by Eugène Sue
The community had thus lived peacefully and industriously for many years under the direction of Loysik. Rarely had he occasion to restore harmony among the brothers. Nevertheless, a few ferments of fleeting dissension, speedily, however, allayed by the ascendency of the aged monk laborer, manifested themselves ever and anon. The following was the source of these untoward events:
Although absolutely free and independent in all that concerned its internal regulations, the election of its superior, the disposition of the yield of the land which it cultivated, nevertheless the monastery of Charolles was subject to the jurisdiction of the diocese of the bishop; moreover, the prelate had the right to place at the monastery the priests of his own choice to read mass, administer communion and the other sacraments, and officiate in the chapel of the monastery which was also the place of religious worship for the other inhabitants of the Valley of Charolles. Loysik submitted to these requirements which the times imposed, in order to insure the tranquility of his brothers and of the other inhabitants of the Valley. But the priests, who thus entered the bosom of the lay cloister, sought more than once to sow discord among the monk laborers, saying to some that they devoted too little time to prayer, urging others to enter the church and become ecclesiastical monks, and thus share the power of the clergy. More than once did these underhanded manoeuvres reach the ears of Loysik who would then firmly address these concocters of dissension in these terms:
“Who labors prays. Jesus of Nazareth severely condemns the do-nothings who will not move with one of their fingers the heavy burdens and grievous to be borne which they lay on their brothers’ shoulders and for a pretence make long prayers. We want no idlers here. We are all brothers, and the children of one God. Whether a monk be lay or ecclesiastic they are all alike, provided they live Christian lives. If any there be who, having done his full share in the work of the cloister, chooses to employ in prayer the leisure that man needs after work, he is free to do so — as free as are other members of our community to employ their leisure in the cultivation of flowers, in reading, in conversation with their friends, in fishing, in promenading, in singing, in designing manuscripts, or in any other accomplishment, including the exercise of arms, seeing that we live in days when it is often necessary to repel force with force, and defend one’s own life and the lives of his family against violence. Accordingly, in my eyes, he who, after work, seeks honest recreation, is as worthy as he who employs his leisure in prayer. Only idlers are impious! We despise all those who refuse to work.”
Loysik was so universally venerated and the community was so happy and thriving that the outside priests never succeeded in permanently disturbing its quiet and harmony. Moreover, Loysik owned both the land and the buildings of the monastery by virtue of an authentic charter issued to him by King Clotaire. Accordingly, the prelates of Chalon found themselves obliged to respect his rights, while they never desisted from pursuing their ends through perfidious means.
On this day the colony and community of Charolles had a holiday. The monk laborers strove to give the best possible reception to their friends of the Valley, who, agreeable to a long established custom, came to thank Loysik for the happy life that they owed him, these descendants of Vagres, brave devils whom the monk’s word had converted. Only once a year was the freely adopted rule suspended that interdicted the admittance of women to the cloister. The monks were setting up long tables wherever any could be placed, in the refectory, in the halls where they worked at several manual industries, under the open galleries that ran around the inner courtyard, and even in the yard itself, which, on such solemn and festive occasions, was over-roofed by sheets of linen held fast with cords. In fact, there were tables even in the hall of arms. What! An arsenal in a monastery? Yes. The arms of the Vagres, the founders of the colony and the community, had all been deposited there — a wise measure, advised by Loysik, and which the monk laborers and colonists appreciated at the time when the troops of Chram attacked the Valley. No similar occurrence had happened again since then, but the arsenal was carefully kept and increased. Twice each month, both in the village and the community, the men exercised themselves in the handling of arms, an ever useful precaution in these days, Loysik would say, when one might from one moment to another be called upon to repel some armed band of the Frankish seigneurs.
The monk laborers were engaged setting up tables everywhere. On the tables they placed with innocent pride the fruits of their labors — good wheat bread made of wheat of their own harvesting, generous wine yielded by their own vineyard, quarters of beef and mutton coming from their own cattle yards, fruits and vegetables raised in their own gardens, milk of their own cows, honey from their own hives. They owed this abundance to their daily labor; they now enjoyed its sight and the comfort it afforded both them and their friends. Nothing more legitimate! Besides, the monks experienced profound satisfaction in proving to their old friends of the Valley that they also were good husbandmen, skilful vintners, experienced horticulturists and competent shepherds.
Occasionally it would also befall — the devil ever is at his wicked work — that at some of these anniversary celebrations, when the women and maids were admitted to the otherwise forbidden precincts of the monastery, some monk laborer discovered, by the impression produced upon him by some pretty girl, that his fondness for the austere freedom of celibacy was rather premature. On such occasions the swain would open his heart to Loysik. The latter always insisted upon three months of reflection on the part of the brother, and in the event of his persisting in his conjugal vocation Loysik was speedily seen strolling into the village leaning upon his cane. There he would converse with the parents of the maid upon the advisability of the match; and it rarely happened but that a few months later the colony numbered one more household and the community one brother less, while Loysik would say: “Here is one more evidence of my being right in not accepting eternal vows from my monks.”
