THE LION OF POITIERS.
Seigneur count! Seigneur count Neroweg! Wake up! Instead of having spent
the night, as you expected, in the arms of one of your female slaves,
out of fear for the devil you spent it on your knees, close to your
clerk, and repeating in a maudlin and besotted voice the prayers that
the holy man mumbled, half asleep, into your ears. After having eaten
and drunk his fill he would have by far preferred his own bed to your
company. Finally reassured by the first peep of day--a time that bars
out the demons--you fell asleep on your couch, furnished with
bear-skins, the trophies of the chase. Seigneur count Neroweg, awake!
One of the five sons of your good King Clotaire, to-day the sole master
of Gaul--all the other sons and grandsons of the pious Clovis, who rests
in consecrated ground in the basilica of the venerated apostles at
Paris, having died--one of the five sons of that King Clotaire, Chram by
name, a bastard son--but what does that matter!--and governor of
Auvergne in his father's name, Chram is approaching! He comes, a signal
favor, with his three favorites, a goodly number of leudes in the train
of his _antrustions_, as the royal favorites proudly style themselves.
Awake, Neroweg! Awake, seigneur count! There is Chram, coming to pay you
a visit. Brilliant and numerous is the cavalcade of his suite. The three
dear friends of Chram, still dearer friends of pillage, of murder and of
rape, accompany the royal personage, do you not hear? Their names are
Imnachair, Spatachair, and the "Lion of Poitiers," the renegade Gaul,
who, like so many others of his stripe, rallied to the conquering
Franks. The "Lion of Poitiers" earned his name by reason of his
carnivorous taste for rapine and flesh dripping blood.
Seigneur count! Seigneur count Neroweg! Will you not wake up? Wake up
also your wife Godegisele, who spent the night dreaming of strangled
wives. Be up and doing. Let Godegisele array herself in the most
resplendent jewels of your fourth wife Wisigarde! Hurry, hurry, seigneur
count! Let Godegisele don her most attractive raiment! She may be to the
taste of Chram or of his favorites. He is a gracious king, an
accommodating king. There is none more so. Is a woman, whether free or
slave, pleasing to the eye of any friend of his, he forthwith equips his
favorite with a _royal diploma_, by virtue of which he takes the woman
that he covets.
Quick, quick, seigneur count! Order your leudes to take horse and your
foot soldiers to put on their gala armors, and yourself, seigneur count,
head your band, cased in your parade armor and carrying on your side the
magnificent gold-hilted Spanish sword, which you stole on the occasion
of the plundering of the land of the Visigoths, the "damned Arians" and
"accursed heretics," upon whom the Catholic bishops let you loose with
the fagot in one hand, the sword in the other, exactly as you let loose
your pack of hounds upon the wild beasts of the forest! Be quick, be
quick, leap upon your roan horse harnessed in its saddle and bridle of
red leather, with bit and stirrups of silver! Quick! Ride out at a
gallop to meet your glorious Prince Chram; ride out at the head of your
horsemen and footmen! Already your royal guest and his suite, whose
approach one of their forerunners has announced, are only at a little
distance from your burg. Seigneur count, hasten to greet him and lead
him into your seigniorial residence! You hardly expected to hear such
auspicious tidings; moreover your good friend and protector, Bishop
Cautin accompanies Prince Chram.
"A curse upon the arrival of this Chram," said Neroweg. "However short
the stay of him and his men at my burg, they will drink up my wine, eat
up all my provisions, and who knows but also pilfer some of my gold and
silver vases. Neither I nor my companions have any love for these court
leudes, who always have the air of looking down upon us because they
quarter in palaces and cities."
Thus spoke count Neroweg as, followed by his warriors, he rode out to
meet Prince Chram, whom he found, together with his suite, within two
bows' shot of the fosse that girded the burg.
