FATHER FULTRADE.
The personage whose bare appearance had imposed silence upon the crowd
was no sooner discovered by the bishop's sergeant than the latter cried
out to him:
"Good Father Fultrade, come to my assistance! You will be better able
than myself to convince the seigneur count of the bishop's priority of
right over these prisoners."
Father Fultrade, the leader of the choir at St. Denis, whom the sergeant
addressed, was an able-bodied monk of not more than thirty years of age.
He was riding slowly up the street, distributing from his high perch
benedictions to the right and left with a hand hirsute up to the nails.
The monk had the frame of a Hercules, a rubicund face, scarlet ears,
and, despite the ordinances of the councils that commended the clergy to
be clean shaven, wore a long beard, that was as black as his thick
eyebrows and that reached down to his robust chest. Having heard the
appeal of the bishop's sergeant and also recognizing the Count of Paris
on horseback, Father Fultrade alighted from his own mount, confided the
reins to a young boy who bowed down devoutly before him, and pushed his
way quickly toward Rothbert through the crowd that was rapidly swelling
in numbers and growing more and more excited. Some were loudly taking
sides with the judicial claims advanced by the bishop's sergeant, others
with those of the skippers, while a small minority sustained the
pretensions of the count. The count realized the situation that he was
in. Aware that, different from the serfs of the fields, whom nothing
protected against the oppression of the seigneurs, the dwellers in the
cities, however miserable their plight might be, at least enjoyed some
few franchises which it was often prudent to respect; anxious, moreover,
to gain the support of the monk to his side, Rothbert controlled his
choler and cordially addressed the latter:
"You are welcome, Fultrade! You are a learned man. You will certainly
agree with me in the matter of these two scamps. Think of it, they had
the audacity to insult me. And now they demand to be tried by the
bourgeois court, while the bishop's sergeant claims them as his
prisoners. I maintain that they fall under the jurisdiction of my own
provost."
The monk looked at the prisoners, recognized Eidiol and his son, gave
them an affectionate greeting with his eyes and turned to Rothbert:
"Seigneur count, there is a way of conciliating all interested. You are
the offended party, be charitable; set the prisoners at liberty. Do not
deny my prayer," the monk hastened to add in answer to a gesture of
impatience from the count. "When I was the priest of Notre Dame, you
often tendered me your good offices. Grant grace to these two men for my
sake. I have known them long. I can vouch for their repentance. Mercy
and pity for them!"
"Fultrade!" impetuously broke out Guyrion the Plunger, little pleased at
the intercession of the monk, "say nothing about my repentance! No, I do
not repent! If I only had my hands free, I would thrust my hook into
the bellies of these cowards, who require three of them to hold one
man!"
"You hear the wretch!" said the count to the monk.
"Rothbert," resumed Eidiol, making a sign to his son to keep quiet,
"youth is hot-headed and deserves indulgence. But I, whose beard is
white, demand of you, not mercy, but justice. Order us taken to the
bourgeois court!"
"Noble count," Fultrade whispered to Rothbert, "do not irritate this
rabble; we may need it any time; are we not in the spring of the year?"
And lowering his voice still more he added: "Is it not at this season of
the year that the Northman pirates are in the habit of ascending the
river as far as Paris? If the rabble is irritated, instead of repelling
the invader, it will lie low, and then we, the churchmen and the
seigneurs, will be obliged to pay whatever ransom those pagans may
choose to exact."
The monk's words seemed to have some effect upon the Count of Paris. He
reflected for a moment, but soon again recovered from the apprehensions
that the chanter had awakened, and remarked:
"Nothing indicates a fresh descent of the Northmans. Their vessels have
not been signalled this year at the mouth of the Seine."
"Do not these accursed pirates swoop down upon us with the suddenness of
a tempest? Out of prudence and out of policy, count, show yourself
merciful towards these two men."
Rothbert still hesitated to accept the clergyman's proposition, which
wounded his pride, when his eyes accidentally fell upon the house of
Eidiol, at the entrance of which Martha and Anne the Sweet stood weeping
and trembling. Suddenly recollecting that the two women had only shortly
before interceded for the culprits, and noticing now for the first time
the angelic beauty of the old skipper's daughter, the count smiled
sarcastically at the monk and said to him:
"By all the saints! What a fool I was! The girl explains to me the
motive of your charity towards the two scamps."
