THE ABBEY OF ST. DENIS.
The abbey of St. Denis resembled a vast fortified castle. The high and
thick walls that enclosed it, the only entrance through which was a
vaulted gate, covered with heavy sheets of iron and, like the walls,
pierced with narrow loop-holes through which the archers could reach the
enemy with their arrows, rendered the place safe against any surprise.
In order to take this fortress, large engines of war would be required
and a powerful attacking force.
Agreeable to her promise made to Father Fultrade, Martha and her
daughter Anne the Sweet found themselves towards nightfall at the
trysting place named by the monk. He also was on time. He arrived on his
large horse, an animal powerful enough to carry Eidiol's wife on its
crupper and in front of the saddle the young girl, whom the priest thus
had an opportunity to hold in his arms. Despite its robust neck and
haunches, the horse that bore the triple load could proceed only slowly
along the ancient Roman route, which, connecting Paris with Amiens, led
by the abbey of St. Denis. The nocturnal trip was long and made in
silence. Martha, proud of finding herself riding at the crupper of a
holy man, thought only of the relic whose divine influence was to
preserve her as well as her daughter from all present and future ills.
Anne had come with repugnance. The monk ever inspired her with a vague
sense of fear. The night was dark; the route uncertain. When, as it
happened from time to time, the horse seemed to take fright, the maid
felt Fultrade tighten his hold upon her, and his hot breath smite her
cheeks.
When, finally, the monk arrived with his two female traveling companions
at the massive gate of the abbey, he knocked in a particular manner. The
knock was speedily answered by the gleam of a lantern at the wicket; the
wicket was then opened; a few words were exchanged in a low voice
between the brother at the gate and Fultrade; the light went out; the
ponderous door turned on its hinges, leaving a passage for the new
arrivals, and then closed again when all three had entered.
Martha and her daughter stood in utter darkness. An invisible personage
took charge of the priest's horse and led it away. Fultrade then took
the arm of Martha and whispered to her:
"Give your hand to your daughter, and both follow me. Your arrival here
must be kept a profound secret."
After descending a steep staircase, and following for a considerable
time the windings of a vaulted passage-way, the monk stopped and groped
for the orifice of the lock of a door, which he opened.
"Step in, my dear daughters in Christ," said the monk; "you may wait for
me here; in the meantime say your prayers."
A few minutes later the door opened again, and returning without a
light, as before, the monk said:
"Martha, you will first adore the relic; your daughter's turn will come
after you."
"Oh! No!" cried Anne the Sweet in deep anxiety. "I will not remain alone
here in the dark! No! I wish to remain near my mother!"
"My child, fear nothing," said Martha reassuringly; "we are in a holy
abbey, and besides, under the protection of Father Fultrade."
"Moreover," interjected the monk, "one is never alone when thinking of
God. Your mother will be back shortly."
"Mother, I will not leave you--I am afraid," screamed the young girl.
It was in vain. Before Anne could find her mother in the dark to cling
to her, the girl felt a vigorous hand staying her off. Martha was
hurried out, and the door closed behind her and upon her daughter. More
and more affrighted, Anne screamed aloud. In vain again. The steps of
Fultrade and Martha receded. Soon all sound ceased, and a brooding
darkness reigned around the helpless girl. A minute later the blood
rushed to Anne's heart. Distinctly she heard near her, as if groping
about in the darkness, the respiration of one panting for breath.
Immediately she felt herself seized by two vigorous arms and raised from
the floor. The young girl strove to free herself and called aloud to her
mother for help. The struggle was so violent and the girl's outcry so
loud that it at first drowned the sound of a rap at the door. But the
rapping speedily became so vehement that it soon drowned the violent
struggle within and a voice was heard uttering at the door some Latin
words in a hurried tone and in accents of alarm. Anne felt herself
immediately delivered from the close embrace that terrified her, and
soon as released fell fainting to the floor. Someone passed by her,
opened and double-locked the door in great hurry, and ran away
precipitately.