What a beautiful, noble, glorious, luminous sight is that of a
longhaired prince, especially when his hair consists of a long tangled
mop, that scissors have never touched, such being one of the distinctive
attributes of the royal Frankish family. Unfortunately, although still
young, Prince Chram, being worn by drunkenness and all manner of
enervating excesses, was almost wholly bald. Only from his neck and
temples did a few long and straggling locks of light hair tumble down
upon his chest and arched back. His long dalmatica of purple fabric,
slit on the side at the height of his knees, half hid the shoulders and
crupper of his black horse. Bandelets of gilt leather criss-crossed his
tight-fitting hose from his ankles up to his knees. His spurred shoes
rested upon gilt stirrups; his long gold-hilted sword was sheathed in
white cloth and hung from a superbly ornamented belt. In lieu of a whip,
he carried a cane of precious wood with a head of chiseled gold, upon
which, when the worn-out debauchee walked, he leaned heavily. Prince
Chram's face was villainous. On his right Bishop Cautin rode as proudly
as a man of war. From time to time the prelate cast an uneasy glance at
Chram, because, though he sufficiently detested Chram, he was well aware
that Chram detested him still more. At the Prince's right rode the "Lion
of Poitiers," the hardened criminal who, together with Imnachair and
Spatachair, both of whom rode close behind him in the second rank,
constituted a trinity of perdition ample enough to damn Chram, had not
Chram been damned in his very mother's womb, as the priests express it.
Insolence and profligacy, haughty disdain and cruelty were so profoundly
graven on the features of the "Lion of Poitiers," the renegade Gaul,
that even a hundred years after his death it should not have been
difficult still to trace upon the bones of his face the words
"profligacy, insolence and cruelty."
After the Frankish fashion these three seigneurs wore rich short-sleeved
tunics over their jackets, tight-fitting hose, and gaiters of cured
leather with the fleece on the outside. Behind Chram and his three
friends rode his seneschal, the count of his stables, the mayor of his
palace, his butler, and other officers of the first rank, because the
Prince kept a royal establishment. A little distance behind these
distinguished personages came his bodyguard which consisted of leudes
and other warriors armed cap-a-pie. Their tufted casques, their polished
and brilliant cuirasses and greaves glittered in the sun. Their spirited
horses pranced under their rich caparisons. The streamers at the head of
their lances fluttered on the breeze, while their painted and gilded
bucklers dangled from the pommels of their saddles. As showy and
imposing as was the appearance of the princely suite, so miserably
shabby and grotesque was the aspect presented by the leudes of the
count. A considerable number of his suite wore incomplete and rough,
dented armor; others, the possessors of cuirasses, had their heads
covered with woolen caps; the swords, no less ill-kept than the
cuirasses, were mostly orphaned of their sheaths, and in several
instances the implement of war was held to its rider's belt by cords,
while the shaft of more than one lance was crooked, and was still as
rough as when first taken from the brush. Most of the horses of the
count's leudes matched their riders in their appearance. It was not yet
the hour for the slaves to proceed to the fields, and a goodly number of
Neroweg's companions, in default of battle steeds, sat astride of draft
and plow horses bridled with ropes. By the faith of a Vagre, it was a
joyful sight to watch the wild and envious looks that the leudes of the
count cast at the suite of Chram, and the insolent and mocking looks
that the princely retinue threw upon the count's ramshackle troop.
Behind the Prince's men, came the pages, the servants and the slaves who
were on foot and led the ox-teams and dray-horses that drew heavy laden
carts which the inhabitants of the regions crossed by the Prince and his
suite were honored with the privilege of filling up gratuitously.
Count Neroweg advanced alone on horseback towards his royal guest, who,
reining in his mount, said to Neroweg:
"Count, on my way from Clermont to Poitiers, I thought I would stop at
your burg."
"Your glory is welcome on my domain. It is partly made up of salic
lands; these I hold of my father, who held them both of his sword and
the bounty of your grandfather, Clovis. It is your right to lodge, when
journeying, at the houses of the counts and beneficiaries of the King,
and to them it is a pleasure to extend to you hospitality."
