THE WEDDING OF ROLF.
The city of Rouen was in gala. Large crowds of people filled the streets
and pressed eagerly towards the basilica whose bells were pealing at
their loudest. Among those who were wending their way towards the church
were Eidiol, his daughter Anne the Sweet, Guyrion the Plunger and Rustic
the Gay. They had left Paris two days before; they descended the Seine
as far as Rouen in the vessel of the dean of the guild of the skippers
of Paris. It was a trip of pleasure and profit. Eidiol sailed to Rouen
in order to convey thither a cargo of merchandise and to witness the
wedding of the daughter of Charles the Simple, King of the Franks, with
Rolf, the chieftain of the Northman pirates, but now elevated to the
rank of sovereign Duke of Neustria, which assumed the name of
Northmandy.
Such was the indifference of that wretched population of serfs and
villeins to the form of the yoke that oppressed them, that the people of
Rouen, the capital of Neustria, now named Northmandy, actually delighted
to see the great province in the hand of the pirates.
Eidiol and his family walked towards the square of the basilica,
intending to watch the nuptial procession at close quarters. Anne rested
on the arms of her father and brother. Rustic preceded them in order to
clear a passage for them across the crowd that became denser and more
compact as they drew nearer to the cathedral. Finally, after much
struggling, the family of Eidiol succeeded in securing a post at the
corner of a street that ran out into the square.
"Master Eidiol," said Rustic, "there is a milestone here. Let Anne stand
on it. She will be better able to see the procession, and she will be
free from the crush."
"No, Rustic," answered the young girl, "I would not dare to take that
place."
"Jump on the milestone yourself," said the old man, "in case we can not
see with our own eyes, we shall be able to see with yours. Myself and
Guyrion will stay close to Anne."
As Eidiol spoke the distant sound of clarions was heard mingling with
the redoubled clanging of the nearby bells, and a wild clamor of joy
went up from the crowd.
"Here is the procession," cried Rustic from his perch; "it has turned
into the square; clarion blowers on horseback head the march; they are
followed by Frankish cavaliers, armed with lances bearing streamers;
they carry painted gilt bucklers hanging from their necks. Oh, here come
the Northman pirates clad in their armor and carrying the standard of
old Rolf. The standard has a seagull with open beak and claws for its
device. Well may you screech your cry of triumph, old sea bird! Your
prey is magnificent: a province of Gaul and the daughter of a King!"
"Oh, Rustic, how can you joke in that way!" remarked Anne the Sweet in a
tone of sad yet affectionate reproach. "Poor little Ghisèle! To wed that
old monster! Do you see the poor girl? Poor victim!"
"No; I see nothing of her as yet. Ah, here come the female pirates! How
martial they look in their armor of steel scales, with their azure
bucklers on their arms! Now come the seigneurs of the suite of the Count
of Paris, in their long robes embroidered with gold and ornamented with
fur. Hold! They stop! They are looking back uneasily. What can have
happened?" and leaning against the wall Rustic raised himself on the
tips of his feet in order to see further. A minute later he cried: "Oh,
the poor girl! Anne, you were right! Although she is the daughter of a
King the girl is to be pitied. She looks like a victim led to death!"
"Is it of Ghisèle that you are talking, Rustic?" inquired the young
girl. "What has happened to her? How I pity the poor child!"
"She was marching, leaning on the arm of Charles the Simple and paler
than a corpse under her white bridal robe, when suddenly her strength
entirely failed her. She collapsed and fell in a swoon into the arms of
the seigneurs who stood near her."
"Oh, father!" said Anne the Sweet to Eidiol, her eyes moist with tears,
"Is not that wretched girl's fate shocking!"
"And yet less shocking than the fate of millions of the women of our own
race who have been violated by the seigneurs and the ecclesiastics.
Those wretched women left their master's couch only to return to the
exhausting and even crushing toils of servitude. Degraded, dejected,
bought and sold like cattle, dying of grief or under their master's
blows, ignorant of the joys of family life and depraved, they were
brutified by slavery. Such, for centuries past, has been the condition
of the women of our race, and still continues to be. How many millions
of the women of our class die macerated, body and soul!"
"Alas! This poor King's daughter is surely guiltless of all these
crimes! She is much to be pitied!"
"Master Eidiol," resumed Rustic, "Charles the Simple's daughter has
regained consciousness; she now walks again, sustained by her father and
the Count of Paris. Oh! Here comes Rolf! He wears a long white shirt
over his armor. Behind Rolf marches our relative Gaëlo, together with
the Beautiful Shigne. The procession has halted. It now resumes its
march to the basilica. The clergy, with Archbishop Francon at the head,
halt under the portal. Oh, Master Eidiol! I am dazzled! The precious
stones glisten on the gilded copes of the priests, on their gold mitres,
on the gold crosses! Gold, rubies, pearls, diamonds and emeralds glitter
everywhere! The large cross, carried before the clergy, seems to be of
massive gold! It is studded with precious stones! The wealth of
Golconda!"
