by Eugène Sue
“Then, you pull, my boy!... Pull gently.... Do not jerk!”
“He is coming,” replied the apprentice joyfully; “the prisoner’s weight is upon the barrel.”
“Great God!” suddenly cried Rosen-Aër, pointing out of the window. “Look in the cavern! There is a light!... All is lost!”
Indeed, a strong light, shed by a lamp, suddenly appeared in the subterranean prison. The semi-circular opening of the air-hole was luminously marked across the darkness. The reverberation of the light projected itself upon the water in the moat — and revealed the fugitive, who, half submerged, held himself up with his two hands on the floating barrel. Immediately after, Meroflede appeared at the air-hole wrapped in her scarlet cloak with its hood thrown back, and leaning against the remaining bars which Amael had not had time to remove. At the sight of the fugitive, the abbess uttered a scream of rage and cried twice, “Berthoald! Berthoald!” She then disappeared, taking her lamp with her, so that again all was left in thickest darkness without. Frightened at the appearance of the abbess, the apprentice who drew the barrel threw himself back and dropped the cord. Fortunately the goldsmith seized it as soon, and amidst the mortal fear of all, drew the barrel close to the window, saying: “Let us first save Amael.”
Thanks to the barrel, which floated almost on a level with the window sill, the latter was easily scaled by the prisoner. His first movement upon stepping into the workshop was to throw himself on his mother’s neck. Mother and son for a moment forgot their common danger and were holding each other in a passionate embrace when a rap was heard at the door.
“Woe is us!” muttered one of the apprentices. “It is the abbess!”
“Impossible!” said the goldsmith. “To ascend from the prison, pass the cloister, cross the courtyard, and come as far as our workshop she would need more than ten minutes.”
“Bonaik!” cried from the outside the rough voice of Ricarik, “open the door instantly.”
“Oh! what shall we do! The coal vault is too narrow to conceal Rosen-Aër and her son,” muttered the old man; then raising his voice, he answered: “Seigneur intendant, we are just at the cast, we cannot leave it — —”
“That is the very operation I want to witness,” cried back the intendant. “Open immediately.”
“You, Septimine, and your son remain near the window, lean out your heads; you will otherwise be suffocated,” hastily said the old man to Rosen-Aër, taking a swift resolution. And pushing Amael, his mother and Septimine to the casement, he whispered to one of the apprentices: “Pour the full contents of the box of sulphur and bitumen upon the forge brasier.... We shall fill the workshop with smoke.”
The young slave obeyed mechanically. At the moment when Ricarik began again to knock at the door with redoubled force, a sulphurous and bituminous smoke began to spread in the workshop, and soon was so intense that one could hardly see his hand before his eyes. Thus, when the old man finally proceeded to open the door to the intendant, the latter, blinded and suffocated by a puff of the pungent and thick vapor, instead of stepping in, jumped back.
“Walk in, seigneur intendant,” said Bonaik, “this is the effect of the casting after the fashion of the great Eloi.... We could not open to you sooner out of fear of chilling the liquid metal, which we were pouring into the mold.... Step forward, seigneur intendant; come and see the casting.”
“Go to the devil!” answered Ricarik, coughing fit to strangle and stepping further away from the threshold. “I am suffocated ... blinded!”
“It is the effect of the casting, dear seigneur,” and watching the bunch of keys at the belt of the intendant, who was rubbing his smarting eyelids with both hands, Bonaik seized him by the throat and cried: “This way, boys! He has the keys of the gates!”
At the call of the old man, the apprentices and Amael rushed forward, precipitated themselves upon the intendant and smothered his cries by holding his throat tight, while Bonaik, seizing the bunch of keys, said: “Drag this fellow into the workshop and throw him out of the window into the moat. That will settle him quickly, and he will no longer punish and kill poor slaves!”
The old man’s orders were immediately executed. Despite the resistance of the Frank, the noise of his body was soon heard, dropping into the water.
