Salençon underwent a final examination. By vespers Charlemagne had
sentenced them to death. When the bugles sounded they had been beheaded,
and flung out to feed the wolves.
Eight days after Ali Pépé was hanged.
[Illustration: 206]
[Illustration: 207]
CHAPTER VII. MITAINE OPENS THE CAMPAIGN.
CHARLEMAGNE, on one occasion, committed an act of imprudence; he
promised Mitaine that when she performed any remarkable feat of valour,
she should be attached to Roland’s staff as a squire. From that moment
she never rested; ambition constantly haunted her, and, without letting
any one know her plans, she was always looking out for some opportunity
of distinguishing herself. The Fortress of Fear seemed an object worthy
of her labour, and the unfortunate issue of the expedition of the
four knights induced her to undertake the adventure. “If my friend
Croquemitaine lives in the castle, I will find him, and prove I am not
afraid of him.”
She set forth early one morning, accompanied by a young page of her
acquaintance named Ortez; and when she found herself at what she
believed a sufficient distance from the camp to render pursuit
impossible, she told her companion to return to the Emperor, and inform
him that she had resolved to find the Fortress of Fear.
“Tell him not to be alarmed for me; he shall have no reason to blush for
his godchild. I hope before long to remind him of his promise to make me
a squire.”
The page endeavoured in vain to dissuade her from her plan; in vain he
threatened her with the anger of Charlemagne. “When I return,” said she,
“he will gladly embrace me.”
The more he described to her the magnitude of the dangers she would
encounter, the more determined she was to face them.
“Well, then, I shall follow you,” said Ortez, resolutely.
“If you do anything of the sort I warn you that we shall quarrel.”
“Do you think I am wanting in courage?”
“No! I know you are brave; only I do not desire to lessen the merit of
the deed I am resolved to accomplish by sharing its dangers with you.”
“But it would be dishonourable in me to allow to go alone into danger
one whom it is my duty to defend,” said the lad, planting his little
fists on his hips.
“By the Shrine of St. Landri! you are too importunate, Ortez. Girls like
me have beak and talons like fully-fledged falcons. Return, then, to the
camp to inform Charlemagne, and if in three days I do not come back, you
will pray for a gallant girl who died in the quest of adventure.”
The page was obliged to give way; he returned alone along the road which
he had just traversed in company with Mitaine, and I will not swear that
he had not tears in his eyes.
As soon as she was alone, Mitaine assured herself that her sword was
firmly buckled on at her side--that her dagger quitted its sheath
easily; then she bent her steps towards a ruined hut which stood in the
midst of a vast field of maize. Before long she reached it, and saw a
peasant seated on the ground playing with his children. She was
struck by his air of profound melancholy, and shocked at the wretched
appearance of the little ones that were rolling’ about in the dust.
[Illustration: 208]
“Can you tell me the way to the Fortress of Fear?”
On hearing this question the peasant rose hurriedly, and stared at
Mitaine with frightened eyes. The youngsters took refuge between his
legs as if they expected some calamity.
“Do you know what you are asking?” said the terrified man. “It is
doubtless a jest, or a bit of show-off inexcusable in a child of your
age.”
“You do not answer seriously a serious question. Not being a native of
the country, I may not express myself properly; I believe, however, I
spoke sufficiently plainly to be understood. Once more I ask you the way
to the Fortress of Fear.”
“It is the way to certain death.”
“What does that matter?--it is the way I intend to take. I feel certain
that they belie the lord of the castle, and wish to put his hospitality
to the test.”
“Here is a madman!” said the peasant to himself, sending the children
into the hut; “nevertheless, I must not let him go without having told
him the danger to which he exposes himself. For sixty years, my young
traveller, I have inhabited this cottage. Not one of those who have put
to me the question that you have just asked me has ever returned. At
first, the people who travelled along this road came singly; careless,
gay, foolish as you, they passed singing before my door: the same
evening they were the captives of Fear. When it was found that there was
danger in the voyage, there was quite a different sort of procession.
Man spends his life in neglecting Heaven and courting death. When Death
scowls at him, he believes it is smiling. The procession never returned.
Gallant warriors came, and said to me, ‘Prepare a breakfast for us
to-morrow, good man; on our return we will make great cheer, and tell
you our adventures, and laugh over them.’ And the feast was wasted for
want of guests; and so, later, when reason increased in my brain, as
my beard grew on my chin, I made people pay in advance, but I made no
preparations for their return. Then came troops of warriors fully armed,
amid the flourish of trumpets, and with banners floating on the wind.
They pillaged my house, and their horses wasted my crops. Fear made them
captives like the others, and from that time I have lived alone in my
ruined habitation, which no one dares to approach. I lost my father
through his rashness, my wife through her curiosity; she left me these
children. One of them wandered away one day when I was in the fields;
what happened to him I have never known; he came back to me an idiot. I
have never quitted this spot, though it is more like a burial-place than
a birth-place. I am a solitary dweller on the frontiers of Death, an
advanced outpost, crying to all such foolish people as you to turn
back.”
“I thank you,” answered Mitaine; “but if you had known me, you would
have taken care not to tell me this history, for it only redoubles my
desire to meet this dreadful tyrant.”
The peasant raised his arms to Heaven, as if to call it to witness the
efforts he had made; then he again sat down before his ruined cabin.
“You must be poor,” said Mitaine, feeling in her purse. “Take this; you
will be my heir if I die, which does not appear to me quite so certain.
In any case, the money is yours. Pass the night in prayers for my
success, and in the meantime point out to me the road that I must
follow.”
The peasant rose, took Mitaine by the hand, and climbed with her a naked
height which overlooked the country.
[Illustration: 209]
“You see that footpath which borders the forest? That you must follow.
Whither it leads no one knows. Heaven be with you! Farewell!”
“Let me embrace you,” said Mitaine, holding out her arms to the peasant,
who sank on his knees, as if in the presence of the dead. She flung her
arms round his neck, and kissed him; the old man wept; one of his tears
fell on Mitaine’s hand, she signed herself with it as if it had been
holy water;--then she departed. The peasant remained on his knees
praying until sunset; after that he sought his miserable home, put his
children to bed, lit a taper, and again betook himself to prayer until
morning.
[Illustration: 210]
[Illustration: 211]
CHAPTER VIII. THROUGH THE FORESTS.
THE sun sank down in a flood of purple, the birds were chanting their
vespers.
“Come on, Croque-Miton-Mita-Mitaine!” cried the girl. “I would not stir
from the spot for the spurs of knighthood.”
The sky changed from gold to pale blue, from pale blue to violet, from
violet to indigo, from indigo to black. A thousand stars peeped out
to see what was going to happen. A waning moon climbed slowly up the
heavens, shedding a feeble light and yellow, as if smitten with fever.
The air became cooler, a gentle breeze began to stir the foliage,
covered with the dust of day, and to awaken it to its morning toilet.
Every sound was hushed, except the rustle of the leaves. The grass had
growm so thick and long, Mitaine scarcely knew where to set her foot.
She was not afraid, and yet, as she advanced, her thoughts became more
grave. To be self-collected in danger is one of the signs of courage. A
coward loses himself in the presence of peril.
“What am I about to meet with yonder? What obstacles shall I fall in
with? I have always heard my royal godfather say that there is nothing
one cannot overcome by courage, skill, and perseverance; it he spoke the
truth, I have nothing to fear. This Croquemitaine, perhaps, is, after
all, only a robber chief, profiting by the public panic to pillage the
passers-by. The passers-by?--but nobody does pass by, and, as a rule,
people render pleasing, rather than terrible, the paths that lead to a
snare. Pshaw! we shall soon see!”
All her past life came back to Mitaine’s recollection. She seemed as if
she should feel less solitary when surrounded by memories of those she
loved. She seemed to hear friendly voices. “Be prudent,” whispered her
mother.
“Be resolute!” said Charlemagne.
“Be bold!” said Roland.
Thus accompanied, she pushed on with firmer tread, and halted not
until she reached the border of the forest. As she entered it, her foot
slipped upon some round slimy object, and a snake wound itself round her
leg. “So the shame is beginning,” said Mitaine.
There is room in the human heart for Prudence and Courage, they live
together like good neighbours, and it would give you, my young friends,
a very false idea of bravery to suppose that it cannot exist in company
with caution.
Mitaine had put on a suit of mail, and she congratulated herself on
wearing her gauntlets, as she stooped down to seize hold of the reptile.
She grasped a round and flexible object, and was about to crush it under
her heel, when she discovered that what she had taken for a serpent
was only a creeper, which broke in her hand. For an instant she felt
ashamed.
“This is the’ result of all the stories I have been so long listening:
to about this absurd castle. If people had not tried to frighten me, I
should not even have stooped down.” And she continued her route.
The moon flung her rays over the forest, and Mitaine beheld in the
distance a number of white menacing shapes. Some had burst their
shrouds, and allowed their skeleton forms to be seen, clattering at
every breath of air; others displayed fearful wounds, in which the
weapons yet remained; fleshless arms stretched towards her, and the wind
bore to her indistinct and threatening murmurs. She allowed herself
to be betrayed into a gesture of alarm; immediately the spectres shook
their dishevelled hair, waved their arms, and began to move towards her.
