THE CHAMBER OF TORTURE.
The dungeon of Bezenecq the Rich and his daughter, vaulted and floored
with stone slabs like the other subterranean cells, but located on the
second story of that redoubtable structure, received a somewhat better
light from its narrow loop-hole. In the center of the cell stood a
gridiron, six feet long, three wide, raised a good deal above the floor,
and constructed of iron bars placed slightly apart from each other.
Chains and rings, fastened to the gridiron, served to keep the victim in
position. Near this instrument of punishment rose two other engines of
torture, devised with ingenious ferocity. The one consisted of a
projecting iron bar, in the nature of a gibbet about seven or eight feet
above the floor, and terminating in an iron carcan that opened and
closed at will. A heavy stone, weighing about two tons, and furnished
with a ring and a strap to hang it by, lay at the foot of the gibbet.
The other engine had the appearance of a gigantic prong, sharp and
turned back similar to those used by butchers to hang their quarters of
beef on. The slabs of the flooring, covered everywhere else with
greenish moisture, wore a blood-red tint under the prong. Opposite to
this instrument of punishment, there was grossly sculptured on the wall,
a sort of grinning mask, hideous, half beast, half human; its eyes and
the cavity of its gaping mouth, resembled deep black holes. Finally,
close to the door of the cell stood a wooden box full of straw, and
there lay the daughter of the townsman of Nantes, colorless like a
corpse, and frozen with terror. At times her body shook with convulsive
shivers, other times she remained motionless, her eyes shut, without,
therefore, however, her tears ceasing to stream down her cheeks.
Bezenecq the Rich, seated on the edge of the straw bed, his elbows on
his knees and his forehead hidden in his hands, was saying to himself:
"The seigneur of Plouernel.... A descendant of Neroweg!... Strange,
fatal encounter!... Woe is us!"
"Oh, father," murmured the maid in a fainting voice, "this encounter is
our sentence of death."
"The sentence of our ruin, but not of our death. Calm yourself, poor
child, the seigneur of Plouernel knows not that our obscure family,
descended from the Gallic chieftain Joel, who made a head against Caesar,
has been at strife with his own all through the past ages, since the
Frankish conquest. But when that bailiff pronounced the name of Neroweg
VI, which I had not heard mention during this ill-starred journey, and
when, questioned by me, that man answered his master belonged to the
ancient Frankish family of Neroweg, established in Auvergne since the
conquest of Gaul by Clovis, I no longer had any doubts, and, despite
myself, I shuddered at the recollection of our family records, which our
father once read to us at Laon, and that have remained in that country,
in the hands of Gildas, my elder brother."
"Oh, why did our grandfather leave Brittany. Our family lived there so
happy."
"Dear child, our grandfather, who lived near the sacred stones of
Karnac, the cradle of our family, could no longer endure the oppression
of the Breton seigneurs, who had grown to be as cruel as their Frankish
fellows. He sold his little havings, and embarked with his wife at
Vannes on a merchant vessel bound for Abbeville. He settled down in that
city, where he set up a modest trade. Later, my father moved into the
province of Picardy, and settled at Laon, where my elder brother Gildas
still carries on the currier's trade. Coming by sea from Abbeville to
Nantes to traffic in the articles of our trade, manufactured in Laon, I
became acquainted with your mother, the daughter of the merchant to
whom I was directed. Her parents did not wish to part from her. They
made me promise not to leave Nantes. I became the partner of my wife's
father, and grew rich in the business. Your mother then died. You were
still a child. Her death was the greatest sorrow of my life. But you
were left to me. You grew in gracefulness and beauty. Everything smiled
upon me again. I was happy. And behold us now, while yielding to the
wishes of your grandmother--" and Bezenecq interrupted himself with a
cry of despair: "Oh, it is frightful!"
"But how could we have merited the terrible punishment that seems
reserved to us?"
"Oh," replied the bourgeois of Nantes with a sigh, "my happiness
rendered me forgetful of the misfortune of our brothers! I was selfish!"
"Dear father, you surely exaggerate the faults or errors of your life."
"Millions of serfs and villeins people the lands of the seigneurs and
the clergy. Among them, some drag along a painful existence, that ends
in death from exhaustion and misery; others are hanged from the
patibulary forks. Those unhappy people are Gauls like ourselves. If some
townsmen live in tranquility in the cities, when they have for seigneur
so gentle a master as Simon of Nantes, millions of serfs and villeins,
on the other hand, are devoted to all the miseries of life, and victims
to the seigniories and the Church."