“Now,” cried the old man, “all come here! Follow me and let us run!”
Hardly had the old man taken a few steps in the alley when he saw the slave who watched the gate approaching from a distance with a lighted lantern in his hand. “Remain hidden in the shadow,” the goldsmith said in a low voice to the fugitives, and he walked briskly toward the gateman, who met him with a look of surprise:
“Helloa, old Bonaik! Is not the intendant in your workshop? I do not know what the man is thinking about. It is two hours since the boat and oarsmen are waiting for his messenger.... They are growing impatient and want to go.”
“They will not have long to wait; I am the messenger.”
“Are you going to fill the functions of messenger?”
“Do you know this bunch of keys?”
“Surely I know this bunch of keys. It is the one the intendant always carries at his belt.”
“He confided it to me so that I could get out of the abbey yard in case you were not at your lodge. Let us go quick to the boat. Walk ahead.”
Convinced by the sincerity of the old man, whose presence of mind seemed to grow with the difficulties that arose in his way, the gateman marched ahead of him. Bonaik, however, slackened his pace, and, calling to one of the apprentices, in a low voice said: “Justin, you and the others follow me at a distance; the night is dark, the light of the gateman’s lantern will guide us, but the moment you hear me whistle, all run up to me.” Having attended to that, Bonaik addressed the gateman who had gone far ahead: “Helloa, Bernard! Do not walk so fast; you forget that at my age one’s legs are not as nimble as yours.” Thus, preceded by the gateman and followed at a distance in the dark by the rest of the fugitives, Bonaik arrived at the outer court of the monastery. Bernard stopped and seemed to listen.
“What’s the matter?” asked the goldsmith. “Why do you halt?”
“Do you not see the flare of torches lighting the top of the wall of the inside court? Do you not hear voices?”
“March, man! March! I have other business in hand than to stop to look at torches, or listen to noises. I must obey our holy abbess and deliver Ricarik’s message as soon as possible. I have not a second to lose. Quick, let’s hurry.”
“But something out of the usual order is going on in the monastery!”
“It is for that very reason that the intendant sent me off with so much haste on this message.... Hurry up! Time presses!”
“Oh, that is something else, old Bonaik,” answered Bernard, quickening his steps. The gateman hurried on, arrived in a minute at the outside enclosure, and opened the gate. Immediately the old man whistled. Greatly surprised at this, the gateman asked him: “What are you whistling for? The door is open. Go out, if you are in such a hurry. But I hear steps. They seem to be running this way. Who are these people?” and he raised his lantern in order to obtain a better view. “There are two women; who may they be?”
Bonaik cut short the gateman’s observations with the peremptory order to the fugitives: “Take the key out of the lock and close it after you. That will keep the gateman locked in.” Hardly had the old man pronounced these words when Amael, the apprentices, Rosen-Aër and Septimine rushed through the opening. One of the apprentices pushed Bernard roughly back into the court, took out the key, pulled the door after him and locked it on the outside. Bonaik took up the lantern and cried: “Helloa, there! The boat! Come here for us to embark!”
“Come this way!” answered several voices. “This way! The boat is tied to the large willow tree.”
“Master Bonaik,” said one of the apprentices in great trepidation, “we are pursued. The porter is calling for help. Look at the glimmer of approaching torches! They seem to be in the
garden that we have just left.”
“There is now nothing to fear, my lads, the gate is studded with iron and locked from without. Before they can have time to break it down, we shall have embarked,” saying which the old man proceeded at a rapid pace towards the willow tree. Observing on his way a full bag on Justin’s shoulder, Bonaik said to him: “What have you got in that bag?”
“Master Bonaik, while you were talking to the intendant, Gervais and I, fearing some oversight on your part, took, out of precaution, I, my bag in which I stowed away the rest of our provisions, and Gervais the wine pouch which is still half full.”
“You are wise lads; we have a long tramp before us after we shall have disembarked.”
