by Eugène Sue
“Charles, we know you in Brittany by the unjust wars that your father and yourself have waged against us.”
“So that, to you, gentlemen of Armorica, Charles is only a man of conquest, of violence, and of battle?”
“Yes, you reign only through terror.”
“Well, then, follow me. I may perhaps cause you to change your mind,” said the Emperor after a moment’s reflection. He rose, took his cane and put on his cap. His eyes then fell upon Vortigern, whom, standing silently at a distance, he had not noticed before. “Who is that young and handsome lad?” he asked.
“My grandson.”
“Octave,” the Emperor remarked, turning to the young Roman, “this is rather a young hostage.”
“August Prince, this lad was chosen for several reasons. His sister married Morvan, a common field laborer, but one of the most intrepid of the Breton chieftains. During this last war he commanded the cavalry.”
“And why, then, was not that Morvan brought here? That would have been an excellent hostage.”
“August Prince, in order to bring him we would have first had to catch him. Although severely wounded, Morvan, thanks to his heroine of a wife, succeeded in making his escape with her. It has been impossible to reach them in the inaccessible mountains whither they both fled. For that reason two other chiefs and influential men of the tribe were chosen for hostages; we left them on the road on account of their wounds, and proceeded only with this old man, who was the soul of the last wars, and also this youth, who, through his family connections, is related to one of the most dangerous chieftains of Armorica. I must admit that in taking him, we yielded also to the prayers of his mother. She was very anxious that he should accompany his grandfather on this long journey, which is very trying to a centenarian.”
“And you,” resumed the Emperor, addressing Vortigern, whom, during the account given by Octave, he had been examining with attention and interest, “no doubt also hate inveterately that Charles, the conqueror and devastator?”
“The Emperor Charles has white hair; I am only eighteen years old,” retorted the young Breton, blushing. “I can not answer.”
“Old man,” observed Charles, visibly affected by the lad’s self-respecting yet becoming modesty, “the mother of your grandson must be a happy woman. But coming to think of it, my lad, was it not you who yesterday evening, shortly before my arrival, came near breaking your neck with a fall from your horse?”
“I!” cried Vortigern, blushing with pride; “I, fall from my horse! Who dared to say so!”
“Oh! Oh! my lad. You are red up to your ears,” the Emperor exclaimed, laughing aloud. “But, never mind. Be tranquil. I do not mean to wound your pride of horsemanship. Far from it. Before I saw you to-day my ears have rung with the interminable praises of your gracefulness and daring on horseback. My dear daughters, especially little Thetralde and the tall Hildrude, told me at least ten times at supper that they had seen a savage young Breton, although wounded in one arm, manage his horse like the most skilful of my equerries.”
“If I deserve any praise, it must be addressed to my grandfather,” modestly answered Vortigern. “It was he who taught me to ride on horseback.”
“I like that answer, my lad. It shows your modesty and a proper respect for your elders. Are you lettered? Can you read and write?”
“Yes, thanks to the instruction of my mother.”
“Can you sing mass in the choir?”
“I!” cried Vortigern in great astonishment. “I sing mass! No, no, by Hesus! We do not sing mass in my country.”
“There they are, the Breton pagans!” exclaimed Charles. “Oh, my bishops are right, they are a devil-possessed people, those folks of Armorica. What a pity that so handsome and so modest a lad should not be able to sing mass in the choir.” Saying this, the Emperor pulled his thick cap close over his head and leaning heavily on his cane, said to the aged Breton: “Come, follow me, seigneur Breton. Ah, you only know of Charles the Fighter; I shall now make you acquainted with another Charles whom you do not yet know. Come, follow me.” Limping, and leaning on his cane, the Emperor moved towards the door, making a sign to the others to follow; but stopping short at the threshold, he turned to Octave: “You, go to Hugh, my Master of the Hounds, and notify him that I shall hunt deer in the forest of Oppenheim. Let him send there the hounds, horses and all other equipments of the chase.”
“August Prince, your orders will be executed.”
“You will also say to the Grand Nomenclator of my table that I may take dinner in the pavilion of the forest, especially if the hunt lasts long. My suite will dine there also. Let the repast be sumptuous. You will tell the Nomenclator that my taste has not changed. A good large joint of roast venison, served piping hot, is now, as ever, my favorite treat.”