"But, father, it did not depend upon you to alleviate the ills of these
wretched folks."
"My father spoke like a brave and generous man when he said to the
bourgeoisie of the city of Laon: 'We are subject to the exactions of the
bishop, our seigneur. But, after all, we townsmen enjoy certain
franchises. It, therefore, devolves upon us, being more intelligent and
less miserable than the serfs of the fields, to aid these to their
deliverance by ourselves rising against the seigneurs, and thus setting
the example of revolt against oppression. In the instances where, of
their own accord, they rise as happened in Normandy, as happened in
Picardy, as happened in Brittany, it is then our duty to place ourselves
at their head, in order to insure the success of the insurrection. Is it
not a shame; an unworthy timidity, to allow those unhappy men to be
crushed and punished for a cause that is ours as much as theirs? Does
not the tyranny of the nobles and the friars weigh upon us also. Are not
we the prey of the feudal brigands the moment we leave the enclosure of
the cities, where we suffer an amplitude of affronts?' But my father's
words were not able to convince the townsmen to decide upon
insurrection. They feared to risk their property and make their lot
worse. Myself, having grown rich, sided with the self-seekers, and I
echoed the views of the other merchants: 'No doubt, the condition of the
serfs is horrible, but I can do nothing to improve it, and I dare not
stake my life and fortune upon the result of an insurrection.' Our
cowardly and selfish indifference increased the audacity of the
seigneurs, until to-day we cannot set foot outside the cities without
being exposed to the brigandage of the chatelains. Oh, my child, I am
punished for having lacked energy and for disregarding the precepts of
my father!"
"We are lost; there is no hope left!" exclaimed the maid, no longer able
to restrain her sobs. "Death, a shocking death awaits us!" And Isoline,
whose teeth chattered with terror, directed her father's attention, with
a gesture, to the instruments of torture that furnished the cell. Hiding
her face in her hands, she moaned convulsively.
"Isoline," rejoined Bezenecq imploringly and overcome with grief, "my
beloved child, listen to the word of reason. Terror exaggerates. The
aspect of this subterranean dungeon frightens. Oh, I understand that.
But let's not lose all hope. When I shall have subscribed to all that
the seigneur of Plouernel can exact from me, when I shall have consented
to strip myself for his benefit of all that I possess, what do you
imagine he could still do? Of what use to him would it be to have me
tortured? He entertains against me no personal hatred. He is after my
wealth. I shall give it all, absolutely all."
"Good father, you are seeking to calm my spirit. I thank you a thousand
times."
"Is not our fate sufficiently sad? Why make the reality still darker? I
had hoped to give you a rich dower, to bequeath to you later my
property, that would have insured the happiness of your children. And
now I am about to be stripped of all. Our descendants will be reduced to
poverty!"
"Oh, if only the seigneur of Plouernel grants us our lives, I would care
little for that wealth that, for my sake, you bemoan."
"Nor shall I be less courageous than you," said Bezenecq, tenderly
clasping the hands of his daughter: "I shall imagine I placed all my
money on board a ship that went down. Once out of this infernal castle,
dear child, we shall return to Nantes. I shall see my friend Thibault
the Silversmith. He knows my aptitude for commerce. He will employ me,
and will pay me a salary that will suffice for our needs. But it will be
necessary, my pretty Isoline," Bezenecq proceeded, forcing a smile to
calm his daughter, "it will then be necessary for you to sew our clothes
with your own little white hands, and prepare our frugal meals. Instead
of inhabiting our beautiful house on the place of Marche-Neuf, we shall
take humble lodgings in the quarter of the ramparts. But, what of it,
provided the heart is joyful! Moreover, I shall always have in my pocket
a few deniers wherewith occasionally, on my return home, to buy you a
new ribbon for your neck, my dear, sweet child, or a bouquet of roses to
cheer your little bedroom."
Isoline felt hope rising within her at the words of her father, and shut
her eyes not to be reminded of the horrible reality by the sight of the
hideous stone mask and of the instruments of punishment. The maid hid
her face on the breast of her father and murmured with emotion: "Oh, if
only your words would prove true! If we only could quit this castle! So
far from regretting our lost riches, I would thank God for affording me
the opportunity of working for my venerated father!"