A few minutes later and the old man, together with his companions, arrived at the old willow tree. A boat stood ready. Four slave oarsmen sat on the benches, with the steersman at the rudder. “At last!” said the steersman in a peevish tone. “Here we have been waiting over three hours; we are chilled through, and have more than two hours to row—”
“I am going to give you a piece of good news, my friends,” answered the goldsmith to the boatmen. “I have brought oarsmen with me to relieve you. You can go back to the monastery. The steersman alone will have to remain to pilot the boat.”
Glad and quickly the slaves jumped out of the boat. The steersman resigned himself not without a murmur. Bonaik let Rosen-Aër and Septimine enter first. Amael and the apprentices took hold of the oars, the steersman the rudder, and the boat swiftly left the bank behind, while Bonaik, wiping the sweat from his brow, said with a sigh of relief and joy:
“Oh, my boys, this was a casting day such as I never saw in the workshop of the great Eloi!”
CHAPTER XII.
MOTHER AND SON.
AT NOON OF the day following the exciting night in which the fugitives left the abbey, they halted for rest after having been uninterruptedly on the march from the time that they disembarked at the other shore of the abbey’s pond. Thanks to the precaution of the apprentices, one of whom had brought provisions and another a pouch of wine, their strength was speedily restored. The travelers had sat down upon the grass under a wide-spreading oak whose foliage was yellowed by the late season. At their feet flowed a stream of limpid water, behind them rose a hill that they had just traveled over, following the track of an old Roman road that had fallen into decay. The road continued for a long distance until the turning of a wooded headland behind which it disappeared. Far away in the distant horizon stood outlined the dark blue mountain-tops that form the boundaries and frontier of Brittany. Guided by one of the apprentices who was familiar with the surroundings of the abbey, the fugitives had struck the old Roman road. It led to Nantes, at the boundary line of Armorica, and in the neighborhood of which, seven centuries earlier, Julius Cæsar established several entrenched camps in order to protect his military colonies. Accustomed through his profession of war to measure distances, Amael calculated that by marching until sunset, resting an hour, and then resuming their tramp, it would be possible to reach Brittany at the end of the next day. Septimine sat near Rosen-Aër and Amael, and the apprentices, spread out upon the grass, had just finished their frugal meal. The old goldsmith having also repaired his forces, pulled out of the pocket of his blouse a little packet that was carefully wrapped up in a piece of smooth skin. The young folks followed the old man’s movements with curiosity, and to their great surprise they saw him take from its wrapping the little abbatial crosier of silver, at which he had for some time been chiseling. There were also two burins in the package. Noticing the look of astonishment on the faces of the apprentices, he said to them:
“You seem surprised, my children, to see that I carried this jewel from the abbey. It is not the value of the metal that tempted me.”
“I believe that, Master Bonaik; the little crosier has but little silver in it. But we still wonder why you brought it along.”
“Well, my boys, I love my trade.... I shall have no further opportunities to exercise it during the remaining days of my life.... I preserved my two best burins.... I mean to chisel this crosier so nicely that by working upon it a little every day I shall consume the rest of my life at it. It will be the masterpiece of my long career.”
“You congratulated us upon our foresight, Master Bonaik, because we thought of the pouch of wine and the provisions. But we must admit that your foresight exceeds ours.”
“Good father, and you, my friends,” said Amael, addressing himself to the goldsmith and his apprentices, “please draw near; I wish you to hear what I have to say to my mother. I have committed a wrong, I should now have courage to make a public confession ... and beseech forgiveness.”
Rosen-Aër sighed and listened with sad and severe curiosity to her son’s account of his conduct and career since she saw him as a boy. Looking at her with a surprised face Septimine seemed to beseech the indulgence of the mother, of this Gallic mother who felt so justly and so painfully mortified at her son.
“From the moment that all peril to me was over,” Amael began, “my mother has not spoken to me during this long journey, either by day or night; she has refused the support of my arm, preferring that of this poor girl, who saved her life. My mother’s severity is just, I cannot complain of it, though it pains me.... May the truthful account of my faults, the confession of my errors, and my sincere repentance merit her pardon.”