"Count," insolently put in the Lion of Poitiers, "is your wife young and
handsome? Is she worth the trouble of courting?"
"My favorite," observed Chram, making a sign to the renegade Gaul that
he moderate his language, "who asks to know whether your wife is young
and handsome, my favorite, the Lion of Poitiers, loves to joke, by
nature."
"I shall then answer the Lion of Poitiers that neither he nor you will
be able to decide whether my wife is young and handsome or old and ugly;
she is with child and unwell, and will not leave her apartments."
"If your wife is with child," replied the Lion of Poitiers, "who may the
father be?"
"Count, do not mind his raillery. I told you, my friend is a joker by
nature."
"Chram, I shall not take offence at the jokes of your favorite. Let us
proceed to the burg."
"Lead the way, count, we shall follow."
The joint cavalcades started for the burg, and the conversation
proceeded.
"Count, admit to our royal master Chram that, in concealing your wife,
you keep your treasure under lock and key for fear of its being stolen
from you."
"My favorite, Spatachair, who holds that language to you, Neroweg, is
also of a humorous disposition."
"Prince, meseems you select very gay, and perhaps too bold a set of
friends."
"Neroweg, you hide your wife from us--it is your right. We shall hunt
her up in her nest--that is our right. There is no lock or key safe
against a good thief. The hunt is up."
"Chram, this is another of your humorous friends, I suppose?"
"Yes, count, the most humorous of all--the boldest--his name is
Imnachair."
"And my name is Neroweg; I shall ask seigneur Imnachair what will the
thief do when he has found the nest and the dove?"
"Neroweg, your wife will tell you all about it, after we shall have
discovered the belle--we shall put our hands on that treasure as surely
as I am the Lion of Poitiers."
"And I," cried Neroweg, "as surely as I am the King's count in this
country of Auvergne, shall kill like a dog or a prowling fox whomever
would attempt the role of a lion in my house!"
"Oh, oh, count, you hold bold language! Is it the brilliant army which
you lead at your heels that makes you so audacious?" queried the
Prince's favorite, nodding towards Neroweg's ramshackle leudes. "If that
band is up to its looks, we are lost!"
Two or three of the count's leudes who had been drawing nearer, and
heard the insolent jokes of Chram's favorite grumbled aloud in angry
accents:
"We do not like to see Neroweg bantered!"
"A count's leudes are matches for royal leudes!"
"The polish of the steel does not make its temper."
One of Chram's men turned towards his companions, and laughing, pointed
at the count's people with the tip of his lance while sarcastically
alluding to their rustic appearance:
"Are these plow-slaves disguised as warriors, or warriors disguised as
plow-slaves?"
The royal cortege answered the sally with a loud outburst of laughter.
The two sides were beginning to cast defiant looks at each other when
Bishop Cautin cried:
"My dear sons in Christ, I, your bishop and spiritual father, recommend
to you coolness and good will. A truce with unseasonable jokes!"
"Count," said Chram to Neroweg flippantly, "mistrust this profligate and
hypocritical bishop. Do not bestow upon him alone the privilege of
singing your wife's praises--holy man though he be, he would as leave
sing the praises of Venus, the goddess of the pagans!"
"Chram, I am the servant of the son of our glorious King Clotaire; but
as bishop I am entitled to your respect."
"You are right; nowadays you bishops have become almost as powerful, and
above all as rich as ourselves, the Kings."
"Chram, you mention the power and the wealth of the bishops of Gaul. You
seem to forget that our power is of the Lord, and our riches are the
goods of the poor!"
"By the slack skin of all the purses that you have rifled, you fat
weasel who suck the yellow of the eggs and leave only the shell to the
sots, for once you have told the truth. Aye, your riches are the goods
of the poor, but you have bagged these goods for yourself."
"Glorious Prince, I have accompanied you to the burg of my son in
Christ, Count Neroweg, in order to fulfill the act of high justice that
you know of, but not in order to allow our holy Catholic and apostolic
religion to be impudently made sport of in my person!"