"What does the motive of charity matter?" answered the chanter,
exchanging smiles with the seigneur.
"Very well, be it so!" finally said Rothbert, who had in the meantime
again alighted. He beckoned one of his men to lead his horse back to
him, and while remounting observed to the chanter:
"It is not to any apprehension on the score of the Northmans that I
yield. In granting to you grace for these two scamps, I am only guided
by the desire to render you agreeable to your mistress, a dainty
strawberry to be plucked."
"Noble seigneur, the girl is my spiritual daughter. _Honni soit qui mal
y pense._"
"Tell that to others, you expert catcher of young birds in their nests,"
replied Rothbert, swinging himself into his saddle; and raising his
voice he proceeded, addressing his men who held Eidiol and Guyrion, "Let
the fellows go; but if they ever dare to cross my path, I shall want you
to break the shafts of your lances upon their backs."
The Count of Paris, before whom the crowd parted, departed at a gallop.
A few words whispered in the ear of the bishop's sergeant caused this
dignitary also to renounce his purpose of lodging a complaint against
Eidiol and Guyrion and his renunciation was obtained all the more
quickly seeing that the count, the aggrieved party, had pardoned the
offence. The crowd dispersed. The old skipper, accompanied by his son,
re-entered his house, whither Fultrade preceded him with a solemn and
patronizing air.
The instant the monk stepped into the house, Martha threw herself at his
feet, with tears in her eyes, exclaiming:
"Thanks be to you, my holy father in God! You have delivered back to me
my husband and my son!"
"Rise, good woman," answered Fultrade, "I have only obeyed Christian
charity. Your son has been very imprudent. Let him be wiser hereafter."
Saying this the monk moved towards the wooden staircase that led to the
upper rooms, and said to Eidiol's wife: "Martha, let us go upstairs with
your daughter, I want to speak to you both on holy matters."
"Fultrade," said the old skipper, who, no less than his son, seemed to
dislike the sight of the monk in his house, "I had justice on my side in
this dispute with the count; nevertheless, I thank you for your good
intentions. But, my good wife, before turning your thoughts to holy
matters, you will be kind enough to let my son and myself have a pot of
beer and a piece of bread and bacon for immediate consumption. Then I
wish you to prepare some provisions for us, because within an hour we
have to sail down to the lower Seine, where we shall remain until
to-morrow evening."
While he was making the announcement of his speedy departure, Eidiol
observed, without however taking any particular notice of the
circumstance, that the monk, otherwise impassible, seemed slightly to
thrill with joy. The old man's attention was immediately drawn away from
Fultrade by his daughter's caresses.
"What, father!" exclaimed Anne the Sweet, with a sad look and throwing
her arms around her father's neck, "Are you to leave us so soon, and
with my brother, too? Do you really expect to remain a whole day out of
the house?"
"We have a cargo to take to the little port of St. Audoin," answered
Eidiol. "Do not feel alarmed, my dear child, we shall surely be back
to-morrow." And again addressing his wife, "Come, Martha, let us have
something to eat, fetch us a pot of beer and get the provisions ready.
We have not much time left."
"Could you not wait a little while, my friend--good Father Fultrade
wishes to speak to me and Anne upon some sacred matters?"
"Well, then, let my daughter stay with me," answered the old skipper
with some impatience. "She will be able to attend to us."
The monk made a sign to Martha to accept her husband's proposition, and
she followed the holy man into the upper chamber where the two remained
alone.
"Martha," the monk hastened to say the instant the two were seated, "I
have but a few minutes to spend here. The fervent piety of yourself and
your daughter deserves a reward. The treasures of the Abbey of St. Denis
have just received from our holy father in Rome a relic of inestimable
value--a lock from the hair of our Lord Jesus Christ, cut by a lad at
the wedding feast of Cana."
"Good God! What a divine treasure!"
"Doubly divine! The faithful, lucky enough to be able to touch this
matchless relic, will not be only temporarily relieved of their
ailments, they will be forever healed of all sorts of fevers."
