are generous after victory, you surely will not want to see this animal killed; he vanquished, but was wounded in the struggle and fought fairly! No, no, ever following the example of your glorious King, your refined and courteous honor will revolt at such brutal cowardice, even if committed towards a poor animal! Oh, warriors who are as brilliant by your armor and military grace as you are terrible by your valor, I place myself at the mercy and under the protection of your King. He will demand the life of my bear of the seigneur count, who can refuse nothing to such a noble guest!”

  The Frank is vainglorious; his pride delights in the most exaggerated praises of himself; Karadeucq was aware of this; moreover, by addressing himself exclusively to the royal bodyguard, he expected to throw once more the apple of discord between them and the count’s leudes. His words were favorably received by the warriors of Chram, who, stepping towards Neroweg, said:

  “Count, we demand of you grace for this brave animal, and we do so in the name of the old German custom, according to which a guest’s request is always granted.”

  “King, the custom to the contrary notwithstanding, I shall avenge the death of Mirff and Morff, who cost me six gold pieces. Gondolf, fetch the spears and axes; the bear shall be cut to pieces instantly!”

  “Count, the poor mountebank has placed himself under my protection. I may not forsake him.”

  “Chram, whether or not you protect the old bandit, I shall revenge the death of my magnificent dogs Mirff and Morff.”

  “Listen, Neroweg, I have a pack that is worth fully as much as yours. You saw it hunt in the forest of Margevol. You may send the master of the hounds to my villa, let him pick out six of my best and handsomest dogs to replace the two that lie dead at our feet.”

  “I said I would revenge Mirff and Morff,” yelled the count furiously, grinding his teeth. “Gondolf, the spears! the spears! death to the devilish bear!”

  “You savage rustic, you fail in all the duties of hospitality by denying the request of the King’s son,” bellowed the Lion of Poitiers at Neroweg, “just as you insulted us, your guests, by keeping your wife from the banquet, and by having your gold and silver vessels removed from the table even before the banquet was over! You are more of a bear than that animal, which you shall not kill. I forbid you — the mountebank has placed himself under the protection of Chram and of us, his men.”

  “Companions!” cried Sigefrid, “shall we tolerate the heaping of insults upon our count?”

  “Just listen to the rustic brutes!” observed aloud one of Chram’s warriors, “listen to them, barking as ever, without daring to bite.”

  “I, Neroweg, king in this burg, as any king in his kingdom, I shall kill that bear! And if you say another word, you whom they call Lion, I shall knock you down at my feet with a blow from my axe, insolent palace cub!”

  “You dare insult me, you smut-covered boar!” screamed the Gallic renegade as, pale with anger, he drew his sword with one hand and with the other seized the count by the collar of his dalmatica. “You seem to want me to turn your throat into a sheath for my blade! Ask for mercy, or you are a dead man!”

  “Ha, you double thief! You wish to steal my gold necklace!” cried Neroweg, thinking only of defending his jewelry, and concluding from the gesture of his adversary that the latter’s purpose was to rob him. “I was right to place my gold and silver vessels out of the clutches of all of you thievish palace cubs.”

  “He calls us all thieves! To your swords, men of the royal bodyguard! Let us avenge our honor! Let us slash these rustics!”

  “Ha, bastard dogs!” cried Neroweg between whom and the Lion of Poitiers Sigefrid had thrown himself. “You speak of swords — here is one for you, and of good temper; you will taste it, profligate blasphemer, who have of a lion only the name! To me, my leudes! they have raised their hands against your count! Let us slash the royal bodyguard!”

  “Neroweg!” cried Chram interposing, as his favorite, who had shaken himself loose from Sigefrid, rushed at the count with upraised sword, “are you all fools to quarrel in this manner? Lion, I order you to put up your sword.”

  “Oh, great St. Martin, blessings upon your name for giving me the opportunity to chastise the sacrilegious whelp who had the audacity to raise his switch at my holy bishop, and who has never ceased sneering at both the holy man and me since he stepped into my burg,” cried the count, deaf to the words of Chram, and striving to reach his adversary, from whom he had been again separated in the midst of the uproar.

  “Boys, let us defend Neroweg!” Sigefrid called out to his fellow leudes of the count. “This is a good opportunity to prove to the braggards that our rough-looking swords are better than their parade weapons! To arms! Down with them to the last man!”

  “And we also to arms! let us settle accounts with these dogs of the basement! They think they are strong, because they are on their own dunghill. Death to the clowns. Let us defend the favorite of King Chram, our King! Swing your axes!”

  “My dear sons in God,” screamed the bishop in a vain endeavor to dominate the tumult and the increasing uproar, “I order you, all of you, to put up your swords! It is an affliction to the Lord to see His sons quarrel over trifles. Obey your father in God!”

  “My friends!” cried Chram in his turn but without being able to make himself heard, “it is folly, it is stupidity to slay one another in this wise. Imnachair! Spatachair! calm our men; and you, Neroweg, calm yours instead of
exciting them!”

  Vain words; they dropped unheard; neither Neroweg nor the rest of the leudes did or cared to listen to words of conciliation. As to Neroweg himself, a mass of combatants had again thrown themselves between him and the Lion of Poitiers, to whom he called in an enraged voice and struggled to reach. The warriors of Chram and those of the count soon passed from insults and threats, hurled at each other from a distance, to a hand-to-hand conflict. At the first blow the engagement became general — maddening, furious, maudlin and all the more terrible because the torch-bearing slaves, who alone lighted the hall, fearing to be killed in the brawl, fled away precipitately, some throwing their torches to the ground and thus extinguishing them, others carrying the lighted torches with them in their distracted flight. In an instant the banquet hall was deprived of its living illumination; the battle continued in the dark with blind ferocity.

  And Karadeucq and the lover of the beautiful bishopess, did they remain quietly in the midst of the butchery? Oh, by no means! Vagres know better than that. After having skilfully thrown the firebrand in the midst of the leudes of the King and the count, Karadeucq saw with pleasure the flames of angry rivalry between the two sets of barbarians flare up a third time, after twice having been appeased; and it was with delight that he noticed it rage in such manner that both he and his bear were lost sight of. As soon as the conflagration which he had kindled was well under way, the old Vagre rushed to the bear, and unchaining him, said at his companion’s ear: “Follow close at my heels and do as I do.”

  The melee was at its height; the torch-bearers had either fled or were fleeing, leaving the banquet hall in almost perfect darkness. Followed by the Master of the Hounds Karadeucq threw himself under the wide and massive table which, although now broken in parts, was not upset by the combat, being, contrary to the habit of the Franks, fastened to the floor. Thus under shelter for a moment the old Vagre unfastened the chain from around the neck of the lover of the bishopess, whereupon continuing to grope their way under the table by the flickering light of the extinguishing torches on the floor, they reached the door of the banquet hall, which was free from the combatants, and rushed out. As they issued from the banquet hall the Vagres found themselves face to face with two slaves who, having fled through another issue, were running distracted with their torches in their hands. Each Vagre seized one of the slaves by the throat.