While, aided by another monk, his accomplice, Fultrade was locking up
Martha and her daughter in separate subterranean cells of the abbey
where serfs and other culprits under the jurisdiction of the abbot were
usually confined, a great commotion reigned in another quarter of the
holy place. Monks, suddenly shaken from their slumbers, were running
about under the arches of the cloister, with torches in their hands. In
the center of one of the interior courtyards a score of horsemen were
seen. The sweat that streamed down the steeds gave evidence of the
length and precipitancy of a recent run. They had escorted to the abbey
the Count of Paris, who, arriving from his city in hot haste, proceeded
immediately to the apartment of Fortunat, the Abbot of St Denis. The
prelate, a man of shapeless obesity and with his eyes still half closed
with sleep, was hastily donning a long and warmly furred morning robe
that one of his servants was helping him into. Other menials of the
abbey were lighting the candles of two candelabra made of solid silver
and placed upon a richly ornamented table. There was nothing more
sumptuous than the abbot's bedroom. Having finally put on his gown, the
abbot rubbed his eyes, seated on the edge of his downy couch. Count
Rothbert, who had been taken to the abbot, was impatiently demanding
that Fultrade be called.
"Seigneur count, he has been sent for, but he was not in his cell,"
answered the abbot's chamberlain, who had accompanied the count to the
abbot's apartment and was followed by several of his fellow
officials--the marshal, the equerry, the butler and other dignitaries of
the abbey.
"Father Fultrade must be in church," put in a voice, "he must have gone
to early matins."
"Unless he remained in Paris, where I ran across him this morning,"
replied Rothbert. "Never was his presence more needed than here and
now!"
"Count," said the abbot gulping down a yawn, "none of my dear brothers
in Christ sleep outside of the abbey, unless sent on a mission by me.
Fultrade must surely have returned home this evening. Will you not
please to communicate to me the cause of this night alarm?"
"I shall give you news of a nature to make you open wide your eyes and
ears. The Northmans have reappeared at the mouth of the Seine. They are
advancing upon Paris with a fleet of vessels!"
Despite his enormous corpulence, Abbot Fortunat bounded up from his bed.
His triple chin shivered; his large red face was blanched; he clasped
his hands in terror; his lips trembled convulsively; but his fear
prevented him from articulating a single word. The other personages
attached to the abbey looked, like himself, terror-stricken at the
tidings brought by the count. Some moaned, others fell upon their knees
and invoked the intercession of the Lord. All, the abbot included, who
had finally found his voice, cried:
"Almighty God, have mercy upon us! Deliver us from these pagans! From
these demons! Alack! Alack! What ills are about to afflict the servitors
of your Church! What ravages! Our goods will be pillaged by these
sacrilegious wretches! Oh, Lord! Deliver us from the Northmans! Command
your angels to exterminate these pagans!"
In the midst of these exclamations Fultrade entered, at last. He looked
cross and irritated. His face was inflamed.
"Come in, Fultrade," the count called to him when he saw the monk appear
at the threshold of the abbot's apartment. "Come in; you are the only
man of thought and action in this place;" and turning to the abbot,
whose whimpering annoyed him, the count added: "Fortunat, quit your
lamentations! The hour calls for action, not for whines!"
The monks repressed their moans with difficulty, while the Count of
Paris, addressing Fultrade in particular, said:
"The moments are precious--the Northmans have appeared at the mouth of
the Seine. They are said to be under the command of one of their most
intrepid sea-kings, named Rolf. Their fleet is so numerous that it
covers the whole width of the mouth of the river. They can not now be
further away than ten or twelve leagues from here. The means to repel
them must be considered."
"And how comes it that we have not been apprised of the arrival of these
accursed men?" inquired Fultrade in a rage. "They have passed Rouen. How
comes it that the people of that city did not spread the alarm? There is
treason in this!"
"Oh! What do the people of Rouen care about the arrival of the pirates?
Not having been this time themselves attacked by the Northmans, they do
not concern themselves about the rest of the provinces. It was only this
evening that I was notified by some messengers of the seigneurs and
abbots, whose lands border on the Seine, that the Northmans were here.
They furthermore informed me that the vile rustic plebs, which has
nothing to lose, shows itself everywhere happy at the thought of the
ills that these pagans will inflict upon the Church and the seigneurs.
It is for us, accordingly, for us seigneurs and clergy, to join hands
and defend one another! We need not look for help from Charles the
Simple, who will think of nothing but the defence of his own royal
domain, if he be capable of even that. He will allow the Northmans to
plunder us to their hearts' content."