She saw them approaching in countless numbers, with menacing aspect and
hollow meanings.
“By Roland!” said she, “I believe I’m a little frightened. My godfather
would blush for me if he knew it.” She drew her sword, and rushed on.
Hardly had the sense of alarm left her, when the appearance of all she
saw was changed. The spectres vanished, and Mitaine saw before her only
a few bleached tree trunks, on which the moon shed its rays. Instead of
wounds, she saw inequalities of the bark; instead of outstretched arms,
she saw branches; instead of unkempt locks, leaves; while in the place
of threatening murmurs she heard only the wail of the wind.
“I’m evidently growing foolish,” said she to herself; “I have lost my
head, and my brain to-night is full of spectres. I must not let myself
be caught again.”
[Illustration: 213]
Scarcely had the thought passed through her mind when she felt herself
caught by the leg; this time there was no illusion. She turned round
quickly, and saw with alarm a grim shape, which struggled out of the
earth, and flung itself upon her. At the foot of every tree she could
distinguish like forms buried in the earth breast high, and writhing in
agony.
Mitaine strove, but in vain, to release her leg; the shape clung to it,
and its head seemed about to seize her in its jaws.
“Reality or spectre--dead or alive--I will try how you will take this;”
and she struck fiercely at it with her sword. The blow fell upon the
root of a tree.
“How is it that I did not see this at once? I shall never forgive myself
this foolish fear. I must admit, Master Croquemitaine, that your jokes
are anything but pleasant. Still, I hope you will give me something more
serious to do before long, or I shall cut but a sorry figure when I come
to relate my adventures.”
Observe, my children, that it is almost always thus in life: out of a
hundred things which terrify you, at least ninety-five will only make
you smile, if you look them boldly in the face.
The sky had gradually become covered with clouds; large drops of rain
began to fall; in the distance the thunder rumbled, but so faintly, that
it seemed only like the snoring of an elephant or a hippopotamus.
“The greatest danger I run is that of catching cold. The rain has
already begun, and who can tell when I shall reach the Fortress of Fear?
This coward of a Croquemitaine has so well concealed his abode, that one
might just as well look for a pin at the bottom of the sea.”
A terrific clap of thunder was the only answer she received, and the
glare of the light allowed her to distinguish at a short distance
the castle, which was perched, as if balanced, on the extreme point of a
mountain of eccentric form.
“So this, then, is the precious jewel which they have taken such pains
to conceal from all eyes. By my faith! they were right to conceal it,
for it appears to me the most hideous in the world.”
Mitaine pushed forward. For a long time she followed the course of a
ruined wall, when suddenly a flash of lightning cleaving the heavens
enabled her to discover a horrible monster grazing at her from its
crest. It resembled the skeleton of a horse, combined with those of an
ostrich, a whale, and a giraffe. Its enormous head was supported by
a disproportionately long neck, and its two claws, armed with immense
talons, were seeking on the top of the wall for some point of vantage
whence to leap upon her.
[Illustration: 215]
Mitaine, taken by surprise, sprang back twenty paces; the monster took
as many in advance. She sank upon her knee as it drew near, and felt its
hot breath blowing upon her.
“By the Shrine of St. Landri! I am acting like a child, and show myself
little worthy to follow Charlemagne and Roland to battle.”
She sprang up; the monster immediately recoiled.
“Will nothing teach me wisdom? Every obstacle that I meet boldly
disappears, and yet I allow myself to be stopped by this vile form;”
and she gave the wall a vigorous kick. The stones fell crumbling, and
dragged with them a number of creepers and brambles a century old,
breaking a poor harmless tree which had stood for ages, with its
branches resting on the wall. Mitaine shrugged her shoulders, and moved
on, saying, “As I expected!”
In a few minutes she found herself in the presence of a more serious
obstacle. Before her rolled a torrent, which carried down in its rapid
waters huge blocks of stone, as any other stream would carry down logs.
This new barrier it was not easy either to overcome or avoid. The night
was dark, and the moon faint and pale, and half hidden in masses of
cloud. It seemed rather like a dying watch-fire than a luminary of the
first magnitude. The water of the torrent gleaming in this half light
rushed by with formidable violence, and Mitaine felt her brain swim
whenever she looked at it. She hurried up and down the bank, seeking
in vain for a means of crossing. The lightning, as if to confuse her,
redoubled its intensity, and showed her the castle situated at a short
distance on the further shore. At length, however, she discovered a tree
which lay across the gulf. Every wave as it passed had washed away a
portion of the bank; the tree, half uprooted, had held its own well for
a time, until at last, weary of the struggle, it had suffered itself to
sink to the ground.
Mitaine contemplated this means of crossing not without apprehension.
Tremblingly she placed her foot upon the trunk; it shook and rocked.
She hesitated, and as her hesitation increased, so the tree became more
shaky and uncertain.
“What!” said she, impatiently; “am I so short a distance from my object,
and must I draw back because the passage is not quite safe? No! it
is fear that makes me awkward; every day I accomplish things far more
difficult than this.”
She set her foot resolutely on the trunk, and found, to her surprise,
that it grew firmer as she went on.
[Illustration: 217]
“Why, I am on a wooden bridge,” said she, when she got half-way over.
“Nay, indeed, it’s a fine stone bridge,” she cried, as she reached the
farther shore.
Of a truth, my children, fear doubles the importance of most obstacles,
for it deprives us of half die faculties which should assist us to
overcome them. Take away the ape’s intrepidity and give it to man, and
man will become as agile as the ape.
Mitaine saw before her but one road, and set out resolutely along it’
although it wras so narrow that she brushed the rock on either side with
her shoulders. It was, in fact, less a path than a cleft in the mountain
side. She pushed forward on tip-toe, wondering a little what she should
find at the other end of this burrow. Suddenly her head encountered an
obstacle, and she discovered that the passage had become so low, that
she must stoop to continue her path.
“Do they want to bury me alive?” The thought made her hair bristle; and
not without reason, I can assure you, for she was in utter darkness,
with hardly a breath of air, and every instant she felt the four walls
closing in.
“Do your best, Croquemitaine; it shall never be said that I turned back,
when I had got so close to you.”
She was now compelled to continue her progress on her hands and knees.
“Yu will get nothing by it; I will pay you for this when I meet you.”
The ceiling was now so low, that she was obliged to drag herself along
the ground. “If there be room for a mouse, I’ll get through, never trust
me!”
At last, she saw with joy a gleam of light, a few paces further on.
This feeble ray gave her fresh courage, and she struggled on by dint of
nails, knees, and feet so well, that in a few seconds she had reached
the outlet. She was about to breathe again, to live again, to move
freely! one more effort, and she would be at liberty! She perceived that
the opening at the end of the passage was guarded by a strange sort of
grating.
“Well, this complicates the situation! I should be curious to know what
my long-bearded godsire would do, if he found himself on all fours in
this mole-run before these bars. Assist me to get out of this, St. J
ames, and I will offer up to you a prayer of gratitude.”
Mitaine made another movement to approach still nearer to the grating;
she was about to take the bars in her hand, when she perceived there was
nothing before her but a spider’s web.
“Thanks, St. James! you have saved me from a terrible danger.”
But now the spider came down into the middle of his web to defend his
stronghold, and it was with no common insect that she had to deal.
Picture to yourselves a body as big as your two fists, bloated
and hairy; legs by the dozen, vying with each other in agility and
flexibility, with two pinchers like those of a scorpion, and eyes that
gleamed in the dark.
If Mitaine had had the free use of her limbs she would not have taken
much notice of such a trifle; but you must remember that she was lying
flat upon the ground, hedged in on all sides as close as if in a coffin,
and that she could only fight the creature by butting at it with
her head. The spider, taking advantage of her hesitation, set about
repairing its net, adding thread to thread with frightful rapidity.
[Illustration: 223]
“It is worth one’s while to be the godchild of an Emperor, the daughter
of a knight, the friend of a hero, and, above all, a favourite of St.
James, in order to run away from a spider. Mountjoy, St. Denis! let’s
charge the foe!” She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and pushed her
way on. The web broke; she felt her opponent glide over her shoulder,
and run along her back. She immediately pressed herself with all her
force against the roof, heard a sound like the breaking of an egg, and
stepped forth mistress of the field. With what joy did she find herself
in the open air! How did she rejoice in the rain that beat on her face
and the whirlwind, whose violence tore up even the stones in her path!
Before her rose the Fortress of Fear.
[Illustration: 221]
[Illustration: 224]
CHAPTER IX. A NIGHT IN THE FORTRESS OF FEAR.
I SHOULD like, my young friends, to give you a horrible--an alarming--a
terrific description of the Fortress of Fear. The subject is a tempting
one enough, but I am the slave of truth, and moreover, imagination has
built it after such a fashion that every one sees it under a different
aspect. I can, however, tell you a little about it.
The Fortress of Fear is only seen at night, and scarcely can its black
outline be made out against the black sky. If the moon shows herself,
it is only with an evil purpose to bring out more clearly some hideous
combination of lines. The stones are leperous, and the snakes that dwell
among them seem like worms that feed on them. Life is represented there
by the mere refuse of creation--vultures, adders, centipedes, rats,
scorpions, toads, woodlice, and owls; and yet one could not help
wondering how even such foul broods as these could inhabit such a place.