The young Roman again bowed low; Charles stepped out first from the chamber. He was followed by Eginhard, then by Amael. As Vortigern was about to follow his grandfather, he was retained for an instant by Octave, who, approaching his mouth to the lad’s ear, whispered to him:
“I shall carry to the apartments of the Emperor’s daughters the news that he intends to hunt to-day. By Venus! The mother of love has you under her protecting wings, my young Breton.”
The lad blushed anew, and was about to answer the Roman when he heard Amael’s voice calling out to him: “Come, my child, the Emperor wishes to lean on your arm in order to descend the stairs and walk through the palace.”
More and more disturbed in mind, Vortigern stepped towards Charles as the latter was saying to the chamberlains: “No, nobody is to accompany me except the two Bretons and Eginhard;” and nodding to the lad he proceeded: “Your arm will be a better support to me than my cane; these stairs are steep; step carefully.”
Supported by Vortigern’s arm the Emperor slowly descended the steps of a staircase that ran out at one of the porticos of an interior courtyard. When the bottom was reached Charles dropped the young man’s arm, and resuming his cane, said: “You stepped cleverly; you are a good guide. What a pity that you do not know how to sing mass in the choir!” While thus chattering, Charles followed a gallery that ran along the courtyard. The men who accompanied him marched a few steps behind. Presently the Emperor noticed a slave crossing the courtyard with a large hamper on his shoulders. “Halloa! You, there, with the basket!” the Emperor called out in his piercing voice. “You, there, with the basket! Come here! What have you in that basket?”
“Eggs, seigneur.”
“Where are you taking them to?”
“To the kitchen of the august Emperor.”
“Where do those eggs come from?”
“From the Muhlsheim farm, seigneur.”
“From the Muhlsheim farm?” the Emperor repeated thoughtfully, and almost immediately added: “There must be three hundred and twenty-five eggs in that basket. Are there not?”
“Yes, seigneur; that’s the exact rent brought in every month from the farm.”
“You can go — and be careful you do not break the eggs.” The Emperor stopped for a moment, leaned heavily upon his cane, and turning to Amael, called out to him: “Halloa, seigneur Breton, come here, draw near me.” Amael obeyed, and the Emperor resuming his walk proceeded to say: “Charles the Fighter, the conqueror, is at least a good husbander — does it not strike you that way? He knows to an egg how many are laid by the hens on his farms. If you ever return to Brittany, you must not fail to narrate the incident to the housekeepers of your country.”
“If I ever again see my country, I shall tell the truth of what I have seen.”
CHAPTER V.
THE PALATINE SCHOOL.
THUS CHATTING, THE Emperor Charles the Great arrived before a door that opened on the gallery. He knocked with his cane, and a clerk dressed in black opened. Struck with surprise, the clerk bent the knee and cried: “The Emperor!” And as he seemed to be about to rush to the door of a contiguous hall, the Emperor ordered him to stop:
“Do not budge!
Master Clement is giving his lessons, is he?”
“Yes, my august Prince!”
“Remain where you are,” and addressing Amael: “Seigneur Breton, you shall now visit a school that I have founded. It is under the direction of Master Clement, a famous teacher, whom I have summoned from Scotland. The sons of the principal seigneurs of my court come here, in obedience to my orders, to study at this school, together with the poorest of my attendants.”
“This is well done, Charles — I congratulate you on that!”
“And yet it is Charles the Fighter that has done this good thing — let us go in;” and turning to Vortigern: “Well, my young man, you who cannot sing mass, open your eyes and ears at their widest; you are about to see pupils of your own age, and of all conditions.”
The Palatine school, directed by the Scotchman Clement, into whose precincts the two Bretons followed the Emperor, held about two hundred pupils. All rose at their benches at the sight of Charles, but he motioned to them to resume their seats, saying:
“Be seated, my boys; I prefer to see you with your noses in your books, than in air, under the pretext of respect for me.” And seeing that Master Clement, the director of the school, was himself about to descend from his high desk, Charles cried out to him: “Remain on your throne of knowledge, my worthy master; here I am only one of your subjects. I only wanted to cast a glance over the work of these boys, and to learn from you whether they have made any progress during my absence. Let the boys come forward, one by one, with the copy-books in which to-day’s work is being done.”