"Alack! Alack!" resumed the Abbot of St. Denis with a fresh outburst of
moans. "What direful calamities are again in store for us!--Did we not
see Charles the Bald grant the country of Chartres to that execrable
Hastain! to that chieftain of Northman pirates! to that vile revolted
serf! to that bandit, soiled with all crimes and abominable sacrileges!
Alack!--What horrible times these are in which we live!--What shall we
do, Oh, Lord!--What else can we do but invoke your holy name!"
"What we are to do?--It is plain! We must rely upon ourselves alone!
Organize ourselves for our own defence; arm our colonists and our
towns-people; and lead them out, under pain of death, to do battle with
the Northman!--You, Fultrade, are a man of energy and intelligence.
Immediately take horse and ride at full gallop with some of my officers
and a good escort, to summon in my name the bishops and abbots of my
duchy of France to arm their serfs and towns-men. A portion of these men
is to be left in the abbeys and castles as a garrison, the others are to
be marched to Paris in small detachments, to defend the Commune."
"Count, what are you thinking of!" exclaimed the abbot, raising his
hands to heaven. "At so dangerous a moment, would you send Father
Fultrade from my side!"
"You need not be afraid," answered Rothbert. "Before leaving Paris I
issued orders to one hundred of my men at arms to march hither at the
double quick, in order to defend this post which dominates the Seine."
"Alack!" murmured the abbot, breaking out in tears. "Already, five
times has this abbey been invaded, sacked and pillaged by these pagans.
Although the place has been surrounded by new fortifications, it never
could resist the Northmans! Alack! The thickest walls crumble down
before these demons! We are lost!"
"Fear is deranging your mind, Fortunat. I tell you again that nothing
short of a regular siege will take the place. My hundred soldiers will
suffice for the defence against these Northmans. And, now, Fultrade, to
horse! If you succeed in your mission you will receive from me a rich
bishopric in reward."
The monk had until then looked troubled and given but scant attention to
the words of the count. The moment, however, that he heard an abbey
promised to him his eyes brightened and his forehead smoothed. With
sparkling eyes he answered:
"Seigneur, if our holy abbot allows me, I shall carry out his orders and
yours. May heaven protect me! I trust I may be able to carry your
commission to a successful issue."
At this point one of the count's officers entered, saying:
"Agreeable to your orders, several archers whom our riders brought on
the cruppers of their horses were posted on the river bank. By the light
of the moon they noticed a large vessel ascending the Seine. They
compelled the sailors to land, threatening them, in case of refusal, to
treat them to a volley of arrows. The master of the vessel is being
brought in."
"Have him come here immediately," answered Rothbert; and turning to the
abbot he explained: "I have issued orders to allow no vessel to pass
without questioning the skippers. They may be able to furnish us with
some information on the fleet of the pirates; they may have picked up
something."
The master who was forthwith introduced was Eidiol, the dean of the
Skippers' Guild, who had been so brutally treated by the count on that
very day. Assuming a look of surprise, mingled with cordiality, Rothbert
said to Eidiol:
"I did not expect to see you quite so soon again, my trusty skipper!"
and waving his hand towards the aged man, he said to the abbot: "This
man is the dean of the honorable Skippers' and Mariners' Guild of
Paris."
Greatly astonished at the cordial and respectful reception that he now
received at the hand of Rothbert, who, that very forenoon had treated
him with so much contempt, Eidiol looked suspiciously at the count and
sought to explain to himself the cause of so sudden a change in his
favor. As to Fultrade, the monk at first seemed nailed to the floor with
stupefaction at the sight of the father of Anne the Sweet, but speedily
recovering his self-control, said to Rothbert:
"Time presses. I shall depart instantly on the mission that you have
charged me with."
"Make it clear to the seigneurs and the abbots that we can not choose
but win, provided we act concertedly."
The monk vanished, and redoubling his affability toward Eidiol, Rothbert
resumed: "Be welcome, my trusty skipper. You could not possibly have
arrived at a more opportune moment. Your advice will be useful to us."
"Your archers must, no doubt, have thought so, seeing they threatened to
let fly a volley of arrows at us if our vessel did not promptly land
where they ordered."