Those who have had the misfortune to behold this ominous sight perceive
only an irregular line of towers, half fallen into ruins, and resembling
nothing so much as the fangs of some ogress seven hundred years old. The
Fortress of Fear is the oldest of all fortresses; that it still stands
is a miracle, for a breath can overthrow it;--and yet it is eternal.
Each of us reckons an hour in his life in which it has appeared to him;
and even the bravest of us must confess to having paid it a visit.
[Illustration: 225]
Mitaine discovered a low portal, almost concealed by the ivy; the wood
was worm-eaten, the iron was rusty, there was the slimy track of a snail
across the handle. In the archway roosted a flock of night birds, which
flew out, expressing their disgust at being disturbed, by melancholy
hooting. Mitaine pushed the door--it resisted; she smote it with the
pommel of her sword--a hollow sound was the only answer; for ten minutes
she struggled in vain to force an entrance, then, losing patience, she
gave it a vigorous kick with her foot. The woodwork gave way, the lock
came off, the hinges parted, and the barrier fell inwards. Immediately
she heard a loud noise, and felt several severe blows. The stonework of
the arch had given way, and fallen in upon her. Fortunately she was not
alarmed; had she shrunk back, she must have been buried in the ruins.
A formidable heap of rubbish blocked the entrance. Where Time busies
himself in the work of destruction, and Accident assists him to build a
barricade, they both do their work so well, that those most experienced
in such constructions must bow admiringly to their superior skill.
“Ho! Ho! What do they take me for here?” said Mitaine to herself, not
without anger. “Do they fancy by any chance that I want to run away?
This is a most needless precaution.”
Mitaine was at the foot of a narrow spiral staircase, which led to the
top of the castle. The walls, covered with thick moss, distilled an
offensive moisture, which, falling on the stairs, encouraged the growth
of forests of ferns, lichens, and toadstools, the pleasant homes of
hundreds of wood-lice, and other creeping things. On the first step was
seated a toad; a pale lambent flame played around it, the only light to
be met with in this dismal spot. The toad rose on its hind legs like a
kangaroo, and began to climb the staircase, leaving behind it on each
step a slimy track, which spread out exhaling a noisome odour. Mitaine
followed this phosphorescent guide. Hearing a hollow sound accompanying
each step, she turned and saw the stairs crumble away one after another
as she ascended.
[Illustration: 226]
“They are evidently bent on keeping me here, and I confess I shall have
some difficulty in tearing myself away.”
The toad continued to lead the way. At the sixtieth stair it paused
before a door, which opened, although there was nobody to be seen:
the toad again moved on, and Mitaine continued to follow it. She found
herself in a vast gallery lighted only by the moon. Refreshed by the
cool air which blew on her face, and by the glimpse of the open country
which she caught through a window, she felt as if she had just emerged
from the tomb. On her left hand was a blank wall; before her opened, one
after another, a series of huge folding doors; on her right was a large
array of columns and arches that flung their gloomy shadows on the
floor and side of the chamber. Before her was the toad going on without
stopping; gleaming with phosphorescent light, and leaving behind it, as
if crawled along, a slimy and shining track. As Mitaine passed by the
first column, it crumbled in pieces, and she beheld, standing upright on
the pedestal, a corpse wrapped in its winding-sheet, and holding in its
hand a lighted torch. It stepped down from its place, and, waiting until
she passed, took up its position on her left. The second column sank in
its turn, a second corpse descended and placed itself on her right hand,
also bearing a torch. The same thing took place throughout the
whole length of the gallery; but the attention of our young page was
distracted by the spectacle she beheld on passing the first door. She
saw an immense hole, the mere sight of which made her giddy; at one
moment excessively bright, at the next equally gloomy, it seemed as if
lighted by some gigantic forge, whose flame alternately blazed up and
died at every successive blast of the bellows. This intermittent glare
was insupportable, and for some minutes Mitaine was almost blinded.
She heard groans, and, at length, contrived to distinguish thousands
of unhappy wretches with their hands tied behind their backs, and their
limbs fractured, suspended by their wrists from the roof. Her heart full
of pity and rage, she was about to rush to their aid, when she perceived
that the hall was without a floor; a gulf, at the bottom of which a
torrent was roaring, yawned beneath the feet of the victims. She turned
aside her head, wiped away a tear, and hastened onwards. Every door
before which she passed afforded her a view of new tortures, and her
impotence to relieve these agonies so infuriated her, that, not knowing
how to vent her rage, she rushed, sword in hand, upon the melancholy
procession that surrounded her; but she encountered nothing but empty
air. The corpses, taking no heed, pursued their way without hurrying,
without delaying. Then the anger of Mitaine knew no bounds. She rushed
on recklessly in search of an enemy. The toad took to flight; the dead,
observing their distance, seemed to glide, not walk over the floor.
At the end of the gallery a door opened, on grating hinges, and closed
again as soon as Mitaine had crossed the threshold. The darkness was
impenetrable. She was compelled to halt. The dull flame of the torches
flickered up and faded in the gloom without giving out any light. The
corpses ranged themselves in an immense circle round the toad; the
toad gave a bound at least ten feet high, and Mitaine observed that it
increased in size.
[Illustration: 227]
As it swelled out, the hall became filled with light. Then the beast
began to assume airs and graces, to attitudinise, and to ogle; and
lastly, to finish these vagaries, it set about its toilet, and commenced
scratching itself, emitting, at every touch of its foot, showers of
venom and sparks.
[Illustration: 230]
The hall which Mitaine had just entered was the largest in the world. It
seemed like some enormous square, in which met a number of wide roads,
whose starting-points were lost in obscurity. The ceiling, which was
low, was supported on huge granite cubes, whose sides were adorned
with _bas reliefs,_ representing the most varied scenes in the dance of
death. The toad took its seat on an overturned column, at the foot of
one of the pillars, shining like some baleful meteor. In front of it,
beneath a daïs of black serge, embroidered with silver, sat the Lord
of the Fortress and his family, while in all the galleries legions of
ghosts waited, motionless, the orders of their master.
The throne was of aspen wood; it was no easy task to reach it.
Oubliettes, traps, and snares defended the approach. The Lord of Fear
was standing up. On either side of him were seated the noble dame
Cowardice of St. Panic, and her daughters, Consternation, Fright,
Terror, Alarm, Dismay, Apprehension, Trepidation, Timidity,
Pusillanimity.
[Illustration: 231]
Poltroonry, and Dastardy. All were misshapen, and so accustomed to
try to look on every side of them at once, for fear of being taken
by surprise, that they squinted frightfully. They were all absolutely
hideous to behold.
The Lord of Fear was tall, but he stooped and kept his head sunk between
his shoulders. His bristling locks were prematurely white; his hollow
eye did not remain still for an instant, but wandered restlessly to
every corner; his sunken countenance, pale and colourless as wax, was
disfigured by green streaks; his purple lips, continually quivering with
nervous excitement, endeavoured in vain to assume an air of bravery; his
fidgety fingers wandered to his cuirass, his sword, his dagger, as if to
assure themselves that they would not be wanting if needed.
The family of Fear, perspiration bathed his face, in spite of the
fever that consumed him. His teeth chattered, and every moment a fit of
shivering set all his defensive armour rattling under his dingy cloak;
and every time that she heard this sound of steel, Dame Coward gave a
terrible jump, and gazed round her upon all sides for the cause of her
alarm. She was seated on the very edge of her throne, with her two hands
resting on the elbows, so that she might at once jump up and run away.
Like her daughters, she was dressed in a material the colour of which
was constantly changing. A hare reposed on her knees.
“This little page would be nice to eat,” whispered Trepidation to her
father; “don’t be too severe upon him.”
“There you are again with your absurdities! you have no force of
character,” interposed Alarm. “If one ever listened to you, Heaven knows
what would become of us.”
“We must, at any price,” said Dastardy, “get rid of this young vixen,
and I feel sure that by attacking her in the rear----”
“I am afraid our last hour is come,” said Apprehension, bursting into
tears.
“You are always the same,” said Alarm. “You would never tire of throwing
the handle after the hatchet.”
“Why don’t you speak, sister?” said Dastardy to Timidity, who was hiding
herself. “Let us hear your opinion.”
“I--but--I don’t know,” stammered Timidity.
“You never know anything,” answered Dastardy, giving her sister a pinch
that nearly brought the blood, and then running away.
Poor Timidity gave a shriek that made all the family jump again. The
Lord of Fear sprang back ten paces, and drew his dagger. Dame Coward
jumped up and let fall her hare, which immediately hid itself under her
petticoat.
[Illustration: 235]
“Be silent, idiots, and come round me again; that foolish Timidity
has given me a fright. The first who speaks shall be put in the dark
cupboard.” After this awful threat came the silence of death.
“Well, and what would you do here, little one?” said the Lord of Fear,
in the interval between two shivering fits.