The preparations for the reception had long been finished in the interior of the monastery, and the sun was on the point of setting when the laborer monks heard a loud noise outside. The whole colony was arriving. At the head of the crowd marched Ronan and the Master of the Hounds, Odille and the Bishopess. They were the four oldest inhabitants of the Valley. A few old Vagres, but younger than these followed behind them; then came the children, the grandchildren, the great-grandchildren of that once so disorderly and so redoubted Vagrery.
Informed of the approach of his friends, Loysik stepped to the gate of the monastery to receive them. Like all the other brothers of the community, the venerable monk was clad in a robe of coarse brown wool, held around his waist by a leather belt. His head was now completely bald; his long snow-white beard fell upon his chest; his bearing was still erect, his eyes clear, although he was beyond eighty; only his venerable hands were slightly agitated by a tremor. The crowd halted; Ronan approached, took his brother’s hand, and addressed to him these words:
“Loysik, it is to-day fifty-one years ago that a troop of determined Vagres stood awaiting your arrival on the border of Burgundy. You came to us; you spoke wise words to us; you preached to us the virile virtues of labor and of the domestic hearth; and you thereupon put us in condition to put those virtues into practice by offering to our troop the free enjoyment of this valley. A year later, that is now fifty years ago, our budding colony celebrated the first anniversary of its foundation in this region; and to-day we come — we, our children and the children of our children — once again to say to you through my mouth: ‘We are happy, thanks to you, brother; eternal gratitude and friendship to Loysik!’”
“Yes, yes!” echoed the crowd. “Eternal acknowledgment to Loysik — respect and gratitude for our friend, our good father!”
The old monk laborer was deeply moved; sweet tears rolled down from his eyes; he made a sign that he wished to speak; and in the midst of profound silence he uttered these words:
“Thanks to you, my friends, my brothers, to those of you who lived fifty y
ears ago, and to you others who have not known the frightful times that we older ones have experienced, except from the accounts given to you by your parents — thanks for the joy that you afford me this day. After having made themselves feared by their valor, the founders of this colony have made themselves beloved and respected by approving themselves men and women who loved work, were peaceful and honored the family. A happy accident willed it that, in the very midst of the disasters of civil war that for so many years have been desolating our country, Burgundy should be spared these misfortunes, the fruits of a murderous conquest. Let us bless the name of God, who allows us to live here in peace and freedom. But, alas! everywhere else in Gaul, even in this province, our brothers continue under the yoke of slavery. Never forget that. While awaiting the still distant day of the ultimate enfranchisement of our brothers, your savings, together with the savings of the community, have this year also enabled us to ransom a few slave families. Here they are. Love them as we love one another. They also are children of Gaul, disinherited, as we ourselves were fifty-one years ago.”
When Loysik finished saying these words, several families, consisting of men, women, children, together with a few aged couples, issued from the monastery weeping with joy. The colonists were emulous of one another as to which of them should harbor the new arrivals until they could provide for themselves. It required Loysik’s intervention, always respected, in order to calm the kind and zealous rivalry of the colonists in the tender of their services. With his wonted wisdom he distributed the new colonists among the older ones.
Every year and shortly before these annual celebrations, Loysik left the colony with a sum more or less large, the fruit of the joint savings of the colonists and the community set aside for the ransom of slaves. A few resolute and well-armed monk laborers would then accompany Loysik to Chalon-on-the-Saone, where, towards the beginning of the autumn, a large market of human Gallic flesh was held under the presidency of the count and the bishop of that city, the capital of Burgundy. From the market place the splendid palace of Queen Brunhild could be seen. Loysik would buy as many slaves as the money that he carried with him would permit, but always regretting to find that the ecclesiastical slaves were too high for his purse. The bishops always sold them at double the price of any other. Occasionally, thanks to his persuasive eloquence, Loysik would obtain from some Frankish and less barbarous seigneur than his fellows the gift of a few slaves, and thus increased still more the number of his new colonists, who, the moment they touched the soil of the Valley of Charolles, received a hearty welcome, enjoyed the opportunity to work together with the well-being that flows therefrom, and, above all, regained their freedom.
After the newly enfranchised slaves were distributed among the inhabitants of the Valley, monk laborers and colonists, men, women and children went to table. What a banquet!
“Our feasts in Vagrery were nothing compared with this!” exclaimed Ronan. “Not so, Master of the Hounds?”
“Do you remember, among others of our then sumptuous repasts, the famous supper at our lair in the defile of Allange?”
“Where Bishop Cautin officiated as our cook?”
“Odille, do you remember that strange night when I saw you for the first time, on the occasion of the burning down of the villa of my then husband, the bishop?”
“Certainly, Fulvia, I do remember it; and also the open-handedness with which the Vagres distributed the booty among the poor.”
