THE STOCK OF JOEL.
Yvon's calculations proved right. He had told Marceline that no more
opportune time could be chosen to obtain a favor from the Queen, so
happy was she at the death of Louis the Do-nothing and the expectation
of marrying Hugh the Capet. Thanks to the good-will of Adelaide, who
consented to the marriage of her maid, the bailiff of the domain also
granted his consent to Yvon after the latter, agreeable to the promise
he had made Marceline, returned _with his sanity_ from the chapel of the
hermitage of St. Eusebius. The serf's story was, that entering the
chapel in the evening, he saw by the light of the lamp in the sanctuary
a monstrous black snake coiled around the feet of the saint; that
suddenly enlightened by a ray from on high, he stoned and killed the
horrible dragon, which was nothing else than a demon, seeing that no
trace of the monster was left; and that, in recompense for his timely
assistance, St. Eusebius miraculously returned his reason to him. In
glorification of the miracle that was thus performed by St. Eusebius in
favor of the Calf, Yvon was at his own request appointed forester serf
over the canton of the Fountain of the Hinds, and the very morning after
his marriage to the golden-haired Marceline, he settled down with her in
one of the profound solitudes of the forest of Compiegne, where they
lived happily for many years.
As was to be expected, Marceline's curiosity, pricked on the double
score of the reasons that led Yvon to simulate idiocy for so many years,
and that took the Queen to the Fountain of the Hinds at the early hours
of the morning of May 2nd, instead of dying out, grew intenser. Yvon had
promised after marriage to satisfy her on both subjects. She was not
slow to remind him of the promise, nor he to satisfy her.
"My dear wife