go any further, not to set too high a price on it, as I have a clear
estimate of my modest worth.”
“I am in the habit of giving far more than I get, so fear not, but
suffer me to proceed. In my youth I was called El Amin--‘the Safe Man.’
I know that I possess a generous soul, and that none can be more loyal
than you.”
“This eulogy is evidently the prologue of some treason you are going to
ask of me.”
“If it be treason to leave a bad cause for a good one, to renounce
attempts which are futile, and to accept good fortune when it is
offered, I have, in effect, treason to propose to you.”
“By the Trinity! but you are putting a high price on compliments for
which nobody asked you!”
“I swear by the holy mountain--by the temple of pilgrimage--by the vault
of heaven and the depths of ocean--that the divine vengeance is about
to fall! nothing can delay it. The convulsed skies shall totter! the
uprooted mountains shall move! I swear by the resting-place of the
star--”
“Of a truth, here is plenty of fine words!” said Roland, shrugging his
shoulders. “When we gallant Christian knights make a statement, they
believe us without our having to call in the aid of the sky, and sea,
and stars.”
“As surely as I overthrew the three idols of Mecca, Lata, Aloza, and
Menât, the Christians shall be driven from Spain, and their lands
invaded. Their army shall be dispersed, and shall fly shamefully. Their
hour is come, and it will be bitter and terrible.”
“I have read all that in the Koran,” answered Roland, who felt his
patience failing him. “But that does not say what you want of me, or why
you are thus wasting my time. Since the future is revealed to you,
and you are so certain of our approaching overthrow, there can be no
obstacle to my returning to my post.”
“Yes, the future is ours. You alone delay the coming of the day of
glory. We shall conquer, but while you live it will be only at the price
of terrible sacrifices that we can purchase victory. Why persist
in returning to a world in which death awaits you? I offer you the
sovereignty of this realm, its wealth, its women, its warriors. The
inhabitants of air, earth, and water, the stars which move in the
firmament--all that is gifted with reason or instinct, essence and
matter--in one word, everything shall belong to you and owe to you
unreserved obedience. If the sun annoys you, the moon shall take its
place. Give but the sign, and rivers shall dry up to let you pass. A
population more vast than all the nations of earth put together shall
live only to serve you. These warriors are brave.”
“Of what use is their bravery if they have no enemies to contend with?”
“These horses are more swift than the wind.”
“Of what service is their speed, since there is here no goal that I
desire to reach?”
“These women are lovely.”
“Their beauty is sheer waste, for I do not love them!”
“Durandal is famous on earth, and yet the humblest of these soldiers
could cut it in two with the edge of his poniard.”
“Enough!” interposed Roland. “I have already told you I am in a hurry.
You have not, I imagine, the impudence to suppose you are rich enough in
wonders to induce me to commit a base action--your Allah himself would
be ashamed of such a thing. You have told me I am the bravest of living
knights: should I be so if I feared the death you threaten me with? ‘My
single arm is worth a whole army,’ you add. Have I any right, then, to
deprive my comrades of its aid at that moment, of all others, when you
profess that they are in danger? ‘My judgment is sound:’ allow me
to offer you a further proof of it by laughing at your menaces, and
predicting your complete overthrow. Mahomet and Jupiter will soon meet
and shake hands, and the crescent will be sent where the old moons go.”
“You will not listen?”
“I have heard too much already!”
“Behold these lovely creatures, who stretch out their arms towards you!
“They but make me see how far lovelier my Aude is.”
“See the lands I offer you!”
“What is a region of wonders compared with the spot where a man was
born?”
“Roland, by the faith of Mahomet! you shall never again behold the land
of France!”
“I am a Christian, besides being a Frenchman. The native land to which
I aspire is Heaven, and that birthplace you cannot prevent me from
beholding once more.”
“Infidel hound!” said the Prophet, “I----” But the words were such
as Roland could not listen to patiently. Mahomet did not finish his
sentence, for the gauntlet of the knight smote him on the mouth.
[Illustration: 159]
[Illustration: 160]
CHAPTER X. WHEN ROLAND REMEMBERS HIS LATIN, AND THE DEVIL FORGETS HIS.
I AM unable to tell you what followed. Even Roland had no clear
recollection. When he recovered his senses, he rose and cast his
eyes round him, to find himself in the midst of a vast sandy plain,
stretching on all sides to the horizon. The sun poured its hostile
rays upon him so fiercely, that in a few minutes his armour became
insupportably hot. The atmosphere was so charged with electricity,
that the plume of his helmet crackled, and gave out sparks. In vain he
searched the horizon for a place of shelter--there was nothing to be
seen but level plain and blue sky. Gigantic red ants came and went
busily--they were the only occupants of this desert. All of a sudden he
beheld before him in the distance white mosques, knots of palms, and
a sea-port with some vessels at anchor, and others sailing out of the
harbour. He saw, too, long caravans, which journeyed to the city gates.
Roland felt his courage revive, and set out in the direction of the
city. But he did not appear to come any the closer to it; he took to
running until he fell down with fatigue on the burning sand. Then the
city seemed to turn of a yellow hue, the blue of the sea grew paler, and
was lost in that of the sky; the trees vanished, and the Count of Mans
found himself once more alone in the desert.
“Why come to a halt?” said he to himself. “Better move forward in any
direction at hap-hazard. I can only gain by the change.”
He rose, determined to struggle on as long as his limbs would sustain
him. What was his surprise to see, in an opposite direction to that he
had just been pursuing, a mountain covered with verdure, on the summit
of which stood a castle! Three walls of circumvallation surrounded it.
At the foot of each flowed a river covered with vessels of war. Three
hanging ladders of marvellous workmanship united the three platforms of
the fortress, and four bastions guarded the approach to each ladder.
[Illustration: 161]
Roland once more pushed on; but as he advanced, the fortress rose into
the skies, until, after about an hour’s walking, he found himself with
nothing before him save the blank horizon of the desert. Then despair
seized him. He sank on his knees, crossed himself, and shed four tears,
the first he had ever wept. They fell on the sand, and there formed four
springs for a stream of cool and clear water. Roland received from this
new vigour, and having rendered thanks to Providence, he was preparing
to move forward, when he remarked with surprise a great stirring of the
sand. Little clouds of dust began to rise in all directions, although
there was not a breath stirring. Then the sand began to whirl round
incessantly, marking a great circle at a short distance from our hero.
As it began to whirl, it heaped itself up, drawn towards the centre
by some strange force of attraction. You would have said that some
gigantic polypus was sucking up all the sand of the desert. After a few
minutes there mounted, still eddying round, a huge column, which grew as
Roland watched it, until the summit was lost to sight in the sky. A hot
wind, like the harmattan of the Guinea coast, rose and drove the sand
before it in clouds. The sun turned red as molten iron.
The pillar of sand at last lost its equilibrium, and fell with a
horrible rushing sound. Roland closed his eyes, but he did not recoil.
Hearing a great roar of laughter, he instinctively clutched his sword by
the hilt. What he saw next induced him to draw it from its sheath.
The sand, in falling, had reared a mound, the base of which formed an
enormous circle, in the centre of which Roland perceived, with surprise,
a huge monster buried in sand to his waist. It was Eblis, the Devil of
the East.
[Illustration: 162]
His Majesty was a hundred feet in height, which is a respectable size,
even for a demon of the highest rank. His black skin, striped with red,
was covered with small scales, which made it glisten like armour. His
hair was so long and curly, a snake might have lost its way in it. His
flat nose was pierced with a ring of admirable workmanship, as you see
done to the wild bulls of the Roman Campagna. His white teeth, set with
precious stones, gave to his smile a very variegated appearance. His
small eyes assumed, one after the other, all the prismatic colours,
which made it impossible to sustain his gaze. His ears, which exactly
resembled those of an elephant, flapped on his shoulders; but he had,
to make up for it, a tail sixty feet long, terminating in a hooked claw,
which could have wielded the Monument easily as a toothpick.
Eblis had no other covering than his wings, which were large, soft,
and marvellously pliable, and in which he delighted to wrap himself.
Conceive, further, that a phosphorescent gleam played incessantly over
the monster’s skin, and you will easily understand why Roland unsheathed
Durandal.
Eblis was writhing with laughter.
“I haven’t roared so through all eternity, upon my honour! Here, I say,
my little man, do you know you have just done a master-stroke?”
This familiar tone displeased Roland.
“I have just met Mahomet,” continued Eblis, “and you have broken five of
his front teeth. I have seen a good many prophets in my time, but I vow,
on the faith of the accursed, I never saw one in such a rage. I have, in
honour of the blow, given three days’ holiday in the infernal regions.
There will be concerts, balls, hunts, and theatres. I have had written,
by one of our best authors, a little comedy in the style of Apollodorus,
in the last scene of which Mahomet receives a hundred strokes of the
bastinado. I have given orders to an army of cooks; you can hear even
here a rattle of stew-pans altogether refreshing. I will undertake to
let you see we are not so backward in this respect as people pretend.
