by Eugène Sue
“You were telling us, Father Bonaik, that you were taken as a slave at the age of sixteen to the abbey of Solignac in Limousin.”
“Yes; well, it was there that I first saw the great artist. Once every year he left Noyon to visit the abbey. He had inducted his apprentice Thil abbot of the place, and the abbot directed the goldsmith’s workshop. The good Eloi was quite old then; but he loved to come to the workshop to oversee and direct the work. He often took the file or the burin from our hands to show us how to use it, and in such a paternal manner did he act that all our hearts went out to him. Oh! those were good days.... The slaves were not allowed to leave the territory of the monastery, but they felt as happy there as one can under bondage. At every visit that he paid the place, Eloi inquired after them to ascertain whether they were kindly treated. After his death, however, everything changed.”
The old goldsmith had reached this epoch in his narrative when the door of the workshop opened and two personages stepped in.
CHAPTER II.
THE INTENDANT RICARIK.
ONE OF THE persons who entered Father Bonaik’s workshop was Ricarik, the intendant of the abbey, a Frank of a low and vulgar appearance; the other was Septimine, the slave of the abbey of St. Saturnine, whose freedom, together with her father’s and mother’s, Berthoald had a few days previous sued for and obtained at the hands of Charles Martel. Since her departure from the abbey of St. Saturnine, the poor child had become hardly recognizable. Her charming face had thinned and was pale — so much had she suffered and wept. She followed the intendant silent and confused.
“Our holy dame, Abbess Meroflede, sends you this slave,” said Ricarik to the old goldsmith, pointing at Septimine, who, ashamed at finding herself among the young apprentices, did not dare to raise her eyes. “Meroflede bought her yesterday from the Jew Mordecai.... You are to teach her to polish jewelry; our holy abbess wishes to keep her near her for that work. Within a month at the latest, she must be versed in her work; if not, both she and you shall be punished.”
At these words Septimine trembled and took courage to raise her eyes to the old man, who stepped forward and said to her kindly: “Do not be afraid, my child; with a little good will on your part, we shall be able to teach you how to polish jewelry and meet the wishes of our holy abbess. You shall work there, near me.”
For the first time in several days did the features of the young girl express sentiments other than those of fear and sadness. She timidly raised her eyes to Bonaik, and, struck by the kindness of his face, answered him in an accent of profound gratitude: “Oh! Thank you, good father! Thank you for being kind to me!”
While the apprentices were exchanging in a low voice their views on the looks of their new shopmate, Ricarik, who carried a little casket under his arm, said to the old man: “I bring you here the gold and silver with which to fashion the belt that you know of, and also the Greek vase. Our dame Meroflede is anxious to have the two articles.”
“Ricarik, I told you before that the stuff that you brought me in bits and in gold and silver sous is not enough. It is all in that iron trunk whose key you hold. Moreover, in order to make one of those beautiful belts, similar to those that I saw manufactured in the workshops that the illustrious Eloi established, about twenty pearls and as many other precious stones will be needed.”
“I have in this purse and this casket all the gold, silver and precious stones that you will need,” saying which, Ricarik emptied out the contents of a purse upon the old goldsmith’s work-bench, and took out of the casket a sufficient number of gold sous, several twisted lumps also of gold, that looked as if they had been forcibly wrenched from some article that they had served as ornament to, and finally a gold reliquary studded with precious stones. “Have you now enough gold and stones?”
“I think so; these stones are superb; the reliquary is ornamented with matchless rubies.”
“This reliquary was presented to our holy abbess; it contains a thumb of St. Loup, of the great St. Loup, and two teeth from his jaw.”
“Ricarik, after I shall have detached the rubies and melted the gold of the reliquary, what am I then to do with the thumb and teeth?”
“The thumb and teeth?”
“The bones of the blessed St. Loup that are inside.”
“Do with them what you like ... keep them as relics to prolong your old age.”
“I would then live at least two hundred years.”
“What are you examining with so much attention?”
“I am examining the silver sous that you have just brought in. Some of them do not seem sound.”
“Some colonist must have cheated me.... This is the day they pay their rents and imposts. When these people pay in money you would think they were having their teeth extracted. It is unfortunately too late now to discover the cheats who paid with false sous. But you shall come along with me so that you may examine the pieces that are now to be paid in. Woe to the thief who should then try to pass false coin upon me! His skin will boil for it!”
“I shall do as you order.... We shall lock these precious metals and stones in the iron chest, if you please, until I have time to start to work on them.”
While the Frank was examining the contents of the chest, the old goldsmith approached his young apprentices and said to them in a low voice: “Now, lads, so far I have always taken your side against our masters, palliating or hiding your faults, to spare you the punishments that you sometimes did deserve.”
“That is so, Father Bonaik.”
“In return, I demand of you that you treat that poor girl that stands trembling there, as if she were your own sister. I am to go out with the intendant, and shall be away, perhaps, for an hour. Promise me that you will be decorous and reserved in your talk before her.”
“Fear not, Father Bonaik; we shall say nothing that a nun may not hear.”
“That is not enough; certain nuns can hear everything; promise me you will say nothing that you would not say before your own mothers.”