The Emperor prided himself not a little on his literacy. He sat down on a stool near the chair of Master Clement, and carefully examined the copy-books brought to him. It appeared that the pupils who were the sons of noble or rich parents, exhibited to the Emperor mediocre, or even poor work, while, on the other hand, the poorer pupils, or those whose parents were of lower rank, exhibited such excellent work that Charles, turning to Amael, said: “If you were as proficient in letters as myself, seigneur Breton, you would be able to appreciate, as I do, these manuscripts that I have just been looking over. The sweetest flavor of science is exhaled by these writings.” Thereupon addressing the scholars who had distinguished themselves, the Emperor said impressively: “I give you great praise, my children, for the zeal you display in carrying out my wishes; strive after perfection, and I shall endow you with rich bishoprics and magnificent abbeys.” The Emperor stopped and turned towards the lazy noblemen’s sons and the sons of the idle rich; his brow puckered, and casting upon them an angry look, he cried out: “As to you, the sons of my Empire’s principal men, as to you, dainty and prim lads, who, resting upon your birth and fortune, have neglected my orders and your studies, preferring play and idleness — as to you,” the Emperor proceeded in a voice of ever heightening anger, and smiting the table with his cane, “as to you, look for admiration from other quarters than mine. I care nothing for your birth and your fortune! Listen to my words and keep them firm in your minds: if you do not hasten to make amends for your negligence by constant application, you will never receive aught from me!”
The rich idlers dropped their eyes all of a tremble. The Emperor rose and said to a young clerk, named Bernard, barely twenty years of age, the excellence of whose work had attracted Charles’ attention: “And you, my lad, you may now follow me. I appoint you from to-day a clerk in my chapel, nor will the evidence of my protection end there.”
The Emperor looked satisfied with himself. With a complaisant air he turned to Amael: “Well now, seigneur Breton, you have seen Charles the Fighter, emulating in his humble capacity of man, the acts of our Lord God when on earth. He separates the wheat from the chaff, he places the just at his right, the wicked at his left. If you ever return to Brittany, you will tell the school-masters of your country that Charles is not altogether a bad superintendent of the schools that he has founded.”
“I shall say, Charles, that I saw you officiating in the midst of the pupils with wisdom, justice, and kindness.”
“I wish letters and science to shed splendor upon my reign. Were you less of a barbarian, I would have you assist at a sitting of our academy. We there assume the illustrious names of antiquity. Eginhard is called ‘Homer,’ Clement ‘Horace,’ and I ‘King David.’ These immortal names fit us as giants’ armors do pigmies. But, at least, we do honor, at our best, to those geniuses. Now, however,” said the Emperor, rising and breaking off the thread of his discourse on his academy, “let us, like good Catholics, proceed to church, and hear mass upon our knees.”
CHAPTER VI.
THE BISHOP OF LIMBURG.
PRECEDING HIS SUITE, that consisted of Eginhard, Amael, Vortigern and the newly-created clerk Bernard, the Emperor left the school-room and hobbled his way along a winding gallery. Encountering at one of the sharp and rather dark turns a young and handsome female slave, Charles addressed her with the same familiarity that he ever used towards the innumerable women of all conditions that stocked the palace. The Emperor chucked her under the chin, put his arm around her waist, and was about to carry his libertine freedom even further when, recollecting that, despite the darkness of the spot, he might be seen by the men in his suite, he motioned to the female slave that she withdraw, and laughing, observed to Amael: “Charles likes to show himself accessible to his subjects.”
“And above all to the female ones,” retorted the aged Breton. “But I know that the priest’s holy-water sprinkler will readily absolve you of all your sins.”
“Oh, the pagan of a Breton; the pagan of a Breton!” murmured the Emperor as he hobbled along and presently entered the basilica of Aix-la-Chapelle, contiguous to the palace.
Vortigern and his grandfather were both dazzled by the indescribable magnificence of the temple, where all the attendants at the imperial palace were now gathered. At a distance Vortigern discerned, seated near the choir and among the numerous concubines of Charles, the Emperor’s daughters and grand-daughters, clad in brilliant apparel, with the blonde and charming Thetralde close to her sister Hildrude. The Emperor took his accustomed seat at the chanter’s desk among the sumptuously dressed choristers. One of these respectfully offered the Emperor an ebony baton, with which he beat time and gave the signal for the several chants in the liturgy. A little before the end of each stanza Charles, by way of signal, would raise his shrill voice and emit a gutteral cry, so strange and weird, that, on one of these occasions, Vortigern, whose eyes had accidentally encountered the large blue eyes of Thetralde obstinately fixed upon him, could hardly keep from laughing outright. So ridiculous was the figure cut by the Emperor, that despite the imposing appearance of the ceremony and despite the embarrassment into which the glances of Thetralde threw him, the youth’s sense of decorum was severely taxed.
The mass being over, Charles said to Amael: “Well, now, seigneur Breton, admit that, at a pinch, however much of a fighter I may be, I would make a passable clerk and a good chaunter.”
“I am not skilled in such matters. Yet I am free to tell you that, as a singer, the cries you uttered were frequently more discordant than those of the sea-gulls along our Brittany beach. Moreover, to me it looks as if the head of an Empire should have better things to do than to sing mass.”
“You will ever remain a barbarian and an idolater,” cried the Emperor, stepping out of the basilica. At that moment, and still under the portico of the monumental building, a dignitary of the court pushed himself forward and bowing low, said to Charles:
“August Prince, magnanimous Emperor, tidings have just been received of the death of the Bishop of Limburg.”
“Oh! Oh! Only now? That surprises me greatly. People are so hot after the quarry of bishoprics that the death of a bishop is always announced two or three days in advance. Did the deceased bishop die in the odor of sanctity? Did he commend himself to the next world by the founding of pious establishments, or by rich bequests to the poor?”
“August Prince, it is said that he bequeathed on
ly two pounds of silver to the poor.”
“How light a viaticum for so long a journey!” exclaimed a voice. It proceeded from Bernard, the poor and learned pupil whom Charles had just appointed clerk of his own chapel, and who, agreeable to the orders of the Emperor, had kept close to his master since they left the Palatine school.
Charles turned abruptly towards the young man, who, crimson with confusion, already regretted the boldness of his language and was trembling at every limb. “Follow me!” said Charles with severity; and observing that other dignitaries of the court took the call as if addressed to themselves, he added: “No, only the two Bretons, Eginhard and the young clerk. The rest of you may keep yourselves in readiness for the hunt that we shall start upon in a few minutes.”
The brilliant crowd kept itself aloof, and the Emperor regained the gallery of the palace accompanied only by Vortigern, Amael, Eginhard and the poor Bernard, the last more dead than alive. The clerk walked last, fearing that he had angered the Emperor by his stinging sally on the niggardliness of the deceased bishop. The surprise of the young clerk was, accordingly, great when, arrived at the extremity of the gallery, Charles half turned to him, and with beaming eyes, said:
“Draw near, draw near! Do you really think the Bishop of Limburg left too little money for the poor?”
“Seigneur, pardon my inadvertent boldness!”
“Answer. If I bestow that bishopric upon you, would you, the day you appear before God, have a better record for liberality than the Bishop of Limburg?”
“August Prince,” answered the clerk, his head swimming at the thought of such unheard-of good fortune, and dropping on his knees: “It rests with God and your will to decide my fate.”
“Arise. I appoint you Bishop of Limburg. But follow me. It will be well for you to learn, from personal observation, the greed with which bishoprics are striven for. The riches that they entail may be judged from the ardor with which their possession is pursued. And yet, once won, the cupidity of the incumbents, so far from being assuaged, seems whetted. Do you remember, Eginhard, that insolent Bishop of Mannheim? When, at the time of one of my campaigns against the Huns, I left him near my wife Hildegarde, did not the worthy feel so inflated with the friendship that my wife showed him, that he carried his audacity to the point of demanding from her as a gift the gold wand that I use as a symbol of my authority, for the purpose, as that impudent bishop declared, of using it for a cane? By the King of the Heavens! The sceptre of Charles, of the Emperor, is not so readily to be converted into a walking stick for the bishops of his empire!”