You will meet with many old friends among the guests; we have quite
a crowd of visitors just now. My wife, who is a lively one, will be
delighted to make your acquaintance. Come, let me present you to her as
the best of my friends.”
“Babbler!” exclaimed Roland, but little flattered at these marks of
friendship. “What right have you to address me in this style?”
Eblis, who was not accustomed to be treated so cavalierly, was dumb with
surprise for a moment.
“By my father’s horns!” said he, at last, “I must have misunderstood
you. Give me your hand, Roland, to disabuse me of the error.”
He stretched out his tail to the knight, who, however, only drew back a
few steps.
“What, puny wretch!” shrieked Eblis, turning as white with rage as it
was possible for one so black to do. “I shall send you back to earth. Do
you think I am of the same stuff as Mahomet?”
“But here Roland flung his second gauntlet in the demon’s face.
“That makes the pair!” said the nephew of Charlemagne, placing himself
in an attitude of defence.
“Zacoum Zimzim Galarabak!” shouted Eblis, mad with fury. (You must
know that is the most terrible oath that can be uttered in the Saracen
tongue.) The earth shook and gaped at Roland’s feet. He felt himself
launched into space. His armour suddenly became icy cold.
“If I get back without an attack of rheumatism I shall be lucky,” said
the knight.
He heard around him the flapping of wings; it was a troop of afreets and
djins.
“Reflect, Roland. There is yet time. Mahomet is prepared to forgive
you.”
All the answer Roland vouchsafed was the intoning of the canticle--
“Sub tuum Fræsidium confugimus.”
“In a few moments your body will be dashed to pieces on earth. Remember
the wondrous things the Prophet offered to share with you.”
“_Sancta Dei genitrix; nostras deprecationes ne despicias_,” continued
Roland. And now it seemed to him that, instead of falling at hazard, he
was being gently carried. The chorus of afreets and djins was left far
behind, but he still heard the sound of pinions.
[Illustration: 163]
“Set your mind at rest,” said a voice so exquisitely musical that Roland
trembled to hear it. “I am the Archangel Michael. Our Blessed Lady has
sent me to preserve you. She had been touched by your constancy and
courage. Repose in safety on my wings, and we shall soon reach earth.”
And, in truth, in a few minutes’ time the Count of Mans, to his
astonishment, found himself before Saragossa. He was at prayer in his
tent when he heard the voice of Miton.
“My dear Roland, where are you?” cried the Count of Rennes, anxiously.
“Here I am,” said the knight, hurrying to his friend.
[Illustration: 166]
“Charlemagne, who knows how punctual you are, seeing you were ten
minutes behind your time to take on your guard, has sent to look for you
in every direction. You are pale, my dear Count; what has happened to
you?”
“I will tell you all about it,” said Roland, as he hastened to his post
near the Emperor.
END OF THE SECOND BOOK.
BOOK THE THIRD -- THE FORTRESS OF FEAR.
[Illustration: 169]
CHAPTER I. THE FOUR FOES OF CROQUEMITAINE.
CHARLEMAGNE had an excellent memory. He never omitted to ponder over the
dangers to which Mitaine was exposed at every turn. He had the scene of
the late ambush carefully searched by his spies in the first place, and
afterwards by his soldiers. All, on their return, made the same report.
They said the forest was inhabited, and there was a good deal of talk
about a castle called “The Fortress of Fear,” which was to be found
somewhere in the neighbourhood, although nobody they met with had seen
it. None, however, doubted its existence. If a child disappeared, or
any cattle were carried off, the trembling peasants said, “The Lord of
Fear-fortress had taken them.” If a fire broke out anywhere, it was the
Lord of Fear-fortress who must have lit it. The origin of all accidents,
mishaps, catastrophes, or disasters was traced to the mysterious owner
of this invisible castle.
“I should like to have the mystery cleared up,” said Charlemagne to
himself. “I can hardly resign myself to the belief that it is Ganelon,
my old brother-in-arms.”
He called his knights together.
“My faithful champions, I need four of you for a perilous adventure, I
know not where I am sending you--I know not whether you will return. Who
will risk death for my good favour?”
All the knights at once flung themselves at his feet, each entreating
the Emperor to honour him with his choice.
“You place me in a difficult position,” said the Emperor, greatly moved;
“I see that chance must point out the four champions. I can without fear
trust to it, for you are all equally brave.”
The names of all the knights present were put into a helmet, and Mitaine
played the part of Destiny to the best of her power, little thinking she
was choosing her own champions and avengers. The first name she called
out was that of Allegrignac of Cognac, Count of Salençon and Saintonge.
“The lot suits me admirably,” said the Emperor, giving a friendly wave
of his hand to the knight. “You know the language of the country, and
will be a safe guide for your companions.”
Mitaine next named the Baron of Mont-Rognon, Lord of Bourglastic,
Tortebesse, and elsewhere.
“This is indeed a capital choice! There is no stouter arm in the
Arvennes than yours; and if there be a postern to be burst open by a
powerful shoulder, you will be there, Mont-Rognon.”
“Porc-en-Truie, Lord of Machavoine,” cried Mitaine.
“I am in luck to-day, by St. James! You are known to be experienced,
Porc-en-Truie, and you will conduct the adventure, I entrust to you, to
a prosperous end, I feel sure. But I am curious to know who is my fourth
champion.”
“Maragougnia, Count of Rioin,” said Mitaine.
“Now we have wisdom, strength, and cunning. Maragougnia can give the
serpent points at wisdom, and beat him. If I do not succeed with such
knights I shall despair altogether.”
Charlemagne withdrew with his four champions, told them of the perils
to which his god-child had been exposed, the investigation he had
instituted, the suspicions he had entertained; and finally, he spoke of
the Fortress of Fear, winding up in these terms:--
“I am anxious to square accounts with this Croquemitaine. You will pass
through the forest till you arrive at Alagon, a little hamlet on the
banks of the Ebro. There you will inquire for the Fonda del Caïman,
or, if you prefer it, the sign of the Crocodile. You will there rest
yourselves for a short time, and then set out on your quests. You,
Allegrignac, striking off from the river, will pursue your course
towards Pampeluna. You, Mont-Rognon, will proceed in the direction of
Catalyud; and look out for the Saracens, my friend, who on that side
are disgusted enough with the trouble we have given them. You,
Porc-en-Truie, will make for Fuentes. If you are guided by me, you will
travel by night only, and conceal yourself carefully by day. You will
appreciate my counsel when once you are on the road. You, finally, my
gallant Maragougnia, will have to direct your steps towards Lerida,
but you will not go beyond the river Alcander. I have reserved this
expedition for you because it is the most hazardous--there, you need
not thank me. I understand you! Quarter the country in every direction,
and find out for me this Fortress of Fear. He who brings me the head of
its dreaded lord shall be created a baron and peer of my realm.”
The Emperor replenished the purses of his champions, and took leave
of them with an embrace. When they’ found themselves alone they
interchanged looks of bewilderment.
“What do you think of that?” said Porc-en-Truie, with a grimace.
“That I shall be a duke,” said Allegrignac, cutting a caper. “This
adventure won’t take me a minute!”
“To think that we must set out to-night!” said Mont-Rognon, in tones
of regret; “and to think that I have ordered a splendid supper for
to-night, which my fellows will get the benefit of!”
“To think that we shall none of us ever come back again!” said
Maragougnia, in a melancholy voice, as he wiped away a tear with the
sleeve of his chain-mail.
“Pshaw! who knows?” broke in Porc-en-Truie, with a smile. “Let us set
out, and then we can see!”
They appointed to meet on the borders of the forest, and within an hour
afterwards they’ were all on the spot, equipped for war or for travel.
Porc-en-Truie, Lord of Machavoine, was a great fellow of thirty years of
age, more skilled in avoiding blows than in dealing them. He invariably
shirked all his military duties, not because he was a coward, but
because he was incorrigibly idle. He had been known to tramp three hours
afoot to save himself the trouble of saddling his horse, and he had
killed his dearest friend in a tournament, in order to terminate a long
and fatiguing tilting match. He arrived at the rendezvous on horseback,
with no weapon but his sword.
“How imprudent!” cried Allegrignac, the moment he saw him coming. “Are
we going to a wedding only, or are you desirous of emulating Miton’s
great feat at the Tourney of Fronsac?”
“I hate a load of weapons, and I don’t mean to kill myself for
this Mitaine--for whom, between you and me, I don’t care a grain of
mustard-seed!”
[Illustration: 172]
Allegrignac of Cognac, Count of Salençon, was twenty-five years of age,
and six feet six high. He had an open countenance, a stout heart,
an untiring tongue, limbs of steel, a stomach of leather, and a very
slender patrimony. His hair was curly, his teeth were white. He was
as proud as a Spaniard, as brave as a Frenchman, as simple-minded as
a goose. He was possessed of a pleasant contralto voice, a cheerful
spirit, and a grey horse called Serenade.