“A mother always forgives,” said Septimine timidly, looking at Rosen-Aër, but the latter answered in a tremulous and grave voice, without deigning to look at Amael:
“My son’s abandonment has torn my heart; a prey to unceasing and ever renewing anxieties on his behalf, I gave myself up alternately to despair and to insane hope.... These torments have lasted long years. I can pardon my son for having caused them; but what is not in my power to pardon is his criminal alliance with the oppressors of our race, with those accursed Franks, who enslaved our fathers, outraged our mothers, and who continue to hold our children in bondage!”
“My crime is great. But I swear to you, mother, that long before I saw you again remorse gnawed at my heart. It is ten years since I left the valley of Charolles, where I lived happily with my family. But I yielded to curiosity, to an overpowering thirst for adventure. I believed that beyond our own confines I was to see an entirely new world. One evening I left, but not without shedding many a tear, not without turning more than once to take a parting look at our valley.”
“In my youth,” said the old man, “my father often told me how Karadeucq, one of our ancestors, also left his family to run what then was called the ‘Bagaudy’ — to tramp free through the woods and lie in ambush for our oppressors. May, Rosen-Aër, the remembrance of our ancestor soften your heart towards your son.”
“The Bagauders and the Vagres warred against the Romans and then against the Franks; they did not ally themselves with our oppressors, and fight on their side, as my son has done.”
“Your reproaches are merited, mother! You will see in the course of my account that I often made them to myself. Almost immediately upon quitting the valley I fell into the hands of a band of Franks. They were on their way back from Auvergne and were traveling north. They made me a slave. Their chief kept me for a time to oversee and tend his horse, and to furbish his weapons. I had the instinct of war. The sight of arms or of a fine horse always fascinated me since childhood. You know it, mother.”
“Yes, your holidays were those on which the colonists of the valley exercised themselves in arms ... or ran races on horseback.”
“Led a slave by that Frankish chief, I never sought to flee. He treated me kindly. Besides, it was to me a pleasure to polish armors and to ride on the march. At least, and at last, I was seeing a new country.... Alas, quite new! The fields were ravaged, the harvest was neglected, the frightful distress of the subjugated populations of the districts that we traversed contrasted cruelly with the independent and happy life of the inhabitants of our valley. It was on such occasions that
, thinking of our happy region, of you, and of my father, tears dropped from my eyes, and my heart felt like breaking. Occasionally, the thought came to me of running away from the Franks and returning to you. But the fear of a severe reprimand held me back.”
“I would have felt the same way, had I committed the same fault,” said Septimine, who listened to Amael’s report with tender interest. “I never would have dared to return to my family.”
“After being more than a year with the Frankish chief, I had become a good groom, and I could master the most spirited horses. By cleaning the weapons I had learned to handle them. The Frank died. I was to be sold with all his other slaves. A Jew named Mordecai, who traveled over Gaul as a trafficker in slaves, happened to be in Amiens at the time; he inspected my deceased master’s slaves. He bought me and told me in advance that he was to sell me to a rich Frankish seigneur named Bodegesil, Duke of the country of Poitiers. The seigneur, said the Jew, owned the finest horses and the finest armors imaginable. ‘If you flee’ said the Jew to me, ‘I would lose a fat sum of money, because I bought you for a large amount, knowing I could dispose of you to the seigneur Bodegesil at a good profit. If you run away you will lose a chance of making your fortune. Bodegesil is a generous seigneur. Serve him faithfully and he will take you to war with him whenever he is called to take the field with his men, and we have seen in these days of war more than one manumitted slave become a count.’ The Jew’s words fired my ambition, pride intoxicated me, I believed what he said, and did not try to run away. He himself, in order to confirm my purpose, treated me at his best; he even promised me to have a letter that I wrote to you reach you through another Jew who was to go to Burgundy.”