COMPANY OF TWO HOGS, AND WHAT FOLLOWED THEREAFTER.
GANELON’S castle was situated on the loftiest peak of the Hartz
Mountains, the Blocksberg. There, in the midst of the Hercynian forest,
which cannot be less than twenty-four leagues in length by ten in
breadth, towered the eyrie of this vulture. One road, and only one,
traversed this vast extent of forest, but Ganelon took care that it
should always be in good repair; it was a courtesy which he felt was due
from him to the travellers he despoiled.
[Illustration: 035]
The count had gathered round him a collection of the best assorted
ruffians of every country; Saxons, Danes, Lombards, Jews, and Saracens,
lent him a hand to forward the interests of the Evil One. One morning he
called them all together, and said to them---
“I have pleasant news for you. We have the opportunity of playing a
pretty trick on some Saxon traders. I have just been informed that a
caravan, consisting of thirty mules, laden with treasure, and conveyed
by a small escort, is about to cross the Hartz Mountains this morning,
to attend the fair of St. Denis. I have conceived the design of
protecting French commerce, and putting a stop to the opposition which
is meditated against it. Under the protection of our patron saints, the
two thieves, we will make ourselves masters of this venture.”
Ganelon and his rascals placed themselves in ambush along the border of
the forest, and before long saw a thick cloud of dust rising along the
road in the distance.
“Here,” cried they, “beyond a doubt, are those we are waiting for. Let
us save them three-quarters of their journey;” and they rushed forward,
sword in hand. The two opposing storms of dust approached each other,
and from the further came the cry, “i’ what are you doing? You’ll
destroy the beasts!”
Ganelon and his men had charged into the midst of an army of porkers,
driven by Westphalian swineherds.
[Illustration: 037]
The surprise of the assailants was so great that it allowed the
swineherds time to form in a body and draw their knives; and those
weapons were not to be sneered at, readers mine, for they were those
which butchers use for quartering and cutting up carcases.
Ganelon remained for a moment undecided. That hesitation was fatal. The
Jews and Saracens, to whom pork is a forbidden dish, did not think it
worth while to press matters further. They accordingly retreated, taking
with them several of their fellows, who thought their chief would retire
into ambuscade again. But a Count of Mayence is not the man to despise
bacon and sour-crout. So Ganelon, gazing over the ocean of lard which
grunted at his feet, began to lick his lips, and think that here was
a booty which was quite as well worth having as the other. But the
swineherds knew with whom they had to deal, and, indeed, had come in
such numbers solely because they expected an attack. They rushed on the
count and his lances, and began to hamstring the horses. The horsemen
were soon rolling in the dust among the hogs. Two of them, who showed an
inclination to resist, were very properly run through on the spot, and
mingled their lifeblood with that of two pigs that had been run down
by the horses. The others were disarmed, and allowed to escape. As for
Ganelon, they tied his hands tightly behind his back.
“Now then,” said the head swineherd, “before they pluck up courage to
come back in force, suppose we hang their leader?”
[Illustration: 038]
This idea appeared very agreeable to everybody except Ganelon, who
uttered the most furious oaths. But they dragged him, armed as he was,
under an oak, and then, having chosen a stout bough worthy of such fine
fruit, they adjusted the cord round his neck. Then they brought the two
slaughtered pigs--the only victims of the Count of Mayence--and having
fitted each with a strong hempen cravat, suspended them one at each
end of the bough, reserving the post of honour for the knight. These
preparations concluded, Ganelon was dragged, bound hand and foot, to the
place of execution. He writhed about in the madness of his rage, foaming
at the mouth, calling on his companions in villany, and cursing them
for their desertion. In vain did he struggle--a score of sturdy arms
speedily hoisted him up between his two companions.
“Pull down his visor,” said the head swineherd to the man who was on the
bough adjusting the noose, “the monster is hideous enough at the best of
times--what will he look like presently?”
Ganelon continued to struggle at the end of the cord, to the great
delight of the spectators, who, though they found him tenacious of life,
did not complain on that account.
Meanwhile, the count began to find that death was rather slow in coming.
He had hanged too many not to know something about it, and in this
instance it was so personally interesting to him that it could not fail
to arrest his attention. “These knaves,” said he to himself, “have made
a sad bungle of the job. I ought to have been dead some time.” And
then it dawned on him that he was only suspended, not hanged. His
executioners had put the noose round the gorget of his helmet.
“Oho!” said Ganelon to himself, “this is quite another affair, and
all is not yet lost, possibly. Only, if I continue my gambols, I may,
perhaps, give the hint to these idiots, and they might hang me again
more carefully. I’ll sham dead, and it’s odd if the Evil One doesn’t
send some one to my aid. It would be very inconsiderate of him to let me
die like this!”
Nevertheless, for one who wasn’t dead, the count was uncommonly near
death. The blood rushed to his head, and filled his eyes. He began to
hear a dismal noise in his ears, like the tolling of a bell. His mouth
grew dry, his lips were contracted, and presently his limbs gave one
last convulsive struggle. Ganelon confessed to himself that all
was over, and lost consciousness while faintly murmuring a final
imprecation. The swineherds, encouraged by their success, and not
wishing to leave the two hogs for the enemy, resolved to cook and eat
them. They posted sentinels, collected their herds, and prepared to
celebrate their victory with a feast.