Picture to yourself a figure clad in complete steel, and with weapons of
vast weight, like one of those armed and bandy-legged giants you see
in a procession of trades, capable of lifting enormous weights, not to
mention cattle, and any other unconsidered trifles he could lay hands
on, and you have a portrait of the Baron of Mont-Rognon, Lord of
Bourglastic, Tortebesse, and elsewhere. This huge mass of muscle existed
only to eat and drink. He was a descendant of Esau on his father’s side,
and of Gargantua on his mother’s. He once performed a gigantic feat--he
killed six hundred Saracens who happened to get in his way as he was
going to dinner. He had an elastic stomach, and a mouth armed with four
rows of teeth.
Having described his stomach and his mouth,
I need not go on with the likeness, for all that remained were mere
incidental appurtenances.
He arrived third at the place of meeting, leading by the halter a mule
laden with provisions and bottles.
“What’s this?” said Allegrignac, laughingly.
“That!” said Mont-Rognon, offended at his bluntness. “That’s supper.”
“What’s the use of that?” said Porc-en-Truie.
Mont-Rognon the Monstrous.
Mont-Rognon in a hurry for his dinner
“Charlemagne has ordered us to perish for him,” broke in the Lord of
Bourglastic, “but he did not stipulate that we should perish of hunger.”
[Illustration: 173]
Maragougnia, Count of Riom, was the last to arrive. He was equipped in
the most gloomy style. His armour was of browned steel, sprinkled with
silver tears. From the coronet that surmounted his helmet sprang a few
mangy black feathers, which drooped over his shoulders like the branches
of a weeping willow, and all the rest of his accoutrements were to
match.
He had one extraordinary quality, which was his strong point--instead of
making him lose his head, fear only gave him increased presence of
mind. They related deeds of prowess of his which were, in reality,
only prodigies of cowardice. He did everything with a profound air
of melancholy. His first wife, they say, died of yawning; the second
perished of sheer weariness in three weeks.
Behind him came a page, who might be considered to have originated the
sombre livery worn nine hundred years later by the page of the Duchess
of Marlborough.*
* Vide “Malbrouck:”--
“Elle voit venir son page
De unir tout habillé.”
This lugubrious squire bore the count’s change of arms--to wit: two
daggers of mercy; three swords, various; one lance; one helmet; one
morion; two daggers, poisoned; one battle-axe; one flail, iron; one
shield; one breastplate; one shirt of mail; two pairs of gauntlets;
three pairs of spurs.
“Good heavens!” said Allegrignac; “are we going to equip all the
nation for war? Look, Porc-en-Truie! the Count of Riom has stripped the
armouries of his ten castles.”
“I wouldn’t stir an inch,” said Porc-en-Truie, in the interval of a
couple of yawns, “to assure myself that Maragougnia has done something
silly. If you assured me to the contrary, I might perhaps be surprised
into getting up to see. And yet no! I couldn’t believe it; so I should
stay where I was.”
Porc-en-Truie, I must observe, sat himself down on the grass the moment
he arrived.
“You’re quite welcome to laugh at my prudence,” said Maragougnia, “but I
don’t forget we are going to certain death.”
“Certain death! Fiddlesticks! I mean yet to rival the Methusalems of the
period,” said Porc-en-Truie, rising. “And now let’s be off, if we are to
reach Alagon to-night.”
“To prepare for death,” said Maragougnia, dashing away a tear with his
gauntlet.
“To go to sleep,” said Porc-en-Truie, with a yawn.
“To try a throw with the dice,” said Allegrignac, jingling the money in
his purse.
“To make a good supper,” said Mont-Rognon, with a hollow voice, gnashing
his teeth like castanets.
In ten minutes the four knights had entered the wood. At sunset
Alleericmac was hammering with his fist at the door of the Fonda del
Caïman.
[Illustration: 174]
[Illustration: 175]
CHAPTER II. THE SIGN OF THE CROCODILE.
THE innkeeper was a man of middle size, half Spaniard and half Moor,
with a big body and thin leys, a brown skin and grey eyes. He had
acquired considerable reputation in the district for his mode of
dressing calves’ feet with saffron, and his handiness in stabbing people
in the right place. He made everything a matter of trade, and used to
regret that he had inherited no religious opinions which he could have
abjured at a fixed price to be got either from the Saracens or the
Christians. For the rest, he was a most obliging host, provided your
purse was well supplied; and I believe I shall put the finishing stroke
to the likeness when I say he was the biggest robber in all Spain, from
Pontevedra to Girone.
Ali Pépé opened the door. One is always forgetting something, and I
forgot to tell you his name was Ali Pépé.
“Where’s the landlady?” asked Allegrignac, twisting his moustache.
“I want a bed,” yawned Porc-en-Truie.
“Some supper!” growled Mont-Rognon.
Maragougnia said nothing. He was absorbed in studying the inn, and the
estimate he formed seemed far from satisfactory.
Ali Pépé stood on the defensive, blocking the entrance of the inn.
“Your lordships appear of too exalted a station for me to omit to inform
you that you will find the accommodation here very unsuited to you.”
“Here’s frankness and disinterestedness! But where can we find better
accommodation?”
[Illustration: 176]
“My inn is the only one in the district.”
“Then make way for us,” said Mont-Rognon, catching up Ali Pope by the
girdle, and carrying him in at arm’s length into the kitchen. “We shall
be able to converse better here!” Maragougnia entered last. He tried
all the locks, in order to see whether the doors closed securely. He
examined all the outlets, sounded the panels, and ordered his squire to
bring him his arms.
“We want four beds,” said Porc-en-Truie.
“In the same room,” said Maragougnia, who had a horror of being
solitary.
“First of all we want supper,” bellowed Mont-Rognon; “don’t let us
forget the most important of our wants.”
“A modest supper,” suggested Maragougnia, who was afraid of the expense.
“A modest supper!” bellowed the Lord of Bourglastic. “Don’t you do
anything of the kind, landlord, or I’ll burn the place about your ears.
Empty your poultry-yard, drag your fish-ponds, uncork your bottles; set
to work--kill, pluck, draw, and broach,--in short, make ready, to the
best of your power, a feast for an emperor or a sultan!”
“You will lay for me separately,” said the Count of Riom, tearfully, “a
few radishes and some wine of first-rate----”
“Cheapness,” kindly suggested Allegrignac, with a smile.
“May I know whom I have the honour to serve?” said Ali Pépé, with a bow
so respectful that Maragougnia was horrified to see it, fearing it would
be included in the bill.
“Nothing easier,” said Allegrignac, returning Ali’s bow. “The short
gentleman you see there is Purveyor-in-Chief to Charlemagne and all the
crowned heads of the civilised world, from Armenia to Lusitania, from
Scandinavia to Tripoli. He travels from district to district in search
of new dishes to delight the royal tables. His dissertation on roasts is
in everybody’s mouth. He has proved satisfactorily that beef ought not
to be taken from the spit until the meat begins to turn brown and show
the gravy; that mutton should be taken from the fire as soon as it
begins to redden; and that veal should not be dished up until the meat
is quite white. This man, who seems so unpretending, has discovered that
thirst is fostered by currents of air; that the Scythians have stomachs
an inch smaller than the Germans have; but then, on the other hand,
deeper by seven times than those of the Cimmerians. He was the first who
fried carp in rose-water; and he has, at last, after long and wearisome
research, found in an old manuscript the recipe for garum, which was
so highly prized by the ancients, but was thought to be lost. He has
confided the secret to me, and I reveal it to you, in the hope that it
will incite you to give us a better supper. Learn then, profane wretch!
that in order to prepare this dainty dish, you must let a hen-mackerel
lie in pickle with small mushrooms for seventeen nights at the full of
the moon. The inside must be removed carefully, pounded, soaked, and
braized with religious care in a bag of rose-coloured silk--and mind, it
must be rose-coloured. The liquor thus procured is gathered in a silver
vessel, when the weather is fine--or stormy. It must be left to settle
for three weeks and seven hours, after having been mixed with a
preparation, of which I forget the composition, but which is the chief
ingredient, and gives all the value to the dish. You see with whom you
have to deal: be sure, therefore, that the repast is worthy of this
great dignitary and of us!”
Ali Pépé bowed.
“That gentleman who is snoring yonder travels in the hope of introducing
some improvement into the royal sleeping arrangements. No one knows
better than he the wisest adjustment of counterpanes, quilts, blankets,
bolsters, pillows, and valances. His comparative treatise, entitled
‘Lectus cubilaris, Lucubratorius, Emortualis, Genialis et Decubitorius,’
has been engrossed on vellum by the monks of Monte Casino. To him
belongs the honour of superseding the sack of maize-straw by the
down-bed, which he imported from Cimbria; as also that of adding a
second mattress to the sleeping-tackle of Royalty, which used to consist
solely of a ticken, a pillow, and a bundle of straw. You see, therefore,
that you must be careful to lodge us well for the night.”