"Oh, young man of Nazareth!" exclaimed Eidiol. "Oh, Jesus, the
carpenter! The friend of the poor in rags! You, whom our ancestress
Geneviève saw done to death in Jerusalem by the high priests of your
day! Would you acknowledge as your disciples these priests, these
bishops so gorgeously robed and surrounded by so much splendor? Oh,
clergy, ye modern generation of vipers!"
"Do you hear the chaunts of the priests and the sound of the portable
organs, Master Eidiol? The clarions break in between. The bells are
chiming with increased noise. The King, his daughter and old Rolf enter
the portal of the basilica. Gold censers are being swung right and left
and the smoke of incense mounts to the sky!"
"They burned incense to Clovis, the firebrand and blood-thirsty monster;
they burned incense to Charles the Great who dethroned the stock of
Clovis! And to-day they burn incense to Rolf, to Rolf the old pirate, to
Rolf the murderer, to Rolf the perpetrator of sacrilege! The god of the
priests is gold!"
The marriage of Rolf and Ghisèle was blessed and consecrated by
Archbishop Francon in the princely cathedral of Rouen. The prelate also
on the same day blessed the union of Shigne and Gaëlo. The ceremony of
Ghisèle's marriage was barely over when the wretched girl again swooned
away--the third time on that day--and was carried into an adjoining
chamber on the arms of her women in waiting. Rolf, Charles the Simple,
the Count of Paris, together with the seigneurs of their respective
suites proceeded to the vast hall of the chapter of the Archbishopric of
Rouen. On his head the gold crown of the Frankish Kings, in his hand his
scepter, and the long royal mantle trailing on the floor behind him,
Charles the Simple ascended and remained standing on an elevated dais.
The Archbishop of Rouen and the bishops of the neighboring dioceses
placed themselves to the right, while to the left of the King were
ranked Rothbert, Count of Paris and Duke of France, and the Viscounts of
Monthery, of Argenteuil, of Pontoise, together with many other Frankish
seigneurs, among and above whom towered the tall figure of Burchart,
seigneur of the country of Montmorency. At the foot of the dais, and
facing the King and this assemblage of seigneurs and prelates, stood
Rolf, accompanied by Gaëlo and Shigne, together with the leading
Northman chiefs. The old pirate still had on the white shirt of the
neophyte over his armor. His demeanor was triumphant, insolent and sly.
Charles the Simple, on the contrary, looked sad and dejected, and
furtively wiped away the tears that insisted on forcing themselves to
his eyes. Despite his imbecility, the man loved his daughter; and the
fate of Ghisèle overpowered him with grief.
Radiant with joy at having escaped the fresh disasters that Rolf had
threatened to overwhelm Gaul with, the Count of Paris, the Archbishop of
Rouen and all the other seigneurs and prelates enjoyed the abject state
of the King. Nevertheless, however abased and hollow his title, still
they envied it. Clad in the full magnificence of his episcopal robes,
Archbishop Francon descended the steps of the dais with majestic tread,
approached Rolf and said to him in a loud and solemn tone:
"It has pleased Charles, King of the Franks, to bestow upon you and your
men all the fields, forests, towns, burgs, villages, inhabitants and
cattle of Neustria--"
"If the King had refused to give me the province I would have taken it"
put in Rolf, calmly interrupting the prelate. "You baptized me and my
champions; we allowed ourselves to be dipped naked in a large basin of
water, like so many fishes; we allowed you to sprinkle us with salt
water, the genuine brine of the ocean; and we were then told to put long
white shirts over our armor. I simply humored you in your priestly
monkey shines."
"It is the sacred symbol of the purity of your soul, which has been
cleansed of its soilure by the holy immersion of baptism," replied the
archbishop. "Henceforth you are a Catholic and son of the Church of
Rome. It is a very distinguished honor done to you."
"Aye, but you demanded from me, in exchange, all the lands of the abbeys
of my new duchy of Northmandy for your Church. I have since learned
that they make up one-fourth of my province."
"The goods of the Church are the goods of God," retorted the archbishop
haughtily. "What is God's, is God's; no human power can lay hands on
it."
"Priest!" cried Rolf puckering his brows with mingled anger and slyness,
"take care lest the humor seize me to chase the whole pack of tonsured
gentry from their nests in the abbeys, in order to prove to you once
more that Rolf and his champions take and keep whatever it may please
Rolf and his champions to take or to keep, without asking leave of your
Church."
"To the devil with the man of the gold cap with two points!" chimed in
several voices from among the freshly baptized pirates. "By the white
horse of our god Thomarog! Does the fellow take us for fools? Death to
the tonsured knave!"
"Rolf!" said the Archbishop of Rouen insinuatingly in order to calm the
old pirate, "the light of our faith has not yet sufficiently dispelled
the darkness in which paganism held your soul imprisoned. I do not
threaten you--I shall remain faithful to our compact."
"That's then agreed!" replied Rolf. "It is give and take between us. If
your priests serve me well, they shall keep their lands. But I must
recoup myself for the property that I leave to your abbots;" and
addressing the King, who, wholly indifferent to the conversation that
was taking place before him, remained silent, somber and sad: "Charles,
you gave me Ghisèle and Neustria. That is not now enough. A King's
daughter should be more richly dowered. My duchy of Northmandy borders
on Brittany. I demand this province also, together with all its towns,
abbeys and dependencies."