“We promise you, Father Bonaik.”
This whispered conversation took place at the other end of the workshop, while Ricarik was taking an inventory of the contents of the iron chest. The old man then returned to Septimine and said to her also in a low voice: “My child, I shall leave you for a little while; but I have recommended those lads to treat you as a sister. Be at ease. You will hear nothing to hurt your ears.”
Septimine had hardly thanked the old jeweler with a look of gratitude, when the intendant closed the chest and said: “Have you heard any news of that runaway Eleuthere?”
The old goldsmith made a sign to the young slaves, all of whom had raised their heads at the name of Eleuthere; but catching Father Bonaik’s eyes, all resumed work without answering a word to the intendant’s question, and without even seeming to hear him.
“His disappearance must be a matter of surprise to you, is it not?” asked Ricarik, letting his penetrating eye wander over the apprentices.
“He must have found a way to escape,” said the lad who believed he had recognized Eleuthere in the cloister. “He long went with the idea of escaping from the monastery.”
“Yes, yes,” answered two other apprentices; “Eleuthere told us he would run away from the monastery.”
“And why did you not post me, you dogs?” cried the intendant. “You are his accomplices.”
The lads remained quiet with their eyes down. The Frank proceeded:
“Oh! You kept the secret! Your backs will ring for it under the whip!”
“Ricarik,” replied the old goldsmith, “these lads chatter like jays, and have no more brains than fledgling birds. Eleuthere often said as so many others have: ‘Oh, how I would like to roam over the fields, instead of being bound to the workshop from morning till evening!’ That is what these lads call secrets. Pardon them. Then, you should remember that our holy dame Meroflede is impatient for her belt and vase. But if you have my apprentices whipped, they will spend more time rubbing
their sores than plying the hammer and the file, and our work will make but slow progress. It would cause a great delay.”
“Very well, then; they shall be punished later. All of you will have to work hard, not by day only, but also by night. By day you will work upon gold and silver. By night you shall furbish iron. There is a double task for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“There will be a stack of arms brought here this evening — axes, swords, and lances that I have bought at Nantes.”
“Arms!” cried the old man in astonishment. “Arms! Do the Arabs still threaten the heart of Gaul?”
“Old man, the arms will be brought to you this evening. See to it that the lances have good points, that the swords are well sharpened, the axes trenchant. Never you mind the rest. But this is the hour when the colonists must bring their money taxes. Follow me, in order to ascertain whether the thieves try to pass false coin upon me. Come, Father Bonaik!”
CHAPTER III.
THE ABBESS MEROFLEDE.
UPON LEAVING THE workshop, the intendant Ricarik, followed by the old goldsmith, proceeded to a vast shed located outside of the abbey. Almost all the slaves and colonists who had ground-rent to pay to the monastery were gathered at the place. There were four days in the year set aside for the payment of major rents. At these periods, the products of the land that was cultivated, and with so much labor, by the Gauls, flowed in a strong and steady stream into the abbey. Thus abundance and leisure reigned within the holy precincts of this, the same as of all the other monasteries, while the enslaved populations, barely sheltered in thatched hovels, lived in perpetual and atrocious misery, borne down by all manner of exactions. Few sights could be imagined, more lively and yet so sad, than those presented at the payment of the ground-rent. The peasants, barely clad, whether slaves outright or only colonists, whose leanness told of their trials, arrived carrying on their shoulders or pushing in carts provisions and products of all sorts. To the tumultuous noise of the crowd was added the bleating of sheep and calves, the grunting of pigs, the lowing of cattle, the cackling of poultry — animals that the rent payers had to bring alive. Some of the men bent under the weight of large baskets filled with eggs, cheese, butter and honeycombs; others rolled barrels of wine that were taken to the abbey’s gate on a sort of sled; yonder, wagons were unloaded of their heavy bags of wheat, of barley, of spelt, of oats or of mustard grain; here, hay and straw were being heaped up in high piles; further away, kindling wood or building material, such as beams, planks, boards, vine poles, stakes; forester slaves brought in bucks, wild boars and venison to be smoked; colonists led by the leash hunting dogs that they had to train, or carried in cages falcons and sparrow-hawks that they had taken from their nests for falconry; others, taxed in a certain quantity of iron and lead, necessary articles in the construction of the buildings of the abbey, carried these metals, while others brought rolls of cloth and of linen, bales of wool or of hemp for spinning, large pieces of woven serge, packages of cured hides, ready for use. There were also tenants whose rent consisted in certain quantities of wax, of oil, of soap and even resinous torches; baskets, osier, twisted rope, hatchets, hoes, spades and other agricultural implements. Finally, others had to pay with articles of furniture, and household utensils.