Ali Pépé made another low bow.
“I don’t like talking about myself,” said Allegrignac, “but for this
once I will yield to your importunity, ami inform you who I am. You
must surely have heard of the great giantess
Alcomiroziropoulopilousitounitapignac!”
The landlord eyed the Count of Salgoon askance for awhile, then,
resigning himself to his fate, he made an assenting gesture.
“She was my mother,” said Allegrignac. “She perished after six: years of
married happiness, murdered by my unhappy father, who was never tired
of beating her. Disgusted with matrimony--and not without cause--she
determined to live single. I came into the world within twelve months
afterwards, and chose the profession of arms. My fortune, my noble
birth--everything assured me that I must owe everything to my own
prowess. I cheerfully accepted my lot, and crossed the Alps to avenge
my father. I laid siege to Toulouse. Need I continue to relate my
misfortunes?”
“Not on my account, my lord. The particulars you have just related
suffice to inform me with whom I have to deal. I have only to ask you
who the fourth warrior of your party is?”
“This weeping willow----”
“I am a poor devil of a wanderer in search of fortune,” hastily
interposed Maragougnia. “My wants are as modest as my means: I know how
to be satisfied with little.”
“I treat my customers according to their tastes and their purses,” said
Ali Pépé. “You have, noble sirs, asked for a good many things. I will
now give you a sketch of the accommodation I have to offer. I have but
one room and one bed to let----”
“I’ll take it, then,” said Porc-en-Truie, promptly: “I wouldn’t sleep
out of doors to-night for the world. I shall not resume my journey till
to-morrow. In the meantime, though, if either of you wishes to have half
the bed----”
“Thanks, I shall push on to-night,” said Maragougnia, as he left the
room to find his squire, and tell him not to give the horses a feed.
“They will find grazing on the road,” he remarked.
“As for me,” said Mont-Rognon, “I give up the room to you with all my
heart. I intend to spend the night in eating. I shall not start till
to-morrow morning.”
“I’ll keep you company till then,” said Allegrignac; “we have a few
bottles and an old dispute to settle. You owe me a dozen, and I’ll bet
you that you’ll be under the table by the ninth. I feel just in the
humour for the trial to-day.”
A scornful smile was the only answer vouchsafed by Mont-Rognon, who
turned to the host, and asked, “What soup do you think you can give us?”
“Can your lordship put up with pomegranate soup?”
“Let us see the pomegranates.”
Ali ran to his larder, and returned with a basket-full of fruit.
Mont-Rognon selected a dozen.
“Don’t forget to serve it up warm, and with a slice or two of orange in
it. What next?”
“If your lordship will leave it to me, you shall have no reason to
complain. I have been head cook to the King of Mesopotamia for ten
years, and His Majesty told me, only eight days since, that he has no
pleasure in eating now I have left him. I would suggest, for soups,
pomegranate, water-gruel, and ortolan; for entrees, calves’ feet and
saffron, and fillet of venison with sweetbreads. For the next course,
chicken _farci a la Madame Râpée_, heron garnished with woodcocks, roast
sucking-pig with cameline sauce.”
“I should like well enough a quarter of whale served up on a layer of
eggs,” said Allegrignac, carelessly.
“You might have had it this morning. Unfortunately, they had the last of
it for King Marsillus to-day.”
“You will give us, instead, a peacock. You will stuff it with chestnuts
and saffron, and serve it up with fennel and powdered sugar.”
“I can also offer your lordships dory with orange-juice, and lampreys
with lily sauce.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, sir. The bill of fare is simple, but select!”
“Now, by Lenten fasts! you want to starve us to death,” said
Mont-Rognon. “You must improve this poor fare, Master Head Cook of the
King of Mesopotamia. Let us have ragout of venison, salt quarter of
hare, preserved cabbage, purée of foreign figs _à la Sardanapale_, pigs’
chitterlings with sweet wine sauce, and ribs of beef in honey. Now, be
off to your kitchen, and if we want anything else, we’ll let you know.”
Ali made a low bow, and was about to leave the room.
“One word more,” said Allegrignac. “Don’t forget to send up the roasts
on the spit, and, above all, be particular about the wine Don’t be
afraid of sending up plenty of bottles.”
“And, stay, landlord!” said Porc-en-Truie, “as you go you can show me my
room. Farewell, Allegrignac! Your hand, Mont-Rognon! Good luck to you,
Maragougnia! I shall be asleep, no doubt, when you start. I trust you
will succeed, and take back to the Emperor what he wishes.”
“We shall be sufficiently fortunate if we take back a whole skin!”
sighed the Count of Riom, preparing to depart.
In the next chapter you will see how the four knights set about the
accomplishment of Charlemagne’s wishes.
[Illustration: 180]
[Illustration: 181]
CHAPTER III. HOW ALLEGRIGNAC, MARAGOUGNIA, PORC-EN-TRUIE, AND
MONT-ROGNON OPENED THE CAMPAIGN.
PORC-EN-TRUIE followed Ali, who conducted him to the first floor, where
they entered a chamber that was shabby enough in appearance in all
conscience.
“Are you silly enough to think of putting me to sleep here?”
“It is the best room in the inn. King Marsillus slept here the day----”
“Come! I hope you are not going to talk more absurdity of that kind to
me. Learn to understand better those with whom you have to deal. Where’s
the bed?”
“Yonder, sir.”
“That a bed! By the beard of Solomon! what you have the impudence to
call a bed would have horrified Job himself, and he passes for a person
not easily dissatisfied. What is all that hanging about the curtains?”
“Those are cobwebs,” said Ali, with an air of satisfaction. “We take
them down when our customers wish it, but they never do.”
“How is that?” asked Porc-en-Truie.
“Why, you see,” said the other, quietly, “the spider is insectivorous.”
“And you dare bring me here?” asked Porc-en-Truie, pale with rage. “I
dare swear to your lordship there is not a better bed in the house.”
“Let me see yours;” and the knight seized the landlord, and made him
conduct him to his own bedroom. It was not palatial by any means, but
all was clean and neat in the host’s room, and the bed looked inviting.
“How, rogue! you would sleep in this lordly bed without a scruple, while
I am served as food for the spiders you rear! Leave the room, and thank
Heaven that you leave it by the door instead of the window!”
The Lord of Machavoine thrust the landlord out of the room. He, poor
wretch! gave up his apartment with a very bad grace, and strove to
argue the matter, but he got no answer. The shooting of the bolts,
the creaking of the bed, were soon succeeded by a loud snoring, which
deprived the defeated wretch of his last hope.
He was going down-stairs in anything but a good temper, when he heard
some one moving cautiously at the bottom. The host of the “Crocodile”
possessed the courage of those cowards who lie in wait to strike, but
who succumb before a hidden danger or an imaginary one, and shrink
from an open attack. Porc-en-Truie had kept the lamp--all was buried in
complete darkness.
“Who is that?” asked Ali, in a disquieted tone.
“A friend,” answered a voice no less apprehensive.
The landlord drew from the folds of his tunic one of those formidable
knives which are still the fashion in Spain, and, having opened it,
softly descended the last few stairs.
“Who are you?--what do you want?”
“Don’t speak so loud, for goodness’ sake? Don’t you recognise my voice?
I am one whom you supplied with radishes an hour since.”
“The knight with the black plume?”
“The same. Can I have a word with you in private?”
“We should find it difficult to discover a more secret and solitary spot
than this. What is it you wish?”
“I should like to stop here a month, unknown to my four travelling
companions--why, I will tell you later.”
“Nothing is easier. They will leave to-morrow.”
“I want a very humble lodging, which I expect I shall occupy for a
month. But what I want more than all is your silence.”
“I am as mute as my conscience, and I have a room that will suit you
to a nicety.” And Ali flattered himself that he had virtually let the
lumber-room which had so distrusted Porc-en-Truie.
He retired for an instant, then returned with a light, and once more
ascended the stairs, followed this time by Maragougnia. He opened the
door, entered first, and putting his hand behind the flame to throw a
good light on the scene, turned and said, with the tone of a man who
feels he had done the right thing, “There--that’s the article for you.”
[Illustration: 183]
The sudden appearance of the light put to flight a myriad of little
black specks, that, hustling, scrambling, and running to and fro over
the walls, finally disappeared in the hangings and wainscot.
“I want something more unpretending,” said Maragougnia, shading his
eyes, dazzled by the light.
Ali could scarcely refrain from expressing his surprise in a shout.
“More unpretending!” said he to himself, utterly disheartened. “These
travellers are all alike--there’s no satisfying them!” But the landlord
of “The Crocodile” was not the man to let himself be beaten by such a
trifle. “If you will follow me, I have exactly what you require. I can
let it you for next to nothing;” and he led the knight to a wretched
outhouse, without either air or light, except such as came to it by
reversion from the stable.