"Damosel Isoline, I shall know how to provide," gayly replied Bezenecq.
"Moreover, who knows, but I may soon find an assistant. Who knows but
that some worthy lad will demand you in marriage, falling in love with
this charming face, when it shall have regained its rosy hue?," added
the merchant, tenderly embracing his daughter.
"Father!" screamed Isoline, pointing with a gesture of dread toward the
wall where the hideous stone mask was sculptured, and whose eyes seemed
lighted from within. "Look, look at those flashes of light that escape
from it! Some one has been spying upon us!"
The merchant quickly turned his head in the direction of the wall
indicated by Isoline and to which he had given his back up to that
instant. But the light had disappeared. Bezenecq took it for an
illusion, proceeding from the wrought-up spirit of Isoline, and
answered: "You must have deceived yourself. How do you expect the eyes
of that rude figure to flash light? It would require a candle in the
middle of the wall. Is that possible my child? Regain your senses!"
Suddenly the door of the cell opposite the mask was opened. Bezenecq the
Rich and his daughter saw the bailiff, Garin the Serf-eater, enter with
the scribe of the seigneur of Plouernel, and followed by several men of
sinister mien. One of these carried a forge-bellows and a bag of coal;
another bore several faggots. Isoline, for a moment reassured by her
father, but now recalled to reality by the approach of the gaolers,
uttered a scream of fright. In order to calm the agonies of his
daughter, Bezenecq rose and said to the bailiff in a firm voice, while
pointing to the scribe: "That, dear sir, is certainly the notary of the
seigneur of Plouernel?" Garin the Serf-eater nodded in the affirmative.
"This notary," continued the bourgeois of Nantes, "comes to obtain my
signature to the document by which I consent to pay ransom?" The bailiff
again nodded in the affirmative. Addressing himself then to his daughter
and affecting absolute calmness, almost cheerfulness: "Fear nothing,
dear child, I and these worthy men will soon agree, after which, I am
certain, we shall have nothing to fear from them and they will set us
free. Note, then, master scribe, I am ready, by means of an authentic
deed in favor of the seigneur of Plouernel, to give and cede to him all
my possessions, consisting of five thousand and three hundred silver
pieces, deposited with my friend Thibault, the silversmith and minter of
the Bishop of Nantes; secondly, eight hundred and sixty gold pieces and
nine bars of silver, deposited in my house in a secret closet that I
shall indicate to the person whom the seigneur count may commission to
go to Nantes; thirdly, a large quantity of silver vessels, precious
fabrics and furniture, which it will be easy to bring here by wagon,
upon the written order that I shall issue to my confidential servant.
There, finally, remains my house. Seeing it would not be quite
practicable, worthy masters, to transport that also, I shall write and
place in your hand a letter to my friend Thibault. Only two days before
my departure from Nantes he promised to buy my house for two hundred
pieces of gold. He will keep his promise, I am sure, especially when he
learns of the tight place that I now find myself in. Accordingly, that's
two hundred more gold pieces that, at my order, Thibault will have to
deliver to the envoy of the seigneur of Plouernel. These assignments
made, there remain to me and my daughter the clothes we have on. Now,
worthy scribe, draw up the assignment, I shall sign it, and I shall join
to it the letters to my servant and to my friend the silversmith. He
knows too well the fashion of these times to fail to acquiesce in my
wishes in the matter of the deposit that he has and of the purchase of
the house. He will deliver the sum to the messenger whom the seigneur
count is to dispatch to Nantes. As to the money in the secret closet of
my house, it will be easy to find it with the help of this key and the
directions that I shall dictate to the scribe----"
"The notary will first have to draw up the assignment, then, you shall
write the letters to your friend," broke in Garin. "The directions for
the secret closet will follow. Now hurry up."