“By the Shrine of St. Landri,” said Mitaine, clapping her hands on her
hips, “it must be admitted you have a strange way of receiving your
guests. I have shrunk from nothing in order that I might see you, and my
perseverance deserves a better return.”
“You do not answer my question. Why do you come here?”
“To drive you away.”
On hearing these words the Lord of Fear shrank into himself until you
would have thought that half of him had disappeared, and Dame Coward
sank back into her chair, behind which her daughters concealed
themselves.
“Imprudent wretch!” stuttered Fear, shaking until he nearly fell. “How
dare you defy me thus?”
“To judge from your appearance,” said Mitaine, smiling, “there’s no
great merit in that.”
“You dare to doubt my courage? You deserve to suffer the terrors of my
vengeance.” It was not without some difficulty that Fear uttered these
words, for his tongue was almost paralysed.
“You have no influence over me; and all the absurd scarecrows you have
called up to terrify me are only fit to be laughed at!”
“My name is the terror of the universe.”
“You libel the universe by saying so. Because a few weak minds allow
you to rule them, you consider yourself master of the world. Come out of
your den into the light of day, and see how you will be received!”
“The women are on my side!”
“They are not! When they catch a glimpse of you they cannot in truth
repress an exclamation of natural disgust. An insect, a shadow, an
unusual noise can make them tremble; but when a serious danger presents
itself, when a great sentiment animates them, they will, as Christians,
die the death of martyrs; as wives, follow their husbands into battle,
like the Gallic women; and, as mothers, struggle with lions for the
safety of their children. They will, in short, achieve immortality, like
Judith, like Lucretia, like St. Genevieve.”
“Well, at any rate, I have the children. The little people are my
subjects.”
“And you dare to tell this to me? Why, you actually elevate impudence
almost to the position of courage. The children would obey you least of
any of us if wicked teachers and foolish parents did not place them in
your power. They threaten them with the dark room, and they take care to
lock you up there with them. They call the wolf to eat them. Did Romulus
and Remus quake at the approach of their wild nurse? I am but a child,
but I know how much you are worth, and, by St. Landri’s Shrine! I defy
you utterly.”
Mitaine became aware of a low sound, and noticed a stir among the
corpses. At the end of one of the numberless passages that opened into
the hall where this happened there appeared some pale rays of light
which seemed to come nearer. As their light grew more distinct that of
the toad began to die out, and the creature itself commenced shifting
uneasily on its seat. The Lord of Fear seemed more alarmed than ever.
His teeth chattered like castanets--he had to make three attempts before
he could speak.
“You do ill to deny my power; all these who surround me have
acknowledged it!”
“They are ashamed of it now,” cried Mitaine; and then turning to them,
she shouted, “Can you submit to such a lord? You have only to make one
step towards him, and you will drive him and his wretched race from the
face of the earth. Your hands are not dead, they are but benumbed for a
while. Make one more effort. Fling yourselves on the tyrant. I will show
you the way!”
At these words the dead let fall their winding-sheets, and discovered to
view a legion of knights in rusty armour with their swords drawn. Alarm
gave a shriek, which was answered by screams from Fear himself, from
Dame Coward, from Consternation, Fright, Terror, Dismay, Apprehension,
Trepidation, Timidity, Pusillanimity, Poltroonery, and Dastardy.
Then was seen a strange sight. The _bas-reliefs_ began to start
into life, and continued their wild dance along the pillars, to the
accompaniment of alarming shrieks. The thunder rolled, and yawning
fissures opened in the walls and ceiling. The earth gaped amid deafening
clamours, and Mitaine found herself in the dark. She did not remain
long thus, for the galleries sank by degrees, and day came on apace.
Its first rays glittered on her arms; the cheery voice of Chanticleer
resounded, and, as if it had but waited the signal, the Fortress of Fear
vanished into air!
Mitaine was mute with astonishment. How fair appeared the country to
her! how beautiful the sun! and how softly did the breeze of morning woo
her cheek! She fell on her knees, and uttered a heartfelt prayer.
The fields were variegated with a thousand colours, as though they
contained specimens of every kind of flower that blows. The birds joined
in--never had they chanted a more joyous welcome to dawn. There was
nothing left of the castle but the recollection, and that was already
growing indistinct.
When Mitaine had finished her orisons and rose to her feet, she
beheld an old man and a young woman gazing at her with an affectionate
expression. They were but a few steps from her, yet she could scarcely
see them, for they were enveloped in a faint mist.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Your grateful friends. You have delivered us from Fear, who used to
hold us captive. For a long time we have ceased to breathe, but, thanks
to you, we are about to see once more those from whom we were so hastily
snatched away. To-day is the Feast of the Dead, and heaven allows us to
pass the day on earth. All those whom you have delivered are going to
escort you to Charlemagne’s camp to testify to your great courage and
noble bearing.”
Then Mitaine saw gathered around her from all quarters a number of
knights clad in armour that was eaten up with rust. They were of all
ages and of all countries, the greater part being mounted. A few women
and children followed the procession. The footfalls were unheard, and
left no mark behind them. The figures were transparent, bathed in a
strange mist, to which the sun gave an opalescent gleam.
Having ranged themselves in column, they began to march onward, and
Mitaine retraversed the places which had seemed to her so terrific
on the preceding night: the stone bridge across the torrent, the wall
covered with creepers, and almost hidden by acacia boughs, the forest of
naked stems--everything, in short, appeared full of gaiety now that the
sun was shining.
She called to her the old man who had lately addressed her, and bade him
tell her what were the tortures, the sight of which had so roused her.
“Those,” said the dead man, “were the halls of nightmare, my child. The
Lord of Fear gives his victims no rest. He and Sleep, who delivers them
into his hand, understand each other. Incubi, demons, vampires,
and ghoules form his terrible executioners, and preside over the
punishments. You have seen them at their task, I need not attempt to
describe them!”
“What can defend us against them?”
“A clear conscience and a good digestion.”
In a quarter of an hour Mitaine perceived the hut at which she had
stopped on the night before. The peasant was seated on the ground among
his little ones.
“Thank heaven!” said she. “Poor old man, your feeble sight will not,
doubtless, allow you to distinguish your son as yet. But you, his wife,
you can no doubt perceive him.”
“We have never ceased to see him since we parted,” said she. “There is
neither limit nor let to the vision of the dead.”
The peasant turned his head, saw the procession approaching, recognised
Mitaine, and, with a shout of surprise, at once ran to meet her.
Ere he had reached half-way, his glance fell on his father and his wife,
and, overcome with joy, he sank on his knees, stretching out his arms
towards them. He would fain have spoken, but could find no language
to express in fitting terms the joy he experienced. He scarce dared to
move, lest he should put to flight the beloved group he saw before him.
When he had ascertained that he was not suffering from an illusion,
tears filled his eyes, and, clasping his hands, he fell on his face,
saying, “Kind Heaven, I am indeed grateful for this!”
I will not attempt to describe to you the joy of these three, whom death
had, for a while, no power to separate. The mother covered her babes
with kisses. The peasant, now as aged as his father had been, could not
tear himself from his arms. Their white beards mingled at each embrace.
The first outburst of joy over, they all three turned to Mitaine, and
kissed her hands.
“Who could have forewarned you of all this happiness, my son?” said the
father.
“Do you not know, then? My child, who, some years ago lost his reason,
has become the cleverest of the family since daybreak this morning.
Henceforth there are no saints in the calendar I shall revere as I do
you!” said he to Mitaine, who had no small difficulty in freeing herself
from the demonstrations of gratitude of which she was the object. She
called for the horse which she had left with her host of the previous
night, and rode away at full gallop, followed by her fantastic escort.
In about six hours she saw the camp of Charlemagne. The sentinels
on outpost duty, seeing a cloud of dust in the distance coming along
towards them with such speed, fell back and gave the alarm.
“What is it?” said the Emperor. “Who are these that thus fall into our
hands? Go, Miton; mount your horse, take an escort, and inspect these
new comers.”
In a moment the whole camp was alive. Every one put on his corslet,
laced his helm, seized his lance, and sprang to saddle. Miton chose
thirty mounted knights and led them out.
“By my faith!” said he, “these be strange folks. To judge from their
size they ought not to be far off, and yet I can hardly make them out.
Can you see them better, Red John?” he asked one of his men.
“Not I! My wonder is as great as yours. But is not that a page in the
imperial livery who is riding at their head?”
“By my life, it is Mitaine!” And Miton spurred forward at such speed
that in three minutes he was in his daughter’s arms. The ghostly
squadron halted, and the thirty knights halted likewise, striving to
pacify their startled horses, which were snuffing the air, snorting with
dilated nostrils, pawing the ground, and neighing as if ready to die of
terror.
“Who are these whom you are leading?”
“Those whom I have liberated.”
“Liberated! How?”
“I will tell you all in the Emperor’s presence. The sun is low already,
and we have no time to spare.”
Miton and his thirty knights, and Mitaine with her strange followers,
rode towards the camp. Charlemagne, surrounded by his peers, came out to
meet them.
“By St. James! these people look as if they didn’t belong to this world.
And if I am not stupidly mistaken, it is my godchild who commands them.”