“There!” said Ali, briefly.
“This will suit me admirably. The smell of a stable is good for the
lungs, so this atmosphere ought to be very healthy.”
“I let it to invalids,” said the landlord, stopping his nose. “Sleep
in comfort; the straw is this year’s;” and Ali, taking the lamp, left
Maragougnia alone with his thoughts.
“Go,” said the Count of Riom--“go, my dear fellow-travellers; go and get
your necks twisted, and your bones broken. Go and seek a castle in the
air for the satisfaction of a royal vagary. I, more wise than you,
shall stop here. Who knows but that fortune may not visit me here?” Thus
musing, he fell asleep, and dreamt that his squire had obtained for him
a reduction of rent by turning the spit in the inn kitchen.
[Illustration: 185]
When the host re-entered the supper-room he was astonished to see
the table overturned, with its legs in the air, and Allegrignac and
Mont-Rognon making a bed of it. They were sound asleep, far gone in that
state of intoxication of which in after years the Templars afforded so
many instances. Wrapt, up in the most brotherly way in the table-cloth,
they reposed on a heap of odds and ends and broken crockery. The lamp
had succumbed to the general disaster, and was sputtering and mouldering
in the ruins of a venison pasty.
“Bravo!” said Ali, rubbing his hands. “These are the sort of customers
I like. Furniture never gets faded with them, for one is always having
new.” With that he set himself to break whatever had escaped the general
smash; he even brought in a few damaged chairs, and distributed them
artistically in fragments all over the room. Then, having picked up some
gold pieces that had fallen on the floor, he went and lay down in the
stable till morning.
[Illustration: 186]
Mont-Rognon, whose normal state was semi-intoxication, was the first to
wake next day. He gazed unmoved on the scene of destruction in the midst
of which he had slept, and then went out into the yard to give himself
a washing at the trough. Ali Pépé, hearing him on the move, immediately
made his appearance.
“Listen, landlord,” said the Lord of Bourglastic, “I like your style
of cookery, and your wine suits my palate. I should like to stop here
a month; but, for reasons best known to myself, I wish my
fellow-travellers not to know that I have put up here. When that drunken
fellow who dined with me last night wakes up, you must tell him I
started without waiting for him. You will do the same with that sluggard
up-stairs, and when they are fairly off, come and let me know. I will
take your dining-room for a month, and I intend never to quit the table.
I shall not stir out, and nobody save you must come near me. I will
defray the charges, including this last dinner, but I must insist on
being well served. Recruit your forces, stock your larder and your
cellar, for by Bacchus! you have got a tough job before you. Only I warn
you, if you tell a single soul that I am here, you had better make your
will, and order your coffin!”
“What an odd lot!” said Ali, as he went in-doors. “Must I send my stingy
customer of last night packing? Or must I tell my drunken friend of this
morning that he is here? Pshaw! They are both afraid of being seen,
and won’t stir out an inch. One ought not to miss any profits, however
small.” With this reflection he went into the dining-room.
“Is that you, landlord? asked Allegrignac, without opening his eyes.
‘Can you tell me what has become of my friend?’ It’s no use for me to
kick about--he’s not in the bed.”
“He is gone, my dear sir--gone quite an hour ago. He said to me, ‘Tell
the knight I leave in your room on the ground-floor, that I am sorry I
cannot stop to say good-bye, for the heat is coming on, and I don’t wish
to delay my journey.’”
“Oh, so the drunken dog has gone--wonderful! I suppose he has paid?
“Not he, sir, truly. He told me you would see to that.”
Allegrignac not only opened his eyes at this, but he sat up on end. “At
any rate, he paid his share?”
“He has not given me a penny piece; he told me he had won a wager of
you.” Before Ali had finished the sentence Allegrignac was on his legs.
“You’re no better than a brigand, and I’ll wring your neck for you!”
“I swear to you I have not received a farthing this blessed morning!”
“Well, well,” said the Count of Salençon, recovering his good humour,
“I’m well enough off not to bother myself about a trifle like that. So
you tell me my bed-fellow is really gone?”
“He is.”
“And the one who was here last night, too?”
“You saw him go yourself.”
“True. Then, if I calculate rightly, there’s only one more of us left.”
“The one who is snoring in my bed,” sighed Ali, spitefully.
“Very well, then; open your ears wide, and listen attentively to what
I say. If you let a syllable escape you, you and I shall quarrel.
For reasons that I need not state, I wish to put up at your inn for a
month.”
“He, too!” thought Ali. “What is going to happen to the house?”
“You will choose me apartments opening on the garden. I shall not go
out, and nobody must have access to me save you and the sun. You will
have the room adorned with flowers. I never grumble at the accounts
which innkeepers present to me. I satisfy myself with the explanation
that they are not strong in their arithmetic; I am not myself, either.
But I insist on being treated well. One word more: you give me the idea
of a man who is rather proud of his ears. I always respect people’s
tastes, but I shall be compelled to deprive you of those ornaments if
you mention to a single soul that I have stayed here. You understand
me?”
“Clearly!”
“Then lead me to my prison!”
It was not long before Allegrignac was duly installed. His furniture
consisted of a bed, a table, some flowers, and a guitar. He ordered
breakfast, and desired to be left to himself.
“I am curious to learn what these strange people want here,” said
Ali, as he went up-stairs. “I only hope the fourth knight won’t take
possession of my bed for an indefinite period. Let us try and get him
out of it at once.”
The host gave a vigorous push at Porc-en-Truie’s door.
“Sir! you bade me call you in good time. The sun has been up some hours.
Are not you going to start?”
“Come in!” said the Lord of Machavoine. “I want to have a word with
you.”
“But, my dear sir, I can’t come in. You shut yourself in when you turned
me out, and I know from experience that one cannot break in the door.”
Porc-en-Truie was reluctantly compelled to get out of bed and open the
door, jumping into bed again, however, immediately, and turning his face
to the wall.
“Do you know this bed is delicious! I have slept splendidly in it, and I
am not such a fool as to go scouring the highways while I can get a good
rest here. Listen to me attentively, and don’t let me have to repeat
anything, for I’m dying for sleep. You will place beside me on a table a
venison pasty, two cold dishes, some preserved fruit, and thirty bottles
of wine. Thirty--you hear?”
“Only too well!”
“Once a week you will come in on tip-toe, and lay the repast afresh. I
am going to take a nap--you may call me in a month’s time.”
“I trust you won’t think of doing so--keeping me out of my bedroom for a
month-”
“I warn you that I do not know how much money there is in my purse, and
that I sleep so soundly, you might rob me of it without my opening
my eyes. Ah, by the way, I forgot! As I don’t wish to be disturbed, I
command you not to tell a soul that I am here. I don’t care a bit if
your inn is on fire, if the enemy is coming, or an earthquake happens.
I mean to have my sleep out. Above all, don’t let my fellow-travellers
know of my determination. Nothing less than your life or death depends
on that. Now, set everything out properly here, and don’t let me hear
any more of you for a month.”
“Sir--sweet sir--dear sir--great sir!” sighed the host, little elated
at the prospect of sleeping for the next thirty nights in the stable,
“can’t you choose some other resting-place? I can assure you, that
if you go nearly as far as Montella--about half a day’s journey from
here--you will find a magnificent hotel, where you will be infinitely
better lodged than here. Are you listening to me, my dear sir?”
A vigorous snore proved to Ali that he was simply throwing away his
eloquence. To make quite sure the knight was asleep, the landlord began
to inspect his purse, but Porc-en-Truie did not stir.
“Well, this is sleeping like a nobleman,” said Ali, not half satisfied
by the self-appointed award of a handful of gold pieces. “For this
amount I can afford to let him finish his nap!”
[Illustration: 189]
CHAPTER IV. ALI PÉPÉ’S LITTLE HARVEST.
ALLEGRIGNAC, Porc-en-Truie. Mont-Rognon, and Maragougnia continued to
dwell in unconscious propinquity.
“Who can tell what has become of my companions?” said all four, each
to himself. “They have perished beyond doubt, or are prisoners at best.
Faith! that’s their look-out! Success is very properly the prize of
superior intelligence.”
For a whole month Porc-en-Truie slept, Mont-Rognon ate, Allegrignac
played the guitar in a whisper, and Maragougnia plotted impossible
meannesses.
On the twenty-eighth day of his captivity Mont-Rognon greeted Ali with
a smile which he struggled to make as gracious as possible. Ali was
terrified to see it, dreading lest his customer should ask him for
credit on the strength of such an act of condescension.
“Sit down here opposite to me,” said Mont-Rognon, growing every moment
more agreeable to Ali, who was growing every moment more uncomfortable.
“I am tired of eating alone. Besides, I have something to say to you.”
The landlord sat down, poured himself out a bumper, and listened.