"Such severe measures are unavoidable at this moment, my worthy
skipper. No doubt you have heard the news? The Northmans have reappeared
at the mouth of the Seine."
"Oh!" exclaimed Eidiol with perfect indifference. "It is the Northmans,
is it? Yes, I have learned of their approach. I even know, from the
master of a lighter that was pulling up the river, that the pirates'
fleet dropped anchor this evening near the isle of Oissel, one of their
former and favorite rendezvous."
"By the sword of my great father, Rothbert the Strong!" cried Rothbert,
stupefied and indignant at the unconcern of the skipper with regard to
the invasion of the Northman pirates. "This upsets me! What do you mean
by such a display of apathy at the prospect of the terrible ills that
are about to fall over our heads?!"
"Oh, I am by no means unconcerned touching the arrival of the pirates.
Instead of descending the river as far as St. Audoin, whither I was
taking a cargo, I am now ascending the river to return to Paris, where I
thought my presence might be needed."
"That is right, my brave skipper! I was mistaken. You were not
indifferent but calm, like all brave people in sight of danger."
"To speak truly, I can not see wherein lies the danger."
"Are you not fleeing before the approach of those pagans?"
"No, I am not fleeing. I am returning to Paris to embrace my wife and
daughter. And I am all the happier about it, seeing I did not expect to
be with them again until to-morrow evening. I meant, after that, to take
council with my compères upon what to do."
"And who are your compères?"
"Why, of course, the deans of the other guilds of the city of Paris--of
the blacksmiths, carpenters, armorers, weavers, curriers, stone-cutters,
and others."
"Of course, the purpose of such a council is to organize the defense of
Paris against the pirates! Glory to you, my towns-men! I feel proud of
numbering such stalwarts as yourselves in my city!"
"Blessed be they who defend the Church! All their sins will be
remitted!" put in the abbot who, until now overwhelmed with grief and
fear, seemed to gather some hope from the words of the count.
"Oh!" repeated Rothbert, pointing proudly at Eidiol, "at the head of
such men, we shall be invincible!"
"And yet," replied the aged skipper, "only this forenoon, you were
ordering your knights to break their lances upon our backs!"
Rothbert bit his lips, puckered his brow, and answered with
embarrassment:
"You must excuse an accidental outburst of excitement."
"Your present glorifications contrast singularly with the insolent words
that you bestowed upon me this forenoon."
"Fortunat," rejoined the count, turning to the abbot and with difficulty
suppressing his anger: "This good fellow loves to banter. I think,
however, he should choose his time better. We must run to arms, not
joke, when these accursed Northmans threaten our peace."
"Well! well! They are not so deserving of curses, after all," remarked
Eidiol, smiling with nonchalance. "Thanks to these very Northmans, you
are now treating me with civility and courting my friendship. The noble
is flattering the villein!"
"Quit your raillery, old man!" commanded Rothbert, relapsing, despite
himself, into his wonted haughty and violent temper.
"Seigneur count, I am speaking to the point because I am in a hurry to
embrace my wife and daughter. It is now about twenty-seven years ago, in
the year 885, when the Northmans, under the lead of Hastain, to-day
master and Seigneur of the country of Chartres, invaded the country and
laid siege to Paris for the fifth or sixth time."
"On that occasion, at least, and it was the only time, the plebs of
Paris, under the command of Eudes, my brother, offered a brave
resistance, since when the pirates have no longer ravaged the city. It
will be so again now. I swear it to God, will ye, nill ye, villeins, you
shall be marched to the ramparts to give battle!"
"Until that year of which you speak, Paris had never offered any
resistance to the pirates. The reason was simple. The people, the guilds
and the artisans did not care to undertake the defence--"
"Yes, yes!" broke in Rothbert with concentrated rage "That plebs allowed
the churches, the abbeys and the castles to be pillaged and set on
fire!"
"The Northmans only plunder the rich. They surely do not care to load
their barks with our rags, our rough furniture and our sand-stone pots
when they can load them to overflowing with vases of gold and silver and
all manner of costly things with which the castles, the churches and the
abbeys are gorged. They attack the seigneurs. Let the seigneurs defend
themselves!"