"You are right, worthy bailiff," replied the bourgeois of Nantes with
eagerness, fully at ease by the tone of Garin; and, leaning towards his
daughter, who was seated on the edge of the bed, he said to her in an
undertone: "Was I not right, my dear bundle of fears, in assuring you
that, by a complete surrender of all my goods, these worthy masters
would abstain from harming us?" Again embracing Isoline, whose fears
began to make room for hope, and wiping with the back of his hand the
tears that, despite himself, he was shedding, he turned to Garin:
"Excuse me, bailiff, you would understand my emotion if you knew the
foolish fears of this child. But what else can we expect! At her age,
having until now lived happily at my side, she is easily alarmed----"
"First item: Five thousand and three hundred silver pieces deposited
with the silversmith Thibault," recited the scribe, interrupting
Bezenecq with his harsh voice; and, taking his seat on the edge of the
gridiron, he wrote, on his knees for a desk, by the light of one of the
lanterns. "Next and secondly," he pursued, "how many pieces of gold are
there in the secret treasure of the Nantes house?"
"Eight hundred and sixty pieces of gold," Bezenecq hastened to answer,
as if in a hurry to disengage himself of his riches; "and also nine bars
of silver of different thicknesses." And, thus proceeding to enumerate
his goods to the scribe, who entered them apace, the merchant pressed
the hands of his daughter in an intoxication of pleasure to add to her
confidence and courage.
"And now, Bezenecq the Rich," said Garin, "we shall want the two
letters to your confidential servant and your friend Thibault the
Silversmith."
"Kind scribe," answered the merchant, "lend me your tablet, give me two
parchment sheets and a pen, I shall write yonder on my daughter's
knees," and, suiting the act to the words, he placed himself at
Isoline's knees, where he lay the notary's tablet, and wrote the
letters, occasionally addressing the poor child with a smile: "Do not
shake my table that way; you will have these worthy gentlemen form a
poor opinion of my handwriting." The two letters finished, the merchant
passed them over to Garin, who, after reading them, said:
"Now, we want the directions for the secret treasure, without which the
assignment may not be effective."
"Here are two keys," said the merchant, drawing them from his pocket.
"The one opens the door of a little vault which connects with the room
that serves as my office----"
"In the room that serves as office," repeated the scribe, writing while
he repeated the words of the merchant. The latter proceeded: "The other
key opens an iron-bound box back of the vault. In that box will be found
the bars of silver and a casket containing the eight hundred and sixty
gold pieces. I own not another denier. And here, worthy masters, you
have me and my daughter as poor as the poorest serf. I have not wronged
the seigneur of Plouernel a single obole. But, for all that, we shall
not lose courage!"
While the scribe finished transcribing the directions of Bezenecq, the
latter, occupied only with his daughter, did not notice, any more than
she, what was going on a few steps off in that cell, so feebly lighted
by the lanterns, seeing that night had already fallen. One of the
gaolers commenced heaping the coals and fagots under the gridiron.
"The seigneur of Plouernel may send his messenger to Nantes with an
escort," Bezenecq observed to Garin the Serf-eater. "If the messenger is
quick he can be back to-morrow night. We shall surely, my daughter and
I, be set at liberty when the seigneur count will be in possession of my
property. Only, while waiting for the hour of our departure from the
castle, be generous enough, bailiff, to have us taken to some other
place, whatever it be, only less depressing than this. My daughter is
broken down with fatigue; moreover, she is very timid. She would spend a
sad night in this cell, surrounded by instruments of torture."
"Now that you mention these engines of punishment," said Garin the
Serf-eater, with a strange smile, and taking the hand of the bourgeois,
"come, Bezenecq the Rich, I wish to explain their use to you, especially
their mechanism."
"I am not inquisitive to learn the details."
"Draw near to us, Bezenecq the Rich."
"That surname of 'Rich' that you insist in applying to me, is no longer
mine," said the merchant with a sad smile; "rather call me Bezenecq the
Poor."
"Oh," exclaimed Garin, as if in doubt and shrugging his shoulders. He
then added: "Come on, Bezenecq the Rich!"
"Father!" cried out Isoline, uneasy, seeing her father stepping away
from her. "Where are you going? Father, father, stay with me!"
"There is nothing to fear, dear child. Stay where you are. I am to give
the bailiff certain directions as to the route that the messenger of the
seigneur count will have to take." And, fearing to displease Garin, he
followed him, happy at the thought that Isoline could not hear the
explanations he was to receive from the Serf-eater. The latter stopped
first before the iron gibbet that terminated in a carcan. One of the
gaolers having raised the lantern at the order of Garin, he said to the
merchant: "As you see, that carcan opens at will. You may guess its
object."
"Yes. The neck of the patient being inserted in it, the poor fellow
remains fast!"