“Since I have been here I have watched you closely, and the result of
my examination is favourable to you. Occupied as I have been, it was
impossible for us to exchange much talk, but it was enough to make
me appreciate you. I recognise in you one of those bold spirits who,
regarding life as a journey, reject from the outset whatever may
encumber their progress. Conscience is to them a stranger whose name
gives rise to a smile, and remorse a bugbear invented by the weak to
restrain the strong. They only require in life that which it is able to
offer, but they are not of the kidney to forego one single opening for
enjoyment, let the price be what it may. People of my way of thinking
are always ready to encourage that spirit. Do you comprehend?”
[Illustration: 191]
“That depends on what is to follow. I’ll tell you presently. Go on!”
“I travel, as you have been told, in the gastronomical interests of
various sovereigns. One of them, whose name I choose to withhold, has
sent me to this country with a mission so truly extraordinary that I
dread to impart it to you.”
“Fear not, sir. I flatter myself I shall understand you.”
“The king, whose envoy I am, has a daughter as fanciful as she is
beautiful, and he is the slave of her lightest caprice. She has read in
some writer of this country that the Saracens owe the clearness of their
complexion to a peculiar ointment. I am really afraid to tell you of
what it is composed.”
“Don’t be afraid of anything with me, sir.”
“Well, then, they say that one must have, to make it properly, a human
head----”
“Ah?” said Ali, pushing back his chair; “you are terribly plain to
understand,--rest assured of that!”
“They assert that for this purpose the heads of the inhabitants of these
parts are superior to all others. I have unluckily promised to procure
one, and if I fail to keep my word, my own head, for lack of better,
will have to serve the princess’s turn. They persuaded me that to
ensure the preservation of the beauty of young girls was an act of
philanthropy, and I foolishly committed myself to the undertaking. I
offer with all my heart one-half of the sum promised me to any one who
will assist me out of my scrape.”
“And how much have you been promised?” said Ali, bringing his chair to
the table again.
“A hundred ounces. Do you know any respectable man of business who will
undertake to supply such an article as I have named?”
“Possibly--but all trouble deserves payment. If I act as your go-between
shall I get nothing?”
“Your claim is a fair one. I promise you fifty ounces--twenty-five for
him, and twenty-five for yourself.”
“You shall have what you require.”
“To-morrow?”
“This evening! But you must pay me half in advance. If you were to
change your mind, and leave me with the goods on my hands----”
“Between men of honour--”
“Between men of honour like us it is right to take precautions.”
“Well! There’s the money.”
Ali Pépé took the gold, counted it, tried each coin in succession,
weighed them with an air of wisdom, and said, quietly, “The money is
quite correct; you shall have just the sort of article you want; and,
what is more, I’ll throw you the sack in!” With these words he left the
apartment.
It was Allegrignac’s lunch-time; so the host went up-stairs to the
count’s room, and found him plunged in deep thought.
“Tell me, Ali Pépé,” said he, “did you ever happen to be married?”
“Never, sir. I am the oldest representative of a race which will die
with me.”
“Then you cannot understand my sufferings!”
“Your sufferings, my dear sir?”
“My heart is bursting, and I feel I can trust myself with you. Listen
to my history, and sympathise with your unhappy guest. My early life was
passed in bliss on the shores of the Sarmatian Sea, till one day I met
the daughter of the King of Scandinavia. This marvel of the North had a
skin as white as snow, hair as golden as sunlight, and she was as plump
as a partridge. Her beauty dazzled me, and I swore I would die to serve
her----”
“Your worship will excuse me if I beg you to commence your history at
the conclusion. I have several customers waiting below.”
“I will be brief. It is the custom in certain cold regions for every
young girl who has reached her seventeenth year to make a tour for
a couple of months to look out for a husband. Those who make any
impression on her, or on whom she makes an impression, accompany her
home to her father, who then makes his choice among the suitors. The
fair Wahallaaka had just reached her seventeenth year, when I fell in
with her at the close of the circuit. My attention was first attracted
by the splendour of the sledge in which she rode. It was drawn by thirty
wolves, which shook the crimson silk tassels and jingled the steel
chains of their harness. Seven hundred and sixty-seven suitors rode
behind her. The eyes of the fair Scandinavian met mine, and she felt at
once that her journey was completed. Could she meet with a more suitable
husband? She was not foolish enough to suppose so; and, giving me a
sign to join the _cortège_, she gave the order to return to
Khétakous-Mouvoskaïa, which is the capital of her father’s dominions.
He, a man full of judgment and taste, confirmed his daughter’s choice,
and it was decided that at the expiration of two months I should
become the husband of the beauteous Wahallaaka. For fifty days we had
a succession of festivals. Sledge races by torchlight were followed by
balls and concerts. White bear-hunting, whale-catching, and a thousand
other innocent diversions, furnished me with opportunities for the
display of my brilliant intelligence, my strength, my courage, my
address, my presence of mind, my grace, my agility, my----”
Ali Pépé threw an imploring glance at Allegrignac.
“I will be brief. Nothing in this world is perfect, and the incomparable
Wahallaaka had her share of imperfections. She was given to flirting and
fibbing: she was fickle, she was foolish, she was vain, she was rash.”
“Sir!” sighed the count’s wretched listener.
“I will be brief. You are right; why should I open again these
scarce-healed wounds? A page one day brought me a letter from my future
bride. ‘Go,’ it said; ‘leave me, to prove your love for me. The
ties which are about to unite us are so serious that I wish, before
confirming them irretrievably, to assure myself that I have not been
mistaken in my choice of you. Go; during your absence I intend to give
myself, without reserve, to all the pleasures of society. I shall
do everything I can to forget you, and if in a year’s time, when you
return, I still love you, then, my knight, I will be your bride. You
will go to Spain. I do not give you that Eden for your place of exile
without good reason. They assert that the men there are the handsomest
in the world. Well, my betrothed, when your time comes to return, choose
one of the finest of these wretches, cut off his head, and bring it to
me, that I may judge with my own eyes of the beauty of the barbarian
type.’”
“Well done!” thought Ali; “here are my four guests beginning again. In
everything they do they follow suit, and I feel sure the other two will
make the same request. What is to be the end of this?”
“‘Should you triumph in this trial,’ added the fair Wahallaaka, ‘from
that moment none shall be as dear to me as you.’ When I read this letter
my heart was torn with conflicting passions, but I had the strength of
mind to leave without seeing my beloved. For a whole year I dragged out
my miserable existence in all quarters of the globe. Now, however, my
time of trial is past, and I am about to return to my beloved country.
One thing alone remains to do. Can I present myself to her, who is so
dear to me, without offering her that head which is the object of her
desires?”
“But how is it that, brave and mighty as you describe yourself to be,
you have not already procured it?”
“The reason is clear, as you will see. I am in the ordinary affairs of
life a very lion for courage; the panther and white bear I care not a
jot for; but as soon as the idea of fighting presents itself---whenever
I find myself in the presence of danger--I tremble, lest I should prove
unworthy of the fair Wahallaaka. The thought unnerves my arm, and a
child might conquer me. In short--I’ll give you forty ounces for your
head.”
Ali scowled at the knight. “If it be to finish in this manner that your
worship has taken the trouble to relate this history, we might both of
us have employed our time better.”
“If your head appears to me the finest model of Oriental beauty, there
is no reason for you to be offended. You appear to be attached to it’,
well, let’s say no more about it, but get me for the same price some
other specimen of the Asiatic tribes.”
“How much did you say you were willing to give?”
“Forty gold pieces.”
“You won’t get anything worth looking at for that sum? Everything has
risen in price since the war.”
“Well, then, fifty pieces.”
“Say sixty pieces--thirty down, and I’ll promise you the best that can
be had.”
“I am anxious to start, remember.”
“You shall have what you want by to-morrow.”
“Very well! I rely upon you to keep your word.”
Ali, as soon as he had the thirty pieces safe in his pocket, went
downstairs, and entered the apartment of the knight of Machavoine.
Porc-en-Truie was not asleep.
“I thought so,” said the innkeeper to himself; “here’s the sleeper as
wide awake as a squirrel,” and he made as if he would go out again.
“Come in,” said the knight, “I have something to talk to you about.”
“I am all attention,” said Ali, bowing.
“I leave to-morrow!”
“So soon?” said Ali, looking at his long-lost bed with affectionate
interest.
“That depends on you. Travellers like to carry away some little
remembrance of places they have visited, and I have too much reason to
be pleased with my treatment here not to keep up the custom. What do you
advise me to get? You see, you must aid me in choosing, for I haven’t
stirred out, and know nothing about the place.”
“Our grapes are very fine here in the north of Spain. Possibly----”
“No. That won’t do. I want something that will keep.”
“The young girls of our country come from ten leagues round to Alagon
to buy plated gold and silver trinkets, and necklaces of seed-pearl and
coral.”
“You must find out something better than that.”