"And I maintain that your power and riches increase by the day. I have
two daughters; who knows but they will yet see the royal power shrink in
even measure as the grasping usurpations of the bishops, with whom we
shared our conquest, gain ground--a parcel of bishops whom we enriched,
to whom we have been the men at arms, and who are ungrateful towards
their benefactors!"
"Men at arms to us, men of peace? You err, O, Prince! Our only arms are
sermons and exhortations."
"And when the people laugh at your sermons, as the Visigoths did, the
Arians of Provence and Languedoc, then you send us to extirpate their
heresy with fire and sword! Those are your real arms!"
"Glory to God! In those wars against the heretics, the Frankish Kings
took an immense booty, they caused the orthodox faith to triumph, and
snatched the souls of men from the everlasting flames by leading them
back to the bosom of the holy Church."
He who might have assisted at the recent supper at the episcopal villa,
where the bishop had Neroweg for his guest, would not have recognized
Cautin. The holy man, being then in _tete-a-tete_ with the count, a
stupid, brutal and blind believer, cared not to clothe himself in the
dignity of language. But now, in the presence of Chram, a brazen jester
whom he detested, he felt the need to impose, both with language and
bearing, respect and fear, if not upon the Prince himself and his
favorites, the latter of whom were as impudent as himself, then at least
upon their suite, who were infinitely less intelligent and
proportionally devout. There was another grave apprehension that weighed
upon Cautin's mind. He was in great fear that the audacious example of
Chram and his friends might shake the naive and fruitful credulity of
Neroweg, from which Cautin drew much profit by the cultivation and
exploitation of the devil. From the corner of his eye the bishop saw the
count give a sly ear to the insolent jests of Chram, which seemed at
once to please and frighten him. The Prince doubtlessly was wondering
whether Neroweg was blockish enough to believe in the miraculous powers
of the bishop, and to pay as dearly as he was reputed to do for the
absolutions of the prelate. Cautin, being a man of extraordinary
ability, saw his opportunity to strike a master blow. Being in the habit
of closely watching the weather and of observing the premonitions of the
storms that are so sudden and of frequent occurrence in mountainous
countries, he, as well as so many other priests, utilized his
weather-wisdom to frighten the simple-minded. The prelate had for some
little time noticed a black cloud, which, barely visible at first over
the crest of a peak in the distant horizon, was bound soon to spread
over the sky and darken the sun, which, at the moment, was shining
brilliantly. Accordingly, at the first fresh insolent jest on the part
of Chram at the impositions practiced by the clergy, the prelate
answered, measuring the length of his words with the progress made by
the spreading storm-cloud:
"It is not for an unworthy servant of God, for a humble earth worm like
me, to defend the Church of the Eternal; the Lord has His own power and
miracles with which to convince the incredulous, His celestial
punishments with which to chastise the impious. Woe, I say, unto the man
who dares now, in the face of that sun that shines at this moment with
such vivid luster over our heads," the bishop proceeded with ever louder
voice; "woe, I say, and malediction unto him who, in the face of the
Almighty, Who sees, hears, judges and punishes us; malediction upon him
who dares insult His divinity in the sacred person of His bishops! Is
there any present, Prince or seigneur, who dares outrage divine
majesty?"
"There is here the Lion of Poitiers, who makes you this answer: Cautin,
bishop of Clermont, I shall break my switch over your back if you do not
quit speaking with such insolence."