Mitaine dismounted, and approached her royal godsire, who asked her,
“Well, little one, what is this strange array? Do you know that I have
a mind to punish you, and yet I haven’t the heart to scold you, I am so
rejoiced to see you again, and so anxious to learn who these are that
accompany you.”
“My prisoners, sire!” And the spectres lowered their lances to show
their submission to her.
“But whence come they? Have you been to seek them in another world?”
“By my faith, sire, I could almost believe I passed last night there;”
and she related her adventures briefly to Charlemagne in the presence of
his peers and knights.
“Come, let me embrace you, my darling. So it appears I have promised you
something. What is it?”
“You promised me, sire, to ask Roland to take me into his service as a
squire.”
“It is Roland whom I reward by giving him such a treasure. What say you,
nephew mine?”
The only answer Roland gave was to clasp Mitaine in his arms. The little
heroine, ruddy with joy, turned to her escort to thank them. They had
disappeared! On seeing this, Charlemagne sank 011 his knees; his example
was followed by all the rest, and Turpin recited the prayers for the
dead.
Thus ended the adventure undertaken by Mitaine.
I wish I could tell you, my friends, that the Fortress of Fear was
destroyed for good and all. I am compelled, as a veracious chronicler,
to confess that it was rebuilt the same evening.
You will some day or other, my young friends, most assuredly fall in
with the Lord of Fear. Call to mind Mitaine whenever you do meet him,
and remember that the monster can boast no weapons save those you
surrender to him--no power save that which you give him--no courage save
that which you lose.
[Illustration: 241]
END OF THE THIRD BOOK
EPILOGUE -- RONCESVALLES -- A. D. 778.
[Illustration: 245]
YOU have, I hope, not forgotten, my dear readers, that Charlemagne had
dispatched Ganelon to Aquitaine. For the shame and injury of France, the
Count of Mayence had turned this trip to good account, by establishing
a perfect understanding between himself and our old and little-respected
friend, Wolf. They decided on the destruction of Charlemagne and his
peers; but as for attacking them openly, they did not dream of that!
“I will undertake,” said Ganelon, “to lead them into the mountains, if
you will only place some twenty thousand Navarrese and Gascons on the
heights that I will show you. Then we shall be able in perfect safety to
crush beneath the rocks this haughty and hated brood.”
About the same period Marsillus had called his warriors together, and
was conversing with them, reposing in the shade on the white marble
steps of his palace.
“My friends, since this accursed Charles has set foot in Spain, we
have never had a moment’s peace. Great as has been the bravery we have
displayed, we have been everywhere worsted. We can do no more, for each
has done his best. I suppose you are none of you less desirous than I
to yield this beautiful Spain to these Northern barbarians. Aid me,
therefore, by your counsels to avenge our disasters.”
Blancandrin, the wisest and most crafty of the Pagans, was the first to
speak.
“The fox often passes where the lion cannot. Well, then, since we fail
as lions, let us assume the part of foxes, instead of wasting our time
in idle laments, and our resources in vain endeavours. Charles is very
proud; and when pride is warder, the city is ill-watched. Profess a
respectful regard for this crowned bully; tell him you desire to be
baptised, and appoint a meeting with him in his own dominions. Promise
to meet him there by Michaelmas, with your principal nobles, to do
homage to him, and to acknowledge the Christian faith. Add further, that
you will make him a present of three hundred mules, laden with gold
and silver; a hundred chariots, filled with a countless stock of rare
stuffs; numberless war-steeds; three hundred trained falcons, lions,
and leopards broken-in for the chase; besides five hundred fair Saracen
damsels, if such be his good pleasure. The invaders have been a long
time from home, and have left their estates in the charge of their
wives. There is not one of them who would not be glad of a rest. As soon
as they have divided the booty, they will all be pressing the king to
return, and when once they get home again, he will have no easy task to
prevail on them to stir a second time.”
“The advice is good, possibly, but Charles is not the man to be
satisfied with simple promises.”
“Send him hostages--ten, twenty, thirty, if he asks for them. Would it
not be better to lose a few women and children than the whole of Spain?
I offer to give my son as a hostage, at the risk of his life.”
This counsel was considered sound, and was approved by all.
“Go, then,” said Marsillus to Blancandrin. “I promise you a splendid
escort when you set out, and boundless rewards on your return. Exchange
the sword for the olive branch, and be not sparing in promises.”
The envoys were accordingly mounted on white mules, with trappings
and bells of gold and silver, and before long set out for the camp of
Charlemagne.
When the envoys arrived, no time was lost in introducing them into the
Emperor’s presence. His Majesty of the snowy beard was sitting in
his orchard surrounded by his bravest warriors. The younger ones were
practising the use of arms; the elder were talking or playing at chess.
Blancandrin, after having saluted Charles with dignified courtesy,
delivered his message so cunningly, that the nobles began to shout,
“Hurrah, now we shall speedily return home!” Charlemagne, however,
remained lost in meditation. It was not his habit to give way readily
either to astonishment or disappointment. At last he rose and said, “The
news you bring me causes me great pleasure. It King Marsillus is
really desirous of securing his soul’s safety, let him meet me at
Aix-la-Chapelle, and I will welcome him there as a brother.”
A tent was prepared for Blancandrin and his suite, on whom every
attention and boundless generosity were lavished.
The next day, after mass and matins, the Emperor wisely called together
his peers to learn what they thought of the speech of the envoy from
the Court of the King of Saragossa. Naymes of Bavaria, a knight of great
renown, and one of the king’s best counsellors, rose and spoke:--“Sire,
you have beaten the enemy wherever he has dared to offer battle. Of his
fortresses, not one stone rests on another; his cities have been burnt;
his troops have been either killed or converted. You have raised the
cross wherever it had been formerly overthrown; what can you desire
more? You are offered a ransom for the kingdom in which you will hold
the sovereign power; a nation of unbelievers demands baptism at your
hands, and offers you hostages. It would be a sin to continue a warfare
which has no longer any object. Such is my opinion!”
After this speech, Roland was not slow to spring to his feet.
“So it is you, then, Naymes, whom I hear? and can you give such counsel?
Marsillus is your enemy, sire, and you have scarcely treated him in a
way to make him very anxious to embrace you. Do not turn your back upon
Spain until your undertaking is accomplished; we have been here longer
already than was necessary for its completion. Send home those brave
soldiers who have tired of war before they have completed their
conquest, and I venture to say that with those who remain you shall
plant the cross within sight of Africa, if such be your good pleasure.
How can you trust the words of a Pagan? Have you already forgotten the
fate to which Marsillus condemned two of your nobles, the Counts Basan
and Basilic? They went on an embassy from you to the King of Saragossa,
and he had them beheaded on Mount Hautille. It was your honour, sire,
which that day fell beneath the infidel axe. Will you let them trample
it under foot because a few prudent warriors would be glad to abandon
this undertaking? Go, then, but I must remain! I shall stay here to make
my death so glorious that you will all envy me.”
During this speech Charles knitted his brows and tugged his long
moustache; seeing which, Ganelon rose in his turn.
“These be proud words, forsooth! I could not but ask myself when I heard
them whether we live in the reign of Roland or of Charlemagne. This sort
of thing is easily spoken, and sounds remarkably well, like everything
that’s hollow. We are told to retreat; are we in the habit of doing
so? Does it not look as if Roland had been conquering Spain while we
followed at a respectful distance? Forgive my anger, sire, but I cannot
help speaking somewhat freely. Take no one’s counsel but your own, sire,
and you will do right.”
Thereupon Charlemagne asked his knights which of them would like to
carry his message to Marsillus. All rose and offered to go, Roland being
more importunate than all the others.
“You’ll deafen me, nephew,” said the Emperor. “I shall certainly not
send you on a mission you have just condemned. My friend Ganelon shall
carry my wishes to the King of Saragossa. To him will I entrust the
gauntlet and truncheon.”
“That is indeed a wise choice,” said Roland, laughing. “You will nowhere
find a more cautious ambassador.”
“Enough said! By my beard, nephew mine, you will provoke me too far
presently. Be seated, and wait until I bid you speak.”
“Sire,” said Ganelon, “from such a mission one does not always return.
I recommend to your care my son Baldwin, who will one day be a brave
warrior.”
Charlemagne handed the gauntlet to the Count of Mayence, who let it fall
on the ground. “A bad omen!” said the Franks, seeing it. “Roland may be
right after all!”
“You will hear of me before long, gentlemen,” said Ganelon, with an
ill-favoured smile.
Then, furnished with truncheon and letter, he made ready to set out on
his mission.
Ganelon and Blancandrin, followed by the Saracen body-guard, journeyed
for three days side by side. The Pagan was not slow to perceive in a
moment the hatred entertained by the Count of Mayence for Roland, and he
rejoiced to see it. Let us hear what they are talking about.
“Whence comes it,” said Blancandrin, “that your sovereign, instead of
seeking an alliance with us, made war on us so fiercely?”
“It is Roland who is always egging him on. But for him, we should long
since have returned to France.”
They reached the camp of Marsillus. Fifty thousand Saracens surrounded
the King of Saragossa, but they maintained perfect silence, for fear of
losing a syllable of what was going to be said.