“It strikes me,” said the chief swineherd, “if we were to omit an
opportunity of throwing a light on a point of interest to culinary
science, we should regret it all our lives. A rare and remarkable
opportunity offers itself to us now--we must not allow it to escape us.
Are you not all equally anxious, with myself, to learn whether it takes
longer to smoke a peer than a pig?”
The suggestion was a great success. They collected a heap of sticks
and leaves under each of the three victims, and lighted it. And then,
joining hands, they began to dance round, uttering wild shouts.
Roland, it so chanced, was returning this way from Saxony, whither he
had been sent by Charlemagne. He had, certes, in war laid many a man
dead in his path, but he had never permitted a cruelty to be committed
in his presence. His indignation was roused by these vile chantings,
this demoniac dance, and all the hideous apparatus of torture. He was
not long in deciding what course to pursue. He rode at the dancers, and
dispersed them with the flat of his sword, not deigning to honour them
by using against them the edge, which he reserved for foemen more worthy
of him.
Then he made to the hanging man, and in order to cut the roue, had to
keep Veillantif for a few seconds trampling on the embers in the midst
of the flames. The Count of Mayence tumbled heavily into the middle of
the fire. Roland dismounted, with one hearty kick sent him rolling some
fifty paces, and then ran to assist him.
[Illustration: 040]
His first care was to relieve him of his helmet. When he recognised
whose life he had saved, I must admit he made a grimace. The Count of
Mans, the faultless mirror of chivalry, could feel no liking for such
wretches, but he was not the less ready to aid them.
Ganelon re-opened his eyes. His succession of tumbles had done more to
recover him than all the eau-de-cologne in the world would have done.
When he saw his preserver, he heartily wished it had not been Roland.
[Illustration: 041]
“Are you hurt, count? What can I do to assist you?”
“I don’t want your pity, Knight of Blaives. Why have you rescued me? I
am not of a race or of a disposition likely to love those who place me
under an obligation, and it would have been less bitter for me to die
than to owe my life to you!”
[Illustration: 042]
“I forgive these words, Sir Ganelon. You have just undergone such a
shock, that you have evidently not quite recovered your senses!”
At these words the Count of Mayence was seized with such a paroxysm
of rage, that he found strength enough to try to avenge the insult. He
flung himself on his preserver, and seized him by the throat.
“You’ll make yourself ill again,” said Roland, coolly freeing himself
from the other’s grasp. “You forget that you are not quite well yet.
Allow me to administer a curative process which you ought to undergo.”
With these words he caught his adversary by the scruff of the neck,
dragged him beside his horse into the heart of the forest, tied his
hands with the cord that had already served him as a halter, and bound
him fast to a tree.
Ganelon foamed at the mouth, and bit his lips till the blood came. The
fury in his eyes would have been terrible to any but Roland.
“Now, count, calm yourself. You see I am anxious to cure you in spite of
yourself. Nothing conduces to meditation like solitude. Now that you are
alone, you will have time for reflection; and if you are a wise man, you
will say to yourself, ‘This Roland is a very good fellow not to break
every bone in my body;’ and, since you are a coward and a villain, you
will possibly say, ‘This Roland was a fool not to kill me outright.’ You
will finish by perceiving that such a man as I can only despise one
like you. Meditate, and if Heaven is kind, it will counsel you prudence.
Anyhow, do not make an uproar, for fear your enemies should disturb
your reflections, which, in that case, very likely, might come to a
termination at the end of a rope. I will call at your castle, and
send some one to your assistance: as my royal uncle is awaiting me at
Cologne, you must excuse my attending on you further. Don’t forget,
moreover, that I am, and always shall be, ready to honour you with a
thrust of my lance or blow of my sword, in spite of the disgust I should
feel at having to cross swords with a highway robber!”
[Illustration: 043]
Ganelon’s thoughts were so frightful that the human language is unable
to express them. He hung down his head, and when he found himself
alone he wept. His tears fell upon the grass; an innocent caterpillar,
wandering in search of food, mistook them for dewdrops, tasted them, and
died of the poison.
Two hours after, the swineherds had disappeared, and Ganelon re-entered
his castle. Eight hours after, all whom Ganelon believed to be
acquainted with his mishap were dead.
Six months after, he was at the court of Charlemagne, seated at the same
table as Roland. Pork was placed on the table, but the Count of Mayence
refused it.
“You bear malice, count,” said Roland; “that is wrong. Who knows?
perhaps you are refusing an old brother in misfortune.”
Ganelon turned livid, but he did not stir. After the feast was over
Roland came to him.
“Have you forgotten,” he asked, “the threats you uttered and the offer I
made to you in your domain on the Hartz?”
“I never forget,” said the Count of Mayence.
Here, then, was the prime cause of Ganelon’s hatred of Roland.