“Your worship puzzles me. The country has nothing else remarkable to
offer except its inhabitants; but, of course, I could not offer you one
of our people to take away.”
“That’s a notion! It suggests an idea to me--only it is so peculiar I
hardly like to mention it.”
“Pshaw! a little shyness will soon wear off.”
“I’ll give you a thousand guesses, and you’ll puzzle your brains over it
in vain to all eternity.”
“Then, sir, don’t let me have to guess.”
“You say your knaves here are handsome?”
“They have adorable almond-shaped eyes, red lips, white teeth, and
complexions of a delightful olive, covered with black down.”
“You only speak of their heads.”
“I have a reason for doing so, for it is the only good thing they
possess; for which reason our girls are accustomed to say, ‘The heart of
Castile, the soul of Catalonia, the form of Leon, the limbs of Navarre,
and the head of Arragon make a perfect man.’”
“By my faith! the idea is a jolly one, and I must give you all credit
for having been the first to think of it.”
“Your honour is too good. You accredit me with more spirit than I
possess.”
“Since you originated the notion, you must assist me to put it into
execution. Well, then, how can you get me the head of an Arragonese?”
“What! you wish to take away a real head--a living head?”
“Living is scarcely the word--but a head that has been alive.”
“Well, that is an idea that no one has had before you.”
“I hope so.”
“Our country, sir, is a wonderful one, for this reason--that you can get
whatever you want, provided you have the money. If, therefore, you will
allow me to manage----”
“Do so, and do so quickly. That is all I require, and I shall leave
to-morrow.”
“I must have thirty pieces of gold in advance. The game you want is
strictly preserved, and difficult to procure, Nothing inspirits the
hunter so much as to be paid ready money.”
So Ali added thirty more pieces to the sixty he had already received,
and hastened off to hide it in a secret spot known only to himself.
“Now I’ll go and see my fourth customer. I am curious to learn what he
has to propose to me.”
Maragougnia had not during the whole month left the horrid little hole
which he had chosen for his lodgings. Anxious to make a profit by his
isolation, he had spent the time in _déshabille_, in order to save his
clothes. When Ali entered he found the knight patching his shirt with
his pocket-handkerchief. “You come just at the right moment; I wish to
speak to you.”
“I am listening.”
“I hope you will not take amiss what I have to say to you, nor
misunderstand my intentions. I think I ought first of all to tell
you that I am even more wretched than I look. You will understand, of
course, that it is not from a feeling of greed that a man denies himself
everything as I do. I should certainly not despise the good things of
life if I had the means of getting them. Picture to yourself that my
misery is such----”
“Excuse me,” said Ali, sharply; “I see that you are going to take an
hour in framing a demand which could be expressed in a few seconds. I am
quite willing to give up my time to those who pay me, but you are either
too poor or too stingy to justify my so doing. You want a Saracen’s
head, and you are afraid to ask for it.”
“Good heaven! who could have told you that?”
“You yourself.”
“I? When?”
“You talk in your sleep, sir, and are more communicative then than when
you are awake. I sleep in the stable close by, and have overheard you.
Now that you see I am so well informed as to your wants, let’s settle
the matter at once.”
Maragougnia became infinitely whiter than his shirt.
“I can procure you what you want. But you must understand perfectly that
it is not a stock article, so I must have a good price. Fifty pieces of
gold down, and fifty more to-morrow on delivery.”
Maragougnia fell fainting on the floor. Ali feared for a moment that he
had gone too far. The knight’s heart no longer beat, his body was icy
cold, his breathing had stopped.
“Come, come!” said Ali, “recover yourself. You shall have it for
ninety-five pieces, or say ninety, in consideration of my having waited
on you for a month.”
The Count de Riom did not stir.
“Well, we will fix it at eighty-five, but I won’t abate a penny.”
The knight opened his right eye.
“Come, I am less hard than I look,” said the innkeeper, rubbing
Maragougnia’s hands. “I will make you an offer.”
The dying man opened his other eye.
“Must you have a head? because---I’ll tell you what, I have an order for
a head on hand, I’ll let you have the remnant cheap.”
The knight closed his eyes again, and sank back motionless.
“That doesn’t suit you? Well! say no more about it. I am going to show
you how willing I am to serve you by lowering my demands.” The knight’s
eyes re-opened, and his heart began to beat again.
“Say eighty pieces, but I shan’t come down any lower.”
Ali rose to go. Maragougnia gave a heavy sigh, that would have softened
the heart of a famished tiger, but made no impression on the innkeeper.
“Eighty pieces of gold! Why, it is more than I should spend in eight
years. You’ll reduce me to beggary.”
“Pshaw! you are no better off now.”
“You might as well take my life.”
“You may accept my offer or leave it. People don’t buy things of this
sort every day. Will you have it?--Once!”
“I’d rather die.”
“Twice!”
“Ten pieces--I’ll give you ten pieces.”
“Thrice!”
“Wait a minute! one must take time to think over, such bargains.”
“Well, I’ll come back presently, but I vow you will regret not having
taken my offer at once.”
[Illustration: 197]
Ali went out, leaving Maragougnia pale, trembling, broken-hearted, a
prey to a thousand conflicting emotions.
[Illustration: 198]
CHAPTER V. HOW ALI PÉPÉ, HAVING DONE ALL THAT COULD BE EXPECTED OF AN
HONEST MAN, WAS HANGED.
THAT evening the doors of the inn were closed earlier than usual. Ali
had given his servants a holiday to go to the fair at Montella, and was
thus left alone with his four lodgers. He locked all the doors, put up
the chain at the front gate, ascertained that the shutters were closed,
all of which were precautions he did not usually take. Then he went
down into the cellar, where there was a collection of weapons of all
descriptions.
He selected a large knife, which he carefully sharpened; put on a shirt
of mail, as easy-fitting as silk, but perfectly sword-proof; put on a
helmet of extraordinary shape, which completely concealed his face, and
went up-stairs again softly. On arriving at the top of the stairs he put
out his lamp, and stole forward on tiptoe. He stopped in succession at
the doors of the four knights, and peeped through the keyhole to
see what they were doing. Mont-Rognon was at his eighth bottle;
Porc-en-Truie was asleep; Allegrignac was taking the fresh air in the
garden; Maragougnia was furtively counting his money.
“Good!” said Ali to himself. “In one hour the gentleman who is at supper
will have finished his ninth bottle, and tumbled under the table; the
one who is dozing will be snoring soundly; the one who is meditating
will be asleep; and as to the fourth-”
The proprietor of the “Crocodile” said no more; he had reached the
stable, where he flung himself down on the straw.
At midnight Allegrignac woke up in a fright. He thought he heard a
piercing cry.
“Somebody’s having his throat cut,” said the Count de Salençon. He sat
down on the foot of his bed and listened. All was silent; you might have
heard the spiders spinning their webs.
“I wasn’t dreaming, nevertheless--no; I am sure I heard a cry.”
He continued to listen, and now the silence made him tremble. He
remembered his bargain with the innkeeper. The idea that he was the
instigator of the crime which undoubtedly had just been committed
deprived him of sleep. He dressed himself, and sat himself down on the
side of his bed, with his drawn sword in his hand. In a quarter of an
hour two more shrieks resounded through the night. Allegrignac sprang
up as briskly as if in obedience to a hidden spring. These renewed cries
alarmed him.
“Everybody is having his throat cut!” said he to himself, growing more
and more frightened. “My conscience has only to answer for one of the
crimes; so, if Master Ali is too zealous, I am not responsible.”
As a precaution, he rolled his bed against the door, put the table and
chairs on the top of it, and kept watch. The rest of the night passed
peaceably and quietly. The moon accomplished her nocturnal round, and
when the sun reappeared, Allegrignac, ashamed of his panic, restored
everything to its place. At seven o’clock Ali knocked at the door.
“Here is what you want,” said he, placing a small sack on the count’s
bed. “Have you the money ready?”
“There it is.”
“I should recommend you to lose no time in setting out, for I think I
saw one of your companions this morning.”
Allegrignac did not wait to hear this advice repeated. He went
down-stairs, and, finding his horse ready at the door, he tied the sack
to the saddle-bow, set spurs to his nag, and rode off at a gallop. Ali
smiled to see him go, and then, when he was no longer in sight, turned
into the apartment of the Baron of Mont-Rognon.
“I have obeyed your orders, sir. Here is what you required.” And
he flung a sack on the table, as he had already done in the case of
Allegrignac.
“There is the sum we agreed on,” said the baron, tendering him the
twenty-five pieces. “Saddle my horse, I am in a hurry to be off!”
“It is ready saddled,” said the landlord, taking the money; “your honour
will find it at the foot of the stairs.”
Mont-Rognon went out for the first time for a month. He attached the
small sack to the saddle-bow as Allegrignac had done, and in a few
minutes was out of sight. Ali did not on this day enter the two rooms
occupied by Porc-en-Truie and Maragougnia. He spent his time in counting
his money.