“May Allah and Mahomet preserve you, beloved sovereign! We have borne
your message, and we bring back to you one of the noblest peers of the
Court of France, to decide with you on peace or war.”
“I am prepared to give him an immediate audience.”
Marsillus and Ganelon remained shut up together for two hours--two
hours, which laid the foundation of ages of regret. When the tent was o
o re-opened the ‘King of Saragossa came out, leaning on the arm of the
French envoy. Had Roland come instead of Ganelon, that would never have
happened.
“Gentlemen,” said Marsillus to his nobles, “welcome the preserver of
Spain! This lord, although a Christian, is a true friend to us, and I
desire that he be treated as such.”
[Illustration: 248]
A Saracen advanced, drew his sword from its sheath, and presented it to
Ganelon.
“This weapon is the best in the world,” said he. “Its jewelled hilt
alone is estimated at thirty thousand bezants, at the lowest, and yet
the blade is even more valuable. Accept it, and may it serve you well
against Roland.”
[Illustration: 250]
“I will put it to the test,” said the Count of Mayence, coolly; and the
traitor and unbeliever kissed each other.
The queen passed by Marsillus stopped her _cortege_, and bade her
dismount, saying, “This is our best of friends. You owe it to him that
we shall remain under that Spanish sky which you love so much. Embrace
him for the love of us all.”
“With all my heart,” said the Sultana. “I wish you also, Sir Ganelon,
to bear to your wife from me these bracelets, which are the finest in my
possession. Neither the Pope at Rome nor the Emperor at Aix-la-Chapelle
can boast anything to equal them among all their treasures.”
All vied in paying the Count attention, and in loading him with the most
precious gifts. .
The same evening Ganelon returned to the French camp, accompanied by
presents and hostages for the Emperor.
Three days later, at early dawn, Ganelon and his escort arrived at
Charlemagne’s quarters.
“So you have returned,” said Charles. “Have you sped well with your
mission?”
“Sire, you have nothing more to do here! The gallant King Marsillus is
altogether your devoted liegeman. Behold the treasures he sends you, as
a guarantee of others yet more valuable. See, too, the hostages whom
I have chosen, thirty in number, all of them of the noblest rank. In
a month the King of the Saracens will visit you at the French Court to
receive baptism, together with all his nobles and knights.”
“You could not bring me more welcome news, and I rejoice greatly that I
chose you for the mission. Before long _you_ will have reason to rejoice
at it too!”
His audience concluded, Ganelon retired with his nephew Pinabel, to whom
he wished to reveal the real state of the case. It happened that Mitaine
preceded them into the stable, towards which the traitor took his way,
and knowing the hate the count bore to Roland, her friend, she was
curious to hear him speak openly. She therefore crept up in the manger,
and hid herself among the hay in the rack.
[Illustration: 251]
This second Judas, going up to his horse, began to talk as follows:--
“Marsillus, who had treated me distantly enough in the morning,
apologised at night for so doing, and, as a slight reparation, presented
me with some valuable sables. I gave him to understand the dreadful fate
that awaited him, and assured him that Roland was the only obstacle in
the way of our return to France. ‘Hope for no mercy,’ said I, ‘while
Roland lives.’ ‘How can we kill him?’ said he. Whereupon I answered, I
would undertake to do it with his assistance. ‘What can I do?’ he asked.
‘I will tell you what I have planned,’ said I. ‘Before long we shall be
on the march for France. The most dangerous post is the rear-guard, and
that Roland will claim. When he reaches the pass of Roncesvalles,
surrounded by the flower of our chivalry, twenty thousand Navarrese and
Gascons, posted there by me, will hurl down a very shower of rocks. Take
advantage of the surprise, and with two hundred thousand men fall on
them in the rear. I won’t guarantee your men’s lives, but you must carry
on the battle incessantly, and at last Roland must be slain.’ ‘It is
very well said,’ answered the king; ‘this counsel is worth ten mules,
laden with gold pieces, and I will pay you that sum yearly as long as I
live.’”
At this point Pinabel, observing that Ganelon’s horse, although it had
just come off a long journey, only smelt at the rack without touching
its contents, took a pitchfork, and in order to find out what hindered
the animal from eating, thrust it into the hay. One of the prongs
pierced Mitaine’s thigh, but she nevertheless remained silent,
determined not to lose for a cry the advantage of the conversation she
had overheard.
“There’s nothing there,” said Pinabel.
“What did you think there would be? Don’t you know that a good horse
never eats much in the morning?” And with that the worthy couple quitted
the stable.
Mitaine had great difficulty in crawling back to Miton’s tent. She
dressed her wound with a celebrated ointment, which is still in great
use--the “Balm of Miton-Mitaine”--and was able to present herself the
same evening before Roland.
The Count of Mans listened to what his squire had to tell.
“This is good news you bring me, little one; and, with the aid of
Heaven, I will find a way thereby to rid the world of this traitor
Ganelon.”
“What!” said Mitaine; “will you not alter your line of march?”
“Remember this: he who finds a snake in his path has two alternatives to
choose between. He can either make a _détour_, and continue his route,
by doing which he leaves an enemy in his rear; or he can go straight
to the monster and kill it, which is the safer course. There is, by
the way, a third solution of the matter--flight; but, of course, no one
would dream of that. I shall take care not to neglect the opportunity
which is offered me. In the meantime, swear to keep strict silence on
this point!”
The trumpets resounded through the camp of Marsillus. The unbelievers
placed themselves in ambush beside the French line of march, and waited
for the next morning.
The clarions rang out through the camp of Charlemagne. The hour of
departure had come. Charles rode proudly amid his gallant knights.
“Who will lead the rear-guard through the passes of Cisaire?” asked the
Emperor of his nobles.
“Count Roland,” suggested Ganelon, “since he is the bravest. Does not
the place of danger belong to him?”
“Count of Mayence, some evil intention influences that speech.”
“Why so, sire?” interposed Roland. “Sir Ganelon is right. The task is
mine--I claim it.”
“So be it,” said the Emperor. “My peers shall accompany you with
twenty-five thousand horsemen.”
“The Saracens will have a hot day’s work,” said Ganelon to himself.
The Saracens were concealed in the forests at the entrance of the pass.
The Navarrese and Gascons (everlasting shame upon them!) were lying
in ambush on the heights, ready to hurl death upon their brother
Christians.
The vanguard, consisting of twenty thousand men, led by Ogier the Dane,
was first to present itself. But it was not they who were wanted---they
were allowed to pass.
Charlemagne came next, with Ganelon in attendance upon him. For six
hours the troops, the wagons, the booty, were slowly marching through
the defile. There was an abundance of wealth; but who dared touch it?
They were suffered to pass. Finally came the rear-guard, led by Roland.
Then the Pagans began to be on the move, the Gascons prepared for
action. The great carnage was about to begin.
Marsillus was on horseback at the head of his troops. Buriabel, King of
Alexandria, came swaggering up to him.
“Sire, I have brought you thirty thousand soldiers, fully armed. I have
not hesitated to risk my life in your service. In return for this, I
only ask one thing--the honour of despatching Roland. If I meet him, he
dies!”
“You forget, it appears to me,” said the King of Saragossa, in a severe
tone, “that I am here. I am not in the habit of handing over difficult
tasks to others; Roland belongs to me! You will have enough to do with
the rest.”
Then, armed to the teeth, they rode forward in serried ranks.
The Franks entered the pass. Roland halted them, and spoke:--“Brothers
in arms! We are going to have a tough day’s work. But few of us will
ever again behold fair France. Ganelon, the traitor, has brought us to
this evil pass! He has sold us to the Saracens. In a few minutes
these rocks will be hurled down upon us, and we shall hear the Saracen
trumpets sounding. They do not know that we are forewarned, and the
sound of our bugles will be the signal. Let those who are in doubt about
our safety, therefore, leave us to join the main body. But let those,
who desire wounds more awful than death--those who are ready to
sacrifice their lives, in order to be revenged on Ganelon--let those
remain with me!” Not a single knight quitted the ranks.
“If any one of us escapes, his life must be devoted to the extermination
of Ganelon, and all his race. For my part, I swear to do this!”
All repeated the oath. Roland heard behind him a voice, shriller than
any of the others, cry, “By the Shrine of St. Landri, death to the Count
of Mayence!”
He turned, and saw Mitaine.
“Ah, unhappy child, what are you doing here? You know well what fate
awaits us. Is this a place for babes-in-arms?”
“You do wrong to blame me, sir knight. You will, perhaps, have reason to
be sorry for your words before sunset.”
Mitaine was on the summit of a peak. She gazed around on all sides, and
soon discovered the enemy. The sun was shining brightly, and glistened
on corslet and casque, spear and pennon. At the same moment the neighing
of horses reached her ear.
[Illustration: 255]
“The Saracens are coming from the Spanish side. They are so many in
number, it is difficult to understand how any troops can be left to
guard the cities. If we had to encounter so large a Christian army, the
result would be doubtful. But these are Pagans, and Heaven will not fail
us.”
“If that be the case,” said Oliver, “you had better sound your horn,
friend Roland. Charlemagne has not gone far and will return at once to
our aid on hearing it.”