"By the death of Christ! This old man has gone crazy!" cried Rothbert
beyond himself with rage and yet not daring fully to give a loose to his
pent-up anger. "How could we defend ourselves without the aid of the
people! Could I repel thirty thousand Northmans with the two thousand
soldiers that I keep in my duchy of France?"
"Oh, I know it! You can do nothing without the people. Your brother,
Count Eudes, knew it also. At the approach of the pirates he sought to
propitiate the people, and convoked the deans of the guilds at his
little castle of Paris. My father, the then dean of the skippers, said
to your brother: 'You, kings, seigneurs and clergymen, need us to
protect your goods from the pillage of the Northmans. Well, then, let us
strike a bargain. Lighten our taxes, render our lives less hard, and we
shall defend your riches.' 'Agreed!' answered Count Eudes, and certain
franchises and other measures of relief for the plebs of the city were
agreed on. On the morrow that good plebs rushed to the ramparts and
fought with intrepidity. Many of them were killed, many more were
wounded. My father and myself were among the latter. The Northmans were
repelled. But the danger being over, the King, the seigneurs and the
dignitaries of the Church forgot their promise."
While Eidiol spoke the Count of Paris controlled his indignation with
difficulty; finally he broke forth pale with rage: "Do you mean that
your plebs will refuse to defend the city?"
"I think so. We, the skippers, will take on board our vessels our own
families and those of our friends who are willing to follow us. We shall
sail out of the waters of Paris on one side while the Northmans enter by
the other, and we shall calmly ascend the Seine towards the Marne,
leaving you, seigneurs and abbots, to arrange matters with the Northmans
the best way you may know how."
"Listen to him! The infamous poltroon! Is your vile slave's heart moved
neither with anger nor shame at the bare idea of the disgrace of seeing
the foreigners, the Northmans, in Paris!"
At these insulting words a slight flush suffused Eidiol's face, a spark
of lightning glistened in his eyes. But the self-possessed old man
controlled himself and answered:
"Count, my grandfather read in the old parchments of our family that a
small colony of men of my race, now more than three centuries ago, lived
free and happy in a corner of Burgundy when the Arabs invaded and
ravaged Gaul[3]--"
"And that colony of cravens," broke in the count, "trembling before the
Arabs, like you now before the Northmans, of course left the pagans to
ravage, pillage and burn down the country!"
"Count," proceeded the old skipper proudly, "the people of that colony
were killed to the last man because they fought in defence of their
rights, their families, their soil and their liberty. But, seeing that
that handful of brave men were, with the single exception of the
indomitable Bretons, the only free men in all Gaul, the Arabs were able
to ravage the other provinces and to settle down in Languedoc. In this
century the same thing will happen with the Northmans. The population--a
horde of slaves on the field, a mass of wretched beings in the towns--is
indifferent to the ills that smite you--you rich seigneurs and prelates.
And now, adieu. I am in a hurry to return to Paris and embrace my wife
and daughter."
While Eidiol was uttering these last sentences, the count issued some
orders in a low voice to one of his officers, who thereupon hurriedly
left the apartment. The old man moved towards the door, but Rothbert,
motioning his men to bar the passage, cried in a menacing tone:
"You shall not go to introduce disturbance and revolt in my city of
Paris!" And addressing the abbot: "Have you a prison in the place?"
"We have cells, and quite strong, too, in which to keep the impious
criminals who dare resist our will."
"Let one of your clerks show the way to my men, who will lock this
insolent skipper in one of these cells of the abbey."
Eidiol was unable to suppress a first impulse of astonishment and
sorrow.
"My son," said he, "has remained on board of my vessel; allow me to see
him and apprise him of what has happened to me, that he may inform my
wife and daughter. They will otherwise feel uneasy at my absence."
"Your wishes," answered Rothbert with a cruel smile, "shall be
satisfied. I have sent to fetch the other skippers from your vessel."
"Treason!" cried Eidiol. "They will come confident that no harm is
meant, and a prison cell awaits them!"
"You have said it," replied the Count of Paris, and, pointing his finger
at Eidiol, he ordered his officers: "To prison with him!"
"My dear wife, my sweet daughter! How uneasy will you not feel when
to-morrow you see neither my son nor myself coming back home," murmured
the old man sadly, and, without offering any resistance, he followed the
officer who took him in charge and conducted him to the subterranean
cells of the abbey.