“Loysik, it was during that night that I first learned that you and I were brothers.”
“Ah, Ronan, how very brave was not our father Karadeucq! What courage did he not display together with our friend the Master of the Hounds in order to liberate us from the ergastula in the burg of Count Neroweg!”
“Do you remember? Do you all remember?” — once that subject was broached, these questions flew inexhaustible from the lips of the old friends. Thus Ronan, Loysik, the Master of the Hounds, Odille, the Bishopess, all of whom sat together at a table, chatted merrily, while the younger guests enjoyed chattering about the present. The joy was great and general on that evening at the monastery of Charolles.
In the middle of the celebration one of the monk laborers said to a companion:
“What has become of our two priests, Placidus and Felibien? Their absence alarms me.”
“Those pious men found, perhaps, the feast too profane. They offered the two men on guard at the lodge where the punt lands to take their places this evening, in order that our brothers might assist at the celebration.”
“Somehow, I mistrust that breed!”
CHAPTER III.
ON THE WATCH AT THE RIVER.
THE RIVER THAT rose in the Valley of Charolles crossed it in its full length, then parted into two arms, and thus served both for boundary and natural defense to the territory of the colony. As a matter of precaution, Loysik ordered a punt that served as the only means of communication with the opposite territory, belonging to the diocese of Chalon, to be beached every evening and tied on the Charolles side of the stream. A little lodge, where two brothers of the community always were on guard, was constructed near the landing place of the punt.
The limpid waters of the stream, which was at its widest at that point, reflected that night the mellow light of the moon at its fullest; the two priests who fraternally offered to take the places of the monks and mount guard in their stead walked uneasily up and down near the lodge.
“Placidus, do you see anything? Do you hear anything?” his companion inquired.
“Nothing. I see and hear nothing.”
“And yet the moon is high — it must be nearly midnight — and no one yet.”
“Let us not lose hope, Felibien.”
“It will be a great misfortune if they break their appointment. It will be long before we have another such opportunity to install ourselves as the watchmen of the punt.”
“It is only on such a night that the monastery could be safely attacked.”
“And yet no one comes.”
“Listen — listen—”
“Do you hear anything?”
“No, I was mistaken — it is the rippling of the water on the pebbles of the river bank.”
“Perhaps our bishop renounced his project of attacking the monastery.”
“That is not likely, seeing that he obtained the consent of Queen Brunhild.”
“Listen — listen — this time I am not mistaken. Look yonder, on the opposite bank — do you notice anything sparkling?”
“It is the reflection of the moon on the armor of the warriors.”
“Now they are coming! Do you hear the three bugle blasts?”
“It is the signal agreed upon. Quick, now, quick! Let us unfasten the punt and cross over to the other side.”
The ropes were unfastened; pushed by Placidus and Felibien by means of long poles the punt arrived at the opposite bank. Mounted on a mule a man awaited them on the opposite shore. He was a Catholic priest. His face was hard and imperious. At his side was a Frankish chief on horseback and escorted by about a score of riders cased in iron. A wagon filled with baggage, drawn by four oxen and followed by several slaves on foot attended the Frankish chief.
“Reverend archdeacon,” said Placidus to the man on horseback and in the black robe, “we began to despair of your arrival; but you are still on time. The whole colony — men, women, girls and children — is assembled at the monastery, and only God knows the abominations that are taking place there under the very eyes of Loysik, who incites these sacrilegious excesses!”
“These scandals are about to come to an end and to receive condign punishment, my sons. Can the horses of these riders and the wagon that carries my baggage be risked in that punt?”
“Reverend archdeacon, the cavalry is too numerous for one trip; we shall have to make three or four passages before they can all be transported to the opposite bank.”
“Gondowald,” said the archdeacon to the Frankish chief, “how would it be if we
leave your horses and my mule and wagon temporarily on this side of the river? We could march straight upon the monastery with your horsemen following you on foot.”
“Whether on foot or on horseback, they will be enough to execute the orders of my glorious mistress, Queen Brunhild, and to dust with the shafts of their lances the backs of those monks of Satan and of those rustic plebs if they dare offer any resistance.”
“Reverend archdeacon, we who know what the monks and people of the Valley are capable of, we are of the opinion that, should they rebelliously resist the orders of our holy bishop of Chalon, twenty warriors will not suffice to overpower them.”
Gondowald cast a disdainful look at the priest, and did not even consent to make an answer.
“I do not share your fears, my dear sons; and I have good reasons for my opinion,” answered the archdeacon haughtily. “Here we are all in the punt — push off!”
A short while later the archdeacon, Gondowald the chamberlain of Queen Brunhild, and the Queen’s twenty warriors landed on the Valley shore, casqued, cuirassed and armed with lances and swords. From their shoulders hung their gilt and painted bucklers.
“Is the distance long from here to the monastery?” inquired the archdeacon as he set foot on land.