“We must wield swords, not horns, here. The way is open, if you fear the
adventure is too arduous.”
“Trust me, comrade; in a few moments it will be too late. Wind your
horn!”
“You give me base counsel! It shall never be told that Roland quitted
his grasp of Durandal to wind his horn for aid against Pagans!”
“So be it,” said Oliver. “We will not quarrel about it.”
Roland turned to Gautier de Luz, and said to him--
“Dismount, Gautier, and let two thousand of our knights do the same.
You will take the command of them, climb the mountain, and take these
accursed Gascons in the rear before we enter the pass. Cut them
up without mercy, like dogs as they are, and then, when you have
accomplished the task, sound on your horn. We shall then draw on the
Saracens in pursuit, and when I give the signal, do you roll down on
them the rocks prepared for our destruction.”
“Well conceived,” said Hoel of Nantes. “An excellent jest. I would not
exchange my place here for anything in the whole world!”
Two thousand knights dismounted, and with Gautier de Luz at their head,
commenced the ascent. Mitaine, more active and lighter than the others,
went first to reconnoitre. Roland followed them with his eyes until they
disappeared behind the rocks.
In about a quarter of an hour, which, I can assure you, seemed long
enough to those below, a great uproar broke out, and the Navarrese and
Gascons appeared in disorder on the cliffs. They were close pressed, and
those who were not put to the sword on the spot, were flung down into
the ravine, in which there was soon an almost insurmountable heap of
dead bodies. There was hardly a bush that was not adorned with some
bleeding fragment or other.
Presently was heard the bugle note which announced that the heights were
taken, and Roland, followed by some thousands of knights, rode out to
meet the Saracens.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Marsillus, on beholding the
Christians issuing from the pass. “It strikes me these brave warriors
are afraid to attempt the pass. But we know how to compel them to do so.
Their graves are dug there, and there they must sleep this night--and
nowhere else!”
Thirty thousand Saracens spurred forward in haste, and grew doubly
courageous on beholding the Christians turn to retreat.
“What have they been telling us about the courage of these people?” said
Arroth, the nephew of Marsillus. “So far, there has been more of the
chase than the combat. We need hardly have come in such numbers.”
“Your words are wanting in sense,” said Turgis of Toulouse. “Pray Heaven
to allow your brains to grow old enough to perceive the folly.”
The Saracens entered the defile in pursuit of the Franks, who had
surmounted all the obstacles in the pass. Their pursuers, however,
halted in wonder before the heap of dead bodies that barred their
passage. Roland took advantage of their hesitation and gave the signal,
on hearing Avhich Gautier de Luz set to work. Huge blocks of stone
crashed down from overhead, involving horses and men; living, dead, and
wounded; Saracens, Gascons, and Navarrese, in one common destruction.
The pass was completely blocked up.
[Illustration: 261]
“Truly,” said Roland, “Ganelon contrived this trap very cleverly. But
one cannot foresee everything in this world, and in this instance it is
the hare that is hunting; the hounds!”
The Pagans who returned to the King of Saragossa were barely eight
thousand, including the wounded who had escaped destruction. They had
flung away their banners and their arms in order to facilitate their
flight.
“Is this what you promised us?” they cried, threateningly, to Marsillus.
“We have just fallen into a snare laid for us by Ganelon. Ah, dastard of
a Roland, treacherous Count of Mayence, coward of an Emperor, you shall
hear more of us yet! By Mahomet, our vengeance shall be something to
speak of, rascals!”
A hundred thousand Saracen knights pricked forward at full speed, taking
a different road, which permitted them to cut off the retreat of the
Franks. In the meantime Gautier de Luz and Mitaine had rejoined Roland.
Archbishop Turpin had ridden to a slight eminence. The twenty thousand
knights were on their knees around him.
“Prepare to perish nobly, my brothers-in-arms,” said he to them. “The
heroes who do not shrink from the fight will sleep in Paradise by
sunset. All your past sins shall be atoned for by cuts or thrusts of
sword or lance. I absolve you all from this moment!”
He gave them his blessing, and they rose, comforted and encouraged.
Presently the sound of the enemies’ horses was heard, and before long
the two armies had encountered each other. Lances were shattered--the
field wras covered with fragments of arms and armour. Death had made a
speedy harvest, and riderless horses were galloping hither and thither,
amid the groans and cries of the wounded.
Everywhere destruction was being dealt out.
At the head of the Saracens rode Arroth, nephew of Marsillus.
“By Allah! Charlemagne must be childish to give the command of the
rear-guard of his forces to Roland.”
The Count of Mans heard him, but answered not. Lance in rest, he rode
down on him. Good heavens! what a thrust!--nothing could resist it. It
clave the shield of the nephew of the King of Saragossa, pierced his
chest, broke his spine, and pinned him to the earth.
Fauseron, brother of King Marsillus, beheld Miton, and shouted to
him--“Your Emperor, Charlemagne, must be sorely jealous of the fame of
his knights, to send them to be slaughtered thus.”
Miton dashed at him with uplifted blade, and dealt him three terrific
wounds: a partridge might have flown through any one of them with ease.
“You lie, knave!” cried the father of Mitaine; “our Charles is the
bravest of the brave, and whoever questions it shall die the death of a
dog--as you die!”
Anseis charged at Turgis of Toulouse, and ran him through with his
lance. The white pennon was stained crimson with the thrust.
But I should never finish if I told you all the wonderful blows they
interchanged. At last the spear of Roland shivered. He drew Durandal and
rushed into the thickest of the fight, slicing off heads with his sword
as easily as a pigeon severs the heads of millet with its sharp beak.
The fury of the combat was redoubled. The Franks performed prodigies of
valour, but the Saracens seemed never to tire of being slaughtered. No
sooner were thirty thousand Pagans stretched on the earth than thirty
thousand more offered themselves for slaughter. The swords were blunted
with repeated blows, but the strength of the heroes wearied not. How
many Christians had received the crown of martyrdom! Yonder they lay,
trampled under the horses’ hoofs, while their mothers, their wives,
their daughters were, perchance, singing cheerily as they awaited their
return.
At length came a time when there were no more Saracens left to kill. Of
a hundred thousand Pagans but two survived.
“Mountjoy St. Denis!” resounded over the field. But lo! King Marsillus
arrived with the main body.
They had only encountered the advanced guard!
“Brethren,” said Turpin, pointing to the Saracens with his mace, “yonder
comes our death-struggle. Let us be polite, and go meet it; we shall
only be in Paradise the sooner!” and he rode off as swiftly as if he
bestrode a swallow.
“Shame, false friend, to outstrip me!” cried Roland, spurring
Veillantif. “Bishop, do not perish without e!”
Once more the contest raged furiously. Turpin perceived Abyme, the most
unbelieving Pagan of them all.
“What deity do you serve?” cried the bishop.
“None,” said the heretic; whereupon, with three mighty blows of his
mace, Turpin scattered over the field the amethysts, topazes, and
carbuncles that covered the Pagan’s shield. At the third blow the soul
of Abyme fled to the regions below.
Climborin smote down Angelier of Gascony, but he did not live more than
ten seconds to enjoy his conquest. Miton had seen the deed, lowered his
lance, and pierced the Pagan’s throat.
“There, dog! you may go boast of your victory!” said he, as he rode off.
Oliver had rested but little all this while; he drove right and left
at the ranks of the enemy, brandishing Hauteclaire, mowing the Saracens
down like stubble.
His shield was of gold, charged with a red cross.
“That is a foul blazon,” said Valdabron, striking the shield with his
lance.
“Nevertheless, you shall bow to it,” answered the brother of Aude, and
with one back-stroke he beheaded the paynim.
The Duke Sanche was slain: it was Haucuidant who struck the fatal blow;
by his hand, too, perished Gerin and Anseis, Beranger and Guy de St.
Antoine. But Roland rode right at the Pagan, and with the hilt of
Durandal crushed his face in, and flung him, an unrecognisable corpse
under his horse’s hoofs.
“It is truly sad that we can only kill once a hound who has done so much
mischief.”
Then the knight stood up in his stirrups, and gazed around him. Merciful
heavens, what a sight! Out of the twenty thousand Franks who had come
there, but sixty remained alive.
“By my hopes of Heaven!” said Roland, “I should die the happier if I
could but bear Marsillus with me to the grave. But how can I find him
amid such a mêlée?”
Mitaine heard him.
“I will show him to you, if you will follow me;” and she began to strip
off her armour piecemeal. Roland caught her by the arm to stop her--?
“What proof of madness are you going to give us now?”
“You take wisdom for folly, my lord. Do you think I should be suffered
to pass, wearing your colours? My mother used to scold me for spoiling
my clothes; they might get damaged now.”
“And you think I am going to let you perish like this?”
“Is it not absurd to make all this difficulty about it? Have we not come
here to die?”
And Mitaine freed herself from his grasp, and sprang on a Saracen horse
that she caught as it went riderless by. She was naked to the waist, and
her golden hair floated around her shoulders. She seemed like the spirit
of youth. Death fled from the presence of such lofty courage.
“Come and seek me, dastard of a Croquemitaine!” she cried. “Here I am
well protected from thee.”
Roland followed her; his eyes were blinded with tears.