"Just so. He is made to climb the ladder you see here. Then, as his neck
is in the carcan, all you have to do is to close the collar with a latch
and remove the ladder. The gibbet being raised nine or ten feet above
the floor, you may imagine the rest."
"The patient remains hanged and strangled?"
"Not at all! He remains suspended, but not hanged. The carcan is too
wide to strangle. Then, while our man is thus kicking in the air an
equal distance between the ceiling and the floor, this large stone is
fastened to his feet by means of these straps to moderate his kicking
and induce him to keep quiet."
"That strain must be terrible."
"Terrible, Bezenecq the Rich, terrible! Just think of it! The jaws are
dislocated, the neck is stretched, the jointures of the knees and hip
crack fit to be heard ten paces off. And yet,--would you believe
it?--there are people of such a stubborn make-up that they do not yield
to this first trial?"
"What I do not understand," answered the merchant, suppressing his
horror, "is that, instead of exposing themselves to this torture, they
do not forthwith and loyally surrender all they own, as I have done.
One, at least, escapes physical suffering and regains his freedom. Not
so, worthy bailiff?"
"Bezenecq the Rich, you are the pearl of townsmen. It is evident that
you are of extraordinary sagacity."
"You flatter me. I merely put myself through a very simple process of
reasoning," rejoined the merchant, endeavoring to capture the good will
of Garin. "I reasoned thus with my daughter: Suppose my whole fortune
were placed on board a vessel; it goes down; I lose all my wealth; I
find myself in the same position that I am in to-day: but so far from
allowing myself to be discouraged, I start to work anew with fresh vigor
to sustain my child. Is not that the better choice, worthy bailiff?
Would you not do likewise?"
"You never will be reduced to that, Bezenecq the Rich. You have
inexhaustible resources."
"You love to banter; you love to give me that surname of 'Rich,' to me,
now no less poor than Job."
"No, no; I do not banter. But let's return to the torture. I was saying
that if the first trial failed to convince a stubborn fellow to give up
his goods, he is then put through the second torture, which I shall now
explain," and Garin, keeping the hand of the merchant, conducted him to
the iron prong. "You see this prong? It is of well-beaten metal, strong
enough to hold the weight of an ox."
"I readily believe it. That hook is, indeed, of large dimensions----"
"Our stubborn guest having resisted the trial of the carcan, he is
hooked naked on this prong, either by the flesh of the back, or by the
skin of his bowels, or by any other and more sensitive part of the
body."
"Speak not so loud," implored the merchant, hardly able to restrain his
indignation and horror, "my daughter might overhear you."
"You are right," answered the bailiff, with a sardonic smile; "your
daughter's blushes must be spared. Well, now Bezenecq the Rich, think of
it. I have seen stubborn fellows remain suspended from that hook by the
skin for a whole hour, bleeding like a cow in the shambles, and still
refuse to relinquish their goods! But they never resist the third trial,
with which I am now about to entertain you, Bezenecq the Rich. Give me
your ear, the description will interest you."
"Strange!" suddenly exclaimed the merchant, interrupting Garin the
Serf-eater. "I smell smoke. Whence does the smell proceed?"
"Father, there is a fire!" cried out Isoline, horrified. "They are
making a fire under the iron bars!"
The bourgeois of Nantes turned around sharply and saw the heaped-up
combustibles under the gridiron beginning to take fire. Several tongues
of flame lighted with their ruddy glow the black walls of the cell,
while forcing themselves through thick columns of smoke. A frightful
suspicion flashed through the mind of the merchant, but he dared not
even allow his thoughts to dwell upon them; and, wishing to comfort his
daughter, said to her: "Be not afraid, you dear bundle of fears, that
fire is built to drive off the chill in this cell; we may have to spend
the night here. I was thanking the worthy bailiff for his
thoughtfulness." But immediately upon this answer, uttered only in order
to reassure his daughter, the merchant, shivering, despite himself with
fear, turned to Garin: "Speaking truly, why is that fire made under the
gridiron?"
"Merely to give you an idea of the omnipotence of this last test,
Bezenecq the Rich. I now commence the description."
"It is superfluous. I take your word for it."
"A fire is built under the gridiron, as they are doing now; when the
fire has ceased to shoot up flames, a necessary precaution, and consists
of a bed of live coals, the recalcitrant patient is stretched naked upon
the gridiron, and he is kept there with the aid of those rings and iron
chains. At the end of a few instants the skin of the patient, red and
shriveling, rips up, bleeds, then turns black. I have seen the hot coals
patter with fat that, clotted with blood, dripped from the body of men
even less fat than you, Bezenecq the Rich."