By the faith of a Vagre! The Lion of Poitiers, the renegade Gaul, had
some occasional good quality. But his bold words caused most of those
who heard them to shudder; the royal suite as well as the leudes of the
count looked scandalized. To these faithful it seemed a monstrous thing
to break a switch over the back of a bishop, even if, as in the instance
of Cautin, he was guilty of burying a human being alive in the sepulchre
of a corpse.[A] A profound stupor succeeded upon the threat made by the
Lion of Poitiers. Even Chram himself looked shocked at the audacity of
his favorite. Cautin took in the scene at a glance. Simulating a saintly
horror and turning full towards the Lion of Poitiers, who defiantly
swung his switch, the prelate cried, raising his hands heavenward:
"Unhappy, impious man, have pity upon yourself! The Lord has heard your
blasphemy. Behold how the skies darken--the sun hides its face--behold
the precursors of celestial wrath! Down on your knees, my dear sons!
Down on your knees! Your father in God bids you! Pray the Eternal to
appease His wrath, kindled by the frightful blasphemy!"
[A] Bishop Gregory of Tours. Histoire des Franks, IV. 12.
And Cautin precipitately descended from his horse. But he did not kneel.
Standing erect with his hands outstretched to heaven, in the posture of
a priest officiating at the altar, he seemed to be communing with some
invisible being as if conjuring away the celestial wrath.
At the bishop's voice, Chram's servants and slaves, all of whom were
terrified by the seemingly sudden storm, threw themselves upon their
knees; most of the Prince's cortege likewise leaped down from their
horses and knelt, in no less consternation than the slaves and servants
at the sight of the sun's face suddenly darkened when the Lion of
Poitiers threatened the bishop with his switch. Neroweg, who was one of
the first on his knees, unctuously smote his chest; Chram, however,
together with his favorites and a few others of his familiars, kept
their saddles, hesitating out of pride to follow the bishop's orders.
With an imperious gesture and threatening accent the latter cried:
"Down on your knees, O King! The King is no more than the slave in the
eye of the Almighty. Both King and slave must bow down to earth in order
to appease the wrath of the Eternal. Down on your knees, O King! Down on
your knees, both you and your favorites!"
"Dare you issue orders to me?" cried Chram pale with rage at the sight
of the abject submission of his men to the bishop's orders. "Who is
master here, you or I, insolent priest?"
A thunder clap that reverberated in the hollows of the mountain closed
the mouth of Chram, and served the knavery of Cautin to perfection.
Louder and more imperiously than before the prelate repeated:
"Down on your knees! Hear you not the thunder of heaven, the rumbling
voice of the Almighty? Will you draw down a shower of fire upon the
heads of us all? O, Lord, have pity upon us! Remove the cataracts of
burning lava, that, in Your wrath at the impious, You are about to
shower down upon them, and, perhaps, upon us also, miserable sinners
that we all are! Even the purest of heart can not claim to be
irreproachable before Your majesty, O, Lord!"
Several fresh claps of thunder, preceded by blinding flashes of
lightning, carried the fright of Chram's suite to the highest pitch. The
Prince himself did not remain wholly unaffected, despite his innate
incredulity, audacity and superb insolence. His pride nevertheless still
revolted at the idea of yielding to the bishop's orders, and murmurs, at
first subdued, but speedily breaking out in open threats, rose from all
parts of his suite, cortege and retinue.
"Down on your knees, our Prince--on your knees!"
"Insignificant as we are, we do not wish to burn in the fire of heaven
for the sake of your and your favorite's impiousness!"
"Down on your knees, our Prince! Down on your knees! Obey the orders of
the holy bishop--it is the Lord who speaks to us through his mouth!"
"Down on your knees, King! Down on your knees!"
Chram was forced to yield. He feared to irritate his followers beyond
the point of safety; above all, he feared setting a public example of
rebellion against the bishops, who were such useful props to the
conquerors. Grumbling and blaspheming between his teeth, Chram finally
and slowly alighted from his horse and motioned his two favorites
Imnachair and Spatachair, both of whom took the hint, to do as he did,
and drop down upon their knees.
Left alone on horseback, and looking down upon the prostrate crowd, the
Lion of Poitiers braved the increasingly loud clatter of the thunder
peals with intrepid front and a sardonic smile upon his lips.
"Down on your knees!" cried several voices in towering anger. "Down on
your knees, Lion of Poitiers!"