“Merciful heaven! what will they say of me for all these deaths? I shall
scarce dare to show myself to-night in Paradise.”
Mitaine had caught sight of the King of Saragossa, and made direct for
him, without looking right or left. Miton, whose headlong courage had
carried him into the ranks of the foe, was beside her, surrounded by the
Saracens. He was striking out right and left at random, thinking only
to hack and hew the bodies of Pagans. Alas for the double misfortune!
Mitaine drew near him and her father’s sword traced a gory slash across
her shoulder. She turned, and father and child recognised each other.
“Is it you my father? It was a good stroke, but ‘tis wasted!” Horrified
at the sight, Miton for a second forgot to defend himself.
In another moment poor Mita was a widow!
Meanwhile Mitaine had ridden close up to Marsillus, and rising up in
her stirrups, to make sure Roland should see her, smote him on the face,
crying, as loud as she was able--“Behold the King of Saragossa! Mountjoy
for Charlemagne!”
She could say no more. Marganice, King of Carthage, and uncle of
Marsillus, dealt her a blow on the chest that was far heavier than was
needed. The poor girl sank, insensible, and rolled under the horse’s
hoofs, with blood gushing from her lips and nostrils.
When Roland saw this, his rage overpowered him. He drew near Oliver, and
said, “Brother, shall we go slay that boastful Marsillus yonder?”
“It shall be done,” said the other.
They dashed forward, followed by a few of the Franks still remaining on
the field--Beuve, Lord of Beaune and Dijon, whose death was a sore loss
to Charles--Yve, and Yvoire, and Gerard of Roussillon. Roland and Oliver
penetrated farthest into the infidel ranks; at last they came within a
few paces of Marsillus.
“Is it you, then, whom they call the King Marsillus?” said Roland.
“It is a name the Franks will not forget.”
“I am called Roland. If you never knew me before you shall know me
to-day;” and with that he smote off the King’s right hand as he raised
it to strike.
The Saracens shouted in alarm, “Mahomet preserve us!” and fled like
doves before an eagle. If they had found legs to bring them thither,
they had found wings to take them away.
There remained on the field only a thousand Ethiopians, the forces
of Marganice. They were drawn up at a distance, and seemed undecided
whether to advance. Roland put his horn to his lips, and blew a blast so
powerful that it echoed and re-echoed for twenty leagues around.
“What are you doing?” said Oliver. “Have you lost all shame, and do you
no longer fear to sound for help against Pagans?”
“These are cruel words, comrade!”
“Why disturb Charlemagne for such a trifle? We are three yet. If you
had been less brave we should not have bequeathed this defeat to
our country. If you sound the bugle on my behalf, do not trouble
yourself--henceforth I do not desire to live. If for Turpin, our friend
only survives by a miracle, and will be dead before any one can come to
his aid. If you sound, it is for yourself; and, by Heaven’s truth! you
will be a brave man to face Charlemagne.”
“Truly,” said Turpin, “you might do better than quarrel now. Wind your
horn, Roland, not for our sakes, but for the honour of France. We shall
be avenged, and our bones will be laid in consecrated soil. Wind your
horn, Roland!”
The Count of Mans lifted his bugle to his lips, and blew so loud and
long, that the veins in his temples stood up like ropes, and the blood
flowed from his mouth.
The Emperor reined up his steed.
“Did you hear, as I did, the bugle of Roland?”
The Count of Mayence trembled, but he answered, “‘Tis some goatherd
calling together his flock.”
“Do you think I’ve grown childish, that I should mistake a horn for a
pipe? It was Roland’s horn, past a doubt.”
“Well, sire, he sounds his bugle for nothing often; perchance he is
chasing some wild animal.”
“By your leave, sire, the horn has a mournful sound,” said Naymes
of Bavaria, “and it is but due to your peers to go and see what has
befallen them.”
“You are right, friend. Ganelon, you will remain here;” and Charles
called for Besgue, his head cook, and entrusted to him the custody of
the Count of Mayence.
“It is the duty of your scullions to guard this criminal. Have you any
stout rope to put him to the question with?”
“I have, sire, the rope, saving your presence, with which I tie up the
pigs when I stick them.”
“That will do well! And now, my comrades, let us hasten to Roland.”
“There is no need to hurry,” said Ganelon, with a grin; “Roland does not
ring the bell until mass is over.”
“Even so, renegade,” said the Emperor, “we may arrive in time for
vespers, and so much the worse for the Pagans.”
Roland was the only one left alive on the plains of Roncesvalles. To
the shouts and yells of conflict had succeeded a silence infinitely more
terrible.
Dismayed at their success, the Saracens had fled. The work was
accomplished; the vultures would fitly succeed them. Insatiable
parasites of the King of Saragossa, these new comers seldom had time to
wipe their beaks between the banquets.
Roland dismounted for the first time in the four-and-twenty hours.
The brave knight could scarcely stand. Leaning his brow on his horse’s
saddle, he cried like a child--he had poured out all his blood, and he
had nothing left to shed but tears!
[Illustration: 267]
His wounds seemed nothing to him. It was despair that was killing him.
In his grief he knelt beside the body of Oliver, and clasped it in his
arms. He laid it on the turf, unlaced the helmet, kissed the cold brow,
stripped off the armour, and examined it all over, unable to believe
that he had really lost such a friend and companion in arms.
He did the same for Turpin, Miton, and Gautier de Luz. But of what avail
was it to lavish cares upon the lifeless clay? Their spirits were in
heaven.
Roland raised his head. He fancied he heard a faint but sweet voice
pronounce his name. What happiness if there yet survived some one!
“Do you not know me, my dear lord? Come hither and bid me farewell!”
Pale, stretched on the field among the slain, lay the godchild of
Charlemagne.
“Heaven be praised, my pretty one! To see you still alive makes me
almost fancy Heaven smiles upon me. You will not die--I would not be the
cause of your death! Charles will be here soon, and will bear you back
to our own beloved France.”
“You deceive yourself, Roland. I shall never again behold the great
Emperor--never again my native land! Before long I shall meet my father
once more. But tell me, have the Saracens retreated?”
“They have retreated into Spain.”
“Then the victory belongs to us two! By the shrine of St. Landri! I am
happier than I ever dreamed of being.”
Roland knelt down, took off one of his great gold spurs, and fixed it on
Mitaine’s heel.
“There, brave little hero, none ever better merited the rank of knight!”
and he buckled it on. The two little feet of the squire would have both
fitted easily into the single spur.
In an ecstacy of joy, Mitaine raised herself, and flung her arms round
Roland’s neck.
“Quick, quick, my beloved lord! give me the accolade, for I feel I am
dying!”
And Mitaine sank back on the turf, plucked with a last effort two blades
of grass, which she fashioned into a cross, and expired while kissing it
with fervour.
[Illustration: 269]
Roland felt very solitary now. Feeling the shades of death gathering
round him, he stole up to Veillantif.
“My brave charger, your mouth is not meant for the bit of the Saracen,
nor your sides for the Pagan spur.”
And Roland, having kissed its soft muzzle, killed his favourite steed
with one blow of Durandal.
“Now, my treasured Durandal, what shall I do with thee? Thy hilt
encloses one of the teeth of St. Peter, and a hair from the beard of St.
Denis. Neither must thou fall into the hands of unbelievers!”
He called up all his strength, and struck his sword upon the granite. It
clave the rock, without denting its blade. Three times he essayed again,
but with no better success.
His sight was failing him. A cold chill seized him. He sank down beside
a granite peak, stretched upon his invincible sword, that people might
know well that he died a conqueror.
Roland had just ceased to breathe when Charlemagne arrived on the field.
You will imagine, my young friends, that the Emperor made the Saracens
pay dearly for the loss of his knights. It was not until he had utterly
destroyed the infidel army that Charles would consent to dismount from
his horse on the plains of Roncesvalles. Alas! the butchery of Saracens
could not restore life to Roland or his companions.
Poor Charlemagne! he tore his grey hair and long beard, and having
ordered the bodies of the Count of Mans, Turpin, Oliver, Miton, and
Mitaine to be placed in coffins of black marble, he had them borne back
to France with every mark of honour.
As he approached Aix-la-Chapelle the Emperor saw a long, long line of
weeping women, all attired in black, coming out to meet him. It was the
fair Aude, supported by her widowed sister Mita, and followed by a suite
of three hundred ladies.
Charlemagne, deeply affected by the sight of such affliction,
dismounted, and pressed the fair Aude to his heart.
“My poor child!” said he, “you are a widow or ever you were a bride.”
The fair Aude opened her lips to reply, but she had not the strength to
speak.
The Emperor felt her sink back in his arms, and, turning to the
attendants, he asked--
“Is there a place for her in the coffin by the side of Roland?”
[Illustration: 273]
A few days later were celebrated with great pomp the obsequies of the
betrothed of the Count of Mans. At the same hour, draged on a hurdle,
between two of the executioner’s assistants, the disfigured corpse of
the traitor Ganelon was carried to the charnel.
“And Croquemitaine, won’t you tell us something about it?” you would ask
me.
Croquemitaine does not exist, my dears.
[Illustration: 275]
THE END.