“Fifty gold pieces from the drunken knight, plus forty for his keep,
will be ninety. Sixty from the talkative knight, plus thirty-five for
his board and lodging, will be ninety-five. That makes one hundred and
eighty-five pieces in all, if I know anything of arithmetic. Add to this
the purses of the lazy knight and the knight of the raven plumes--the
one containing one hundred and fifty and the other a hundred and forty
pieces, amounting to two hundred and ninety--which I must add to one
hundred and eighty-five, leaving a total four hundred and seventy-five
pieces of good new money. This is more than one wants to begin life with
honestly, so I can afford myself that little whim--and will do so!” Ali
Pépé was unable to realise this laudable purpose. He was hanged eight
days after, as you, my young friends, will learn, if you continue to
read this history.
[Illustration: 200]
[Illustration: 201]
CHAPTER VI. SHOULDER TO SHOULDER, FACE TO FACE!
CHARLEMAGNE was playing at chess with Naymes, Duke of Bavaria, for a
couple of hours, when he was informed that Allegrignac had returned. The
Emperor, who had lost five games out of seven, was in anything but an
agreeable mood. The news of the count’s arrival completely cured him.
[Illustration: 202]
“At last we shall learn the truth about the Fortress of Fear. I feel
sure Allegrignac will have acted vigorously and wisely. Fetch him a
stoup of wine while I go to assemble my peers, barons, bishops, and
clerks. I will hear what he has to say before them.”
When these orders had been carried out, Charlemagne caused the Count of
Salençon to be summoned into his presence.
“Approach, Allegrignac. You have proved yourself, I doubt not, possessed
of endurance and bravery. I shall be glad to have to award the prize to
you. Tell us what happened to you.”
“I am, sire, overcome at the thought of my great good fortune, and seek
in vain for any past good deed of mine which has won for me the
favour which Heaven lavishes on me. I will take care not to abuse your
kindness, or the patience of so many learned and gallant listeners. I
will begin my story from the moment when I left Alagon for the Fortress
of Fear. Dawn was breaking when I started. The darkness which was still
spread over the earth was beginning to vanish at the approach of the
sun, whose welcome was being chanted by the lark. I was asking myself
how so lovely a country could bring one to so dire a fortress, when
my horse gave a start, stopped, and, lowering its head, began to snort
loudly. I then saw, a short distance from me, a little dwarf, not
ill-looking, who sat weeping by the road-side. ‘While there is yet
time,’ said he, ‘abandon this insane adventure, and do not disturb
the great master of Fear. Seeing you so young and so lovely, I cannot
restrain my tears. Did you but know what obstacles you will find
opposing you, you would certainly not encounter them.’ ‘I am the envoy
of Charlemagne,’ said I, quietly.
“‘Ask yourself, then, if I am a man likely to draw back.’ I had hardly
mentioned your name, sire, when I beheld the dwarf flying in alarm. I
went on. A little farther on my horse made a second start, and I found
myself face to face with a giant, who was in command of a body of twelve
armed men. He had a foot placed on either side of the road, like the old
Colossus of Rhodes, and his men were drawn up, lance in rest, between
his legs, seeking to bar my passage.”
[Illustration: 203]
“‘Whose servant are you, miscreant?’ cried I. ‘Mahomet has my faith--the
Lord of Fear my allegiance.’ ‘And I will have your life. Hurrah for
Charlemagne!’ I flung my lance at the monster with such force and skill
that it pierced his body, and lodged in the ground, point downward,
fifty paces off. I drew my sword, and rode at his twelve followers, whom
I routed. Although charging at full gallop, I had the forethought
to recover my lance on the way. By the time these enemies recovered
themselves I was already in the midst of other perils. What more need
I say? In vain did the elements assist the efforts of men and demons;
strong in my loyalty to my king, I overcame all obstacles!”
Charlemagne liked people to talk modestly, and the praises which
Allegrignac did not cease to lavish on himself made him frown. “Action
is for men, and words for women,” said he to himself. “This young man
talks a little too much.”
“Human strength has its limits,” continued Allegrignac; “even mine is
exhaustible, and, taking advantage of an interval of quiet, I dismounted
to take a rest. I was a short way from the top of a high mountain,
on which the Fortress of Fear is built. I had a long time left the
temperate zone, and was surrounded by snow. All of a sudden----”
“I’ll wager his next words are a falsehood!” whispered Roland to Turpin.
“Nonsense! You’re betting on a certainty,” said the bishop.
“All of a sudden my horse gave a terrified neigh. I turned round as I
sprang to my feet, and beheld an avalanche leaping from rock to rock,
and coming to swallow us up. I did not waste a moment. I waited it with
feet firmly planted, and arms outstretched. I caught it and held it back
for some seconds. ‘Quick, Serenade!’ I cried to my horse. ‘Go along,
make haste, poor beast!’ The animal understood my meaning, and escaped.
It was time, for my strength was just exhausted. I made one final and
supreme effort, flung the Titanic projectile on one side, and sank--I
confess it--exhausted on the ground. The brave men who hear me will not
ridicule my weakness.”
Every one looked at his neighbour. They were more surprised at the
impudence of the speaker than the strangeness of his story.
“Enough of this sort of prattle,” said Charlemagne. “Here be plenty of
great deeds--I’ll ask for the rest of the story another time. Meanwhile,
tell me--and as briefly as possible--have you seen the castle and its
owner?”
“I have seen them, and I bring you, sire, the head of the monster as an
evidence of my victory.”
Allegrignac stooped down to take the bag, which he had placed beside him
at the beginning of his story, when Mitaine entered and announced that
the Baron of Mont-Rognon desired an audience.
“By my beard! I am curious to see and hear him. Allegrignac, withdraw,
and let the Knight of Bourglastic speak. Bid the baron enter.”
Mont-Rognon stepped in proudly; he paused at a few paces from
Charlemagne, bowed, placed beside him the bag about which we know, and
waited to be interrogated.
“I have often reproached myself for having sent you on so formidable an
adventure, my brave baron; only the remembrance of your past feats of
valour could make my mind easy about you. However, you have returned.”
“I know not how to express to my Sovereign all my gratitude for the
honour he does me. I always believed that the joy of victory is the
greatest in the world, and the beating of my heart assures me that I was
not mistaken.”
“The joy of victory, do you say? Of what victory do you speak?”
“Of that which I have just won over the Knight of Fear.”
A murmur of surprise was heard on all sides.
“Come forward, Allegrignac,” said the Emperor, in a severe voice. “What
does this mean, and which of you is the impostor?”
The consciences of the two pretended victors were not so clear that they
could listen without alarm to the infuriated voice of Charlemagne. They
felt that impudence alone could assist them; and Allegrignac coming
forward, pointed to the Knight of Bourglastic, and said--
“If, sire, this man pretends that he has vanquished the Knight of Fear,
I declare that he lies.”
“Lies!” cried Mont-Rognon, blinded with rage. “Who dares utter the
word?”
“I, Allegrignac, Count of Salençon.”
“Traitor and perjurer! you shall not quit this place alive. A
disgraceful death shall be your fate, and the fate of all belonging to
you.” And he drew his sword. “Yes, you have lied, baron of the realm
though you be, and I will teach you to change your note, perjured
coward! I shall slay you and yours before the humblest lacquey in my
service is the worse by a hair, for all your bravery.”
“These two cocks,” said Oliver, “seem to me to crow too long before they
begin fighting. It would be mockery to separate them.”
Charlemagne raised his voice, and silence was at once restored.
“I find you daring enough,” said he, “to deafen me with your clamour.
This insolence is insufferable. The first who speaks without being
questioned shall be punished; understand that, one and all!” and then he
added, after a moment, “What proof have you of the victory you say you
have won? Speak, Allegrignac.”
“I have the head of the monster in this bag.”
“And you, Mont-Rognon, what have you to say?”
“This man is an impostor. I have here what will prove him so.” The
Knight of Bourglastic seized his bag, and opened it; the Count
of Salençon did the same, and then each held up a gory head for
Charlemagne’s inspection.
[Illustration: 205]
At this sight the Emperor turned pale.
He rose, and seemed anxious to speak, but could only utter the one word,
“Murderers!”
The whole assembly gave a cry of horror on recognising the heads of
Porc-en-Truie and Maragougnia; but the most frightened of all were
assuredly Mont-Rognon and Allegrignac, who, letting fall the two
accusing heads, flung themselves at the Emperor’s feet.
“Sire, do not hold us guilty. We have been the victims of some treason.
Yes, we confess it; we were unable to carry out your instructions.
Terrified and at our wits’ end, we lost our heads--”
“Then no one will be surprised this evening to see they are no longer on
your shoulders,” interposed the Emperor, who thus set a-going a horrible
joke, which has done service so often since that it has well earned a
retiring pension.