"Healed forever!" exclaimed Martha, clasping her hands in ecstatic
wonderment. "Healed forever of all sorts of dangerous fevers!"
"Besides, thanks to the doubly miraculous virtue of the relic, even
those who have always enjoyed health, are preserved from all future
sicknesses."
"Oh, good father! What an immense concourse of people will not
immediately crowd to your abbey, in order to profit by such miraculous
blessings."
"It is for that reason that, in reward to your piety, I wish that you
and your daughter be the first to approach the treasure. The seigneurs
and the grandees will come only after you. I have reserved the first
admission for you two."
"For the like of us, poor women!"
"'The last shall be the first, and the first shall be the last'--so hath
our Redeemer said. A magnificent case is being prepared for the relic.
It is not to be offered to the adoration of the faithful until the
goldsmith's work is ready. But I mean to introduce you two secretly, you
and your daughter, this very evening, into the oratory of the Abbot of
St. Denis, where the relic has been temporarily deposited."
"Oh! How bounden I shall be to you! I shall be forever healed of my
fevers, and my daughter will never be ill! And do you think that this
miraculous relic, this lock of hair, may be powerful enough to enable me
to find again my little daughter, my little girl, who, when still a
child, disappeared from this place, about thirty years ago?"
"Nothing is impossible to faith. But in order to enjoy the blessings of
the relic, you will have to make haste. I accompanied our abbot to St.
Germain-d'Auxerre. He will remain there only until to-morrow. It will,
accordingly, be imperative for you and your daughter to come with me to
St. Denis this very evening. Towards nightfall I shall wait for you
near the tower of the Little Bridge. You will both ride at the crupper
of my horse; we shall depart for the abbey; I shall introduce you two
into the oratory of the abbot, where you will make your devotions, and
then, after you have spent the night in the house of one of our female
serfs you can both return to Paris in the morning."
"Oh, holy father in Christ! How impenetrable are the designs of
Providence! My husband, who has not the faith in relics that we have,
would surely have opposed our pious pilgrimage. But this very night he
will be absent!"
"Martha, neither your husband nor your son are on the road to their
salvation. You must redouble your own piety to the end that you may be
more surely able to intercede for them with the Lord. I forbid you to
mention our pilgrimage either to Eidiol or your son."
"I shall obey you, good father. Is it not to the end of living longer at
their side that I wish to go and adore that incomparable relic?"
"It is then agreed. Towards nightfall, you and your daughter will wait
for me on the other side of the Little Bridge. Understood?"
"Myself and Anne will wait for you, holy father, well muffled in our
capes."
Fultrade left the room, descended the staircase with meek gravity, and
before leaving the house said to the old skipper, while affecting not to
look at Anne the Sweet:
"May the Lord prosper your voyage, Eidiol."
"Thanks for the good wish, Fultrade," answered Eidiol, "but my voyage
could not choose but be favorable. We are to descend the Seine; the
current carries us; my vessel has been freshly scraped; my ash-tree
oars are new, my sailors are young and vigorous, and I am an old pilot
myself."
"All that is nothing without the will of the Lord," answered the monk
with a look of severity, while following with lustful side glances the
movements of Anne, who was ascending the stairs to fetch from the upper
chambers the great coats which her father and brother wished to take
along for use during the night on the water. "No!" continued Fultrade,
"without the will of the Lord, no voyage can be favorable; God wills all
things."
"By the wine of Argenteuil, which you sold to us at such dear prices in
the church of Notre Dame, when we used to go there and play dice, Father
Fultrade, how like a sage you are now talking!" cried Rustic the Gay,
whose name well fitted his looks. The worthy lad, having learned at the
Port of St. Landry about the arrest of the dean of the Skippers' or
Mariners' Guild of Paris, had hastened to the spot, greatly alarmed
about Martha and her daughter, to whom he came to offer his services.
"Oh, Father Fultrade!" the young and merry fellow went on to say, "what
good broiled steaks, what delicate sausages did you not use to sell us
in the rear of the little chapel of St. Gratien where you kept your
tap-room! How often have I not seen monks, vagabonds and soldiers
wassailing there with the gay lassies of Four-Banal street! What giddy
whirls did they not use to dance in front of your hermitage!"