"Our King Chram has knelt down, and the impious man, the cause of all
the trouble through his sacrilegious threats, he alone refuses
obedience!"
"The blasphemer will draw a deluge of fire upon our heads!"
"My sons, my dear sons!" cried Cautin, who was the only one on foot, as
the Lion of Poitiers was the only one on horseback. "Let us prepare for
death! A single grain of darnel will suffice to rot a muid of wheat--a
single hardened sinner will, perhaps, cause the death of us all, however
innocent we be. Let us resign ourselves to our fate, my dear sons--may
the will of God be done--He will, perhaps, open to us the doors of
paradise!"
The terrified crowd began to utter increasingly angry cries at the Lion
of Poitiers. Neroweg, in whose bosom still rankled the insulting jests
of the insolent royal favorite, half rose, drew his sword and cried:
"Death to the impious wretch! His blood will appease the wrath of the
Eternal!"
"Yes! Yes! Death!" came from a crowd of furious voices, so loud that the
rattle of the thunder failed to drown the human explosion.
Overhead the sky looked like one sheet of flame; the flashes of
lightning succeeded one another rapidly, vivid, blinding. The bravest
trembled; Prince Chram himself began to regret his jests and sneers at
the bishop. Seeing that the Lion of Poitiers remained unperturbed, and
that he answered Neroweg's threats and the furious outcries of the crowd
with a look of disdain, the Prince said to his favorite:
"Come down from your horse and kneel beside us--if you refuse, I shall
let them cut you to pieces--never have I witnessed such a storm. You
were wrong in threatening the bishop with your switch; I myself regret
having used offensive language towards him--the fire of heaven may from
one moment to the other drop down upon us."
The Lion of Poitiers crimsoned with rage, but realizing the fate that
further resistance on his part would draw upon him, he yielded. Grinding
his teeth, he followed the orders of Chram, alighted from his horse, and
after a further instant of hesitation, dropped upon his knees and shook
his fist at Cautin. The bishop, who had remained erect, towering above
the cowering crowd at his feet, answered the gesture of the Lion of
Poitiers with a look of triumph that he cast upon Chram and his
favorites; he regaled his eyes by letting them wander over the Prince,
his favorites, the assembled leudes, the servants and slaves--all bowed
down to the earth with fear and respect before him. Relishing his signal
victory he said to himself:
"Yes, we triumph! Yes, royal stripling, the bishop is mightier than
you. There you are at my feet with your forehead in the dust."
The bishop then knelt down himself and cried out aloud in a penetrating
voice:
"Glory to Thee, O Lord! Glory to Thee! The impious rebel, seized with
holy terror bows down his haughty forehead. The devouring lion has
become the most timid lamb before Thy divine majesty. Calm Thy just
wrath, O Lord! Have mercy upon us all, here upon our knees before Thee!
Dissipate the darkness that obscures the firmament! Remove the fiery
clouds that the obduracy of a sinner drew over our heads! Deign, O
Almighty Lord to give a public manifestation that the voice of Thy
unworthy servant has reached Thy throne!"
The prelate said many more admirable things, now measuring and grading
his utterances of grace and mercy according as the storm receded and
subsided, just as, at its approach, he modulated his threatening words.
The skilful man closed his conjuration to the roll of the receding
thunder--"the last rumblings," he said "of the Eternal's angered voice,"
finally appeased by his prayers. Soon thereupon the sky cleared; the
clouds dispersed, the sun shone anew in all its pristine splendor; and
the royal cortege, now again as serene as the sky, resumed their tramp
towards the burg of Neroweg singing at the top of their voices:
"Glory, eternal glory to the Lord!"
"Glory, glory, our blessed bishop!"
"Hosanna! _Gloria in excelsis Deo!_"
"The Lord miraculously turned from us the angry fire of heaven!"
"The impious man bowed down his rebellious head!"
"Glory! Glory to the Lord!"