"Hold on, bailiff! I must confess to you my heart fails me, my head
reels at the mere thought of such infliction," said the bourgeois of
Nantes, shivering from head to foot. "I am ready to faint. Let me out of
this cell with my daughter. I have assigned to your master my whole
fortune. You have taken everything----"
"Come, come, Bezenecq the Rich," broke in the bailiff, "a man who
empties himself as easily as you did at the first word, and without
having suffered the least tortures, must have reserved other riches.
That's what we'll learn all about in a moment."
"I? I have reserved part of my fortune!" exclaimed the merchant, struck
almost speechless with amazement. "I have given you all, down to my last
piece."
"You observed, my wily friend, that despite the assignment of all the
property that you were credited with having, I continued to call you
Bezenecq the Rich. I feel certain you still merit the name. Come, now!
You must disgorge. Come, let's have the rest of your fortune."
"Upon the salvation of my soul, I have nothing left! I have given you
all I possess."
"May not the three tests draw from you some admission to the contrary?"
"What tests are you speaking of?"
"The tests of the carcan, of the hook and of the gridiron. Yes, if you
do not surrender to me the other property that you are hiding from us,
you will undergo the three tests under the very eyes of your daughter,"
and saying this, Garin the Serf-eater raised his voice in such a way
that Isoline, hearing his threats, darted through the gaolers and threw
herself distracted at the feet of the bailiff, crying: "Mercy! Mercy
upon my father! Have pity upon us!"
"Mercy depends upon him," said Garin, imperturbably. "Let him surrender
to our seigneur what he still holds in reserve."
"Father!" cried out the young girl, "I know not what the extent of your
wealth is. But if, in your tenderness for me, you sought to reserve
aught to shelter me against poverty, I conjure you give it all! Oh, dear
father, surrender everything!"
"You hear!" resumed Garin the Serf-eater, smiling fiendishly upon the
couple, and seeing the demoralizing effect upon the merchant of the
imprudent words that terror had drawn from Isoline, "I am not the only
one to suspect you of hiding from us a part of your treasures, Bezenecq
the Rich. Like a good father you have sought to keep a fat dower for
your daughter. Come, now, you must give us the dower!"
"Garin," one of the gaolers approached to notify the bailiff, "the coals
are red hot. They may go out if you put the man through the trials of
the carcan and the hook."
"As a favor to this young girl I shall be generous," said Garin. "The
gridiron test will be enough, but stir the coals. And now answer,
Bezenecq the Rich. I ask you for the last time, yes or no, will you give
all you possess to my seigneur, the Count of Plouernel, including your
daughter's dower?"
"It is my daughter whom I shall make the answer to," answered the
merchant, in a solemn voice. "Gaolers will not believe me;" and
addressing Isoline in a voice broken with tears: "I swear to you, my
child, by the sacred memory of your mother, by my tenderness for you, by
all the pleasures you have afforded me since your birth,--I swear to
you, by the salvation of my soul, I have not a denier left; I have
surrendered all to the Seigneur of Plouernel!"
"Oh, father, I believe you!" exclaimed the girl at his feet, and turning
to Garin, she extended her hands towards him in prayer: "You have heard
my father's oath; you may join mine to it."
"I hold Bezenecq the Rich incapable of leaving his daughter thus
penniless," retorted the bailiff. Turning then to the gaolers: "He will
now have to confess to us. Strip him, stretch him on the gridiron and
stir the coals. Let the brand flame up."
The men of the seigneur of Plouernel threw themselves upon Bezenecq the
Rich. Despite the resistance and the heart-rending, desperate cries of
his daughter, whom they brutally held back, they stripped the bourgeois
of Nantes, spread him upon the gridiron, and, by means of the iron
chains, fastened him over the burning coals. "Oh, my father!" exclaimed
Bezenecq, "I have disregarded your advice ... I now undergo the
punishment for my cowardice ... for my selfishness ... I die under the
torture for having been afraid to die arms in hand at the head of the
serfs in revolt against the Frankish seigneurs.... Triumph, Neroweg!
Yet, perchance, the terrible day of reprisals will come to the sons of
Joel!"