Ricarik sat down at one of the corners of the shed near a table to receive the money tax of the colonists who were in arrears, while several turning-box sisters of the convent, dressed in their long black robes and white veils, went from group to group with a parchment scroll on which they entered the rent in kind. The old goldsmith stood behind Ricarik and examined one after another the sous and the silver and copper deniers that were being paid in. He approved them all. The venerable old man feared to expose the poor people to bad treatment if he rejected any coin, seeing the intendant was merciless. The colonists who were unable to pay on that day made a considerable group, and anxiously awaited their names to be called. Many of them were accompanied by their wives and children. Those who had the money to pay having acquitted themselves, Ricarik called in a loud voice: “Sebastian!” The colonist advanced all in a tremble with his wife and two children at his side, all of them as miserably dressed as himself.
“Not only have you not paid your rent of twenty-six sous,” said the intendant, “but last week you refused to cart to the abbey the woolen and linen goods that the abbess sent to Rennes. A bad payer, a detestable servant.”
“Alack, seigneur! If I have not paid my rent it is because shortly before harvest time the storm destroyed my ripe wheat. I might still have saved something if I could have attended to the crop immediately, but the slaves who work the field with me were requisitioned away five out of seven days in order to work at the enclosures of the new park of the abbey and in draining one of the ponds. Left alone, I could not take in the remnants of the harvest; then came the heavy rains; the wheat rotted on the ground and the whole harvest was lost. All I had left was one field of spelt; it had not been badly treated by the storm; but the field is contiguous to the forest of the abbey, and the deer ravaged the crops as they did the year before.”
Ricarik shrugged his shoulders and proceeded: “You owe besides, six cart-loads of hay; you did not fetch them in, yet the meadows that you cultivate are excellent. With the surplus of six cart-loads you could easily get money and fulfill your engagements.”
“Alack, seigneur! I never get to see the first cut of those meadows. The herds of the abbey come to pasture on my lands from early spring. If I set slaves to keep them off, a fight breaks out between my slaves and those of the abbey; one day mine are beaten, the next mine beat the others. But however it be, I am deprived of the help of their arms. Besides, seigneur, almost every day has its special duties; one day we have to prune the vines of the abbey, another we have to plow, harrow and plant its fields; yet another, we have its crops to cart away; another day it is the fences that have to be repaired. We have lately also had ditches to dig when the abbess feared that the convent was to be attacked by some bands of marauders. At that time we also had to mount guard.... If out of three nights one is compelled to spend two on his feet, and then to work from early dawn, strength fails and the work is neglected.”
“What about the cartage that you refused?”
“No, seigneur, I did not refuse to make the cartage. But one of my horses was foundered with too heavy a load and too long a stretch for the abbey. It was not possible to execute your orders for the last cartage.”
“If you have only one foundered horse, how do you expect to cultivate your fields? How will you pay your back rent and the rent of next year?”
“Alack, seigneur! I am in a cruel fix. I have brought with me my wife and children. Here they are. They join me in beseeching you to remit what I owe. Perhaps in the future I shall not meet so many disasters one after another.”
At a sign from the unhappy Gaul, his wife and children threw themselves at the feet of the intendant and with tears in their eyes implored him to remit the debt. Ricarik answered the colonist: “You have done wisely in bringing your wife and children with you; you have saved me the trouble of sending for them. I know of a certain Jew of Nantes called Mordecai, who loans money on bodily security. He will advance at least ten gold sous on your wife and two children, both of whom are old enough to work. You will be able to invest the money in the purchase of a horse to replace the one that was foundered. Later, after you shall have reimbursed the Jew his loan, he will return you your wife and children.”
The colonist and his family heard with stupor the words of the intendant, and broke out into sobs and prayers. “Seigneur,” said the Gaul, “sell me if you like as a slave; my condition will not be worse than it is now; but do not separate me from my wife and children.... I never shall be able to pay my back rent and reimburse the Jew; I prefer slavery to my present life as a colonist. Have pity upon us!”
“That will do!” said Ricarik. “You have too numerous a family to feed; that is what is ruining you.... When
you will have only your own needs to attend to, you will be able to pay your rent, and with Mordecai’s loan you will be enabled to continue to work.” Turning thereupon to one of his men: “Take the wife and children of Sebastian to the Jew Mordecai, he happens to be here now.”
Bonaik sought to mollify the Frank, but in vain, and Ricarik proceeded to call up by their names other colonists who were in arrears with their rent. The intendant was at this work when a lad of from seventeen to eighteen was dragged before him. The lad offered violent resistance to his captors and cried: “Let me go! I have brought three falcons and two goshawks for the abbess’ perch as my father’s rent.... I took them from their nests at the risk of breaking my bones.... What is it you want?”
“Ricarik,” said one of the slaves of the abbey who was dragging the lad, “we were near the fence of the abbey’s perch when we saw a sparrow-hawk, still hooded, that had escaped from the falconer’s hand. The bird flew only a little distance. Being impeded by its hood, it fell down close to the fence. This lad immediately threw his cap upon the bird and put it into his bag. We caught the thief in the act. Here is the bag. The sparrow-hawk is inside with its hood still on.”
“What have you to say?” asked Ricarik of the young lad who remained somber and silent. “Do you know how the law punishes the theft of a sparrow-hawk? It condemns the thief to pay three silver sous or to allow the bird to eat six ounces of flesh from his breast. I have a good mind to apply the law to you as a salutary example to other hawk thieves.... What have you to say?”