"You want Brittany!" cried Charles the Simple, for the first time
awaking from his gloomy apathy. "Oh, you want Brittany! I give it to you
with all my heart! You can have it. Go and take possession of it. It
will be a bright day to me, the day that I shall hear that you set foot
in that country. I gladly make you a present of Armorica, with its
cities, abbeys and dependencies! All you have to do is to take
possession!"
Not a little astonished at the King's eagerness to grant him so
considerable a cession, the old pirate turned towards his men
inquiringly. Gaëlo whispered to him:
"Charles grants you the country of the Bretons because he knows that it
is impregnable, being defended by a race of indomitable men."
"There is nothing impregnable to you, my champions! You will take charge
of the task."
"Since six hundred years the Franks have been endeavoring to subjugate
that land, and they have not yet succeeded in establishing themselves
firmly in it. They have invaded it; they have vanquished its forces--but
never yet have they subjugated it."
"The Northmans will subjugate those who have resisted the Franks."
"Armorica," replied Gaëlo, "will be the grave of your best soldiers."
The old pirate shrugged his shoulders with incredulity and not a little
impatience; he took two steps towards the King and said: "Well, then,
Charles, that province also is mine--"
"Yes--yes. It is yours--Duke of Northmandy and of Brittany--provided you
can conquer it!"
"Rolf," resumed Gaëlo in a low voice, "renounce your pretensions over
Armorica--you will otherwise have reasons to regret your obstinacy."
"Rolf wills what he wills!" answered the pirate haughtily.
"From this day," replied Gaëlo resolutely, "you must no longer count me
among your men--"
The Northman chief was on the point of inquiring from the young warrior
the reason for his sudden resolution when the Archbishop of Rouen
addressed the pirate:
"Rolf, Charles has invested you with the sovereignty of the Duchies of
Northmandy and Brittany. You must now take the pledge of fealty and
homage to Charles, King of the Franks, as your suzerain seigneur. It is
the custom. Your investiture will not be complete until after this
formality."
"Very well; only waste no time about it. I am hungry, and I am anxious
to join my wife--the royal little girl must be waiting for me."
"Rolf, repeat after me the consecrated formula," said the Archbishop of
Rouen, and he pronounced deliberately and slowly the following words
which the Northman chief repeated in the measure that they fell from the
prelate's lips:
"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, indivisible
Trinity, I, Rolf, Duke of Northmandy and of Brittany, swear fealty and
homage to Charles, King of the Franks. I swear absolute fealty to him,
to render him assistance in all things, and never to give, to his
prejudice, assistance to his enemies with my arms. I swear it in the
presence of the Divine Majesty and of the souls of the blissful, hoping
for eternal blessing as the reward for my fidelity. Amen!"
Charles the Simple listened to the oath of fealty and homage with gloomy
bitterness. He knew from experience the hollowness of the formula which
had been invented by the priests.
"Is it done, now?" asked the pirate of the archbishop. "This mummery
tires me."
"There is one more formality to be filled," answered the archbishop. "In
token of respect you must kiss the King's foot."
At these words, spoken loud enough by the Archbishop of Rouen to be
heard all over the spacious hall, there followed an explosion of hisses,
imprecations and threats from the assembled Northman warriors. They
revolted at the mere thought of the humiliating act that the archbishop
dared to exact from their chieftain. Rolf himself, whose face grew
purple with indignation, answered Francon's proposition with so
threatening a gesture that the archbishop took fright and retreated
precipitately from the immediate neighborhood of the Northman. However,
after a second's reflection, the pirate chieftain calmed with a sign the
tumultuous manifestations of his men, approached the archbishop, and
said in a savage tone, that but ill concealed the slyness that struggled
to the surface:
"Accordingly--I must kiss the feet of Charles?"
"Usage demands that you give to the King this mark of respect and
humility."
"My champions!" cried the Northman chieftain to his pirates, making them
a sign of intelligence, "Rolf will, agreeable to usage, prove the
magnitude of his respect for the Frankish Kings." Saying this, Rolf
stepped gravely towards the dais on which Charles stood and said to him:
"Let me have your foot!"
The poor simpleton reached his right foot to Rolf, but the old bandit,
instead of bending to bestow the kiss of humility upon his suzerain,
quickly seized the proffered limb by the ankle, and gave it so violent a
pull that Charles the Simple lost his balance and fell backwards,
measuring his full length on the floor of the dais. As the King rolled
over, Rolf broke out in his wonted guffaw and cried:
"This is the way that the Duke of Northmandy and Brittany shows his
respect for the King of the Franks."
The pirate's brutal horse-play was received with a loud outburst of joy
by his Northmans, while the Frankish seigneurs and prelates, so far from
thinking of avenging the outrage done to their King, remained silent and
motionless. The descendant of Charles, the great emperor, rose unaided,
weeping with humiliation and physical pain. He had hurt his head with
the fall. The blood flowed.