"Thanks be to God, Father Fultrade needs no longer to sell wine and
broiled steaks!" put in Martha with marked impatience at the jests of
Rustic the Gay, and annoyed at seeing the young skipper endeavor to
humiliate the holy man with the recollection of the former traffic in
wine and victuals in which he had indulged as was the habit with the
priests of lower rank. "Father Fultrade is now the leader of the choir
of St. Denis and one of the high dignitaries of the Church. Hold your
tongue, brainless boy!"
"Martha, let the fool talk!" replied the monk disdainfully, walking to
the door. "The true Christian preaches humility. I am not ashamed of
having kept a tap-room. The end justifies the means. All that is done in
the temple of the Lord is sanctified."
"What, Father Fultrade!" exclaimed Rustic the Gay, "Is everything
sanctified?--even debauchery?"
The monk left the house shrugging his shoulders and without uttering a
word. But Martha, angered at the lad's language, addressed him with
bitterness in her tone:
"Rustic, if all you come here for is to humiliate our good Father
Fultrade, you may dispense with putting your feet over our threshold.
Shame upon speakers of evil!"
"Come, come, dear wife," said Eidiol, "calm yourself. After all, the lad
has only said the truth. Is it not a fact that the lower clergy traffic
in wine and food, even in pretty girls?"
"Thanks be to the Lord!" answered Martha. "At least what is drunk and
what is eaten on the premises of holy places is sanctified, as the
venerable Father Fultrade has just said. Is it not better to go and
drink there than in the taverns where Satan spreads his nets?"
"Adieu, good wife! I do not care to discuss such subjects. Nevertheless
it does seem strange to me, despite the general custom, to see the house
of the Lord turned into a tavern."
"Oh, my God! My poor husband!" exclaimed Martha, sighing and painfully
affected by the obduracy of her husband. "Is the custom not general? In
all the chapels there is feasting done."
"It is the custom; I admit it; I said so before, dear wife. Let us not
quarrel over it. But where is Anne? She has not returned from above;"
and stepping towards the staircase, the old man twice called out his
daughter's name.
"Here I am, father," answered the blonde girl with her sweet voice, and
she descended with her father's and brother's great coats on her arm.
The preparations for departure were soon ended by Eidiol, his son, and
Rustic the Gay, all the quicker and more cheerful for the hand that Anne
took in them. A large hamper was filled with provisions and the men took
leave of the women folks.
"Adieu, dear wife; adieu, dear daughter, till to-morrow. Forget not to
lock the street door well to-night. Penitent marauders are dangerous
fellows. There is no worse breed of thieves."
"The Lord will watch over us," answered Martha, dropping her eyes before
her husband.
"Adieu, good mother," said Guyrion, in turn. "I regret to have caused
you the fright of this forenoon. My father was right. I was too quick
with my hook against the lances of the Franks."
"Thanks to God, my son," replied Martha with unction, "our good Father
Fultrade happened along, like an angel sent by God to save you. Blessed
be he for his intervention!"
"If the angels look like him, what a devil of a face must not the demons
have!" murmured Rustic the Gay, taking charge of the hamper, while
Guyrion threw two spare oars and his redoubtable hook over his shoulder.
At the moment when, following last upon the steps of Eidiol and his son,
Rustic the Gay was leaving the house, Anne the Sweet approached the
young man and said to him in a low voice:
"Rustic, keep good watch over my father and my brother. Mother and
myself will pray to God for you three."
"Anne," answered the young skipper in his usual merry voice and yet in a
penetrating tone: "I love your father like my own; Guyrion like a
brother; I have a stout heart and equally stout arms; I would die for
all of you. I can tell you no more."
Rustic exchanged a last parting look with the young girl, whose face
turned cherry-red with joy and girlish embarrassment. He ran to catch up
with Eidiol and Guyrion, and all three disappeared at the next turning
of the street from the lingering looks of Martha and Anne, who lovingly
followed them with their eyes and called after them: "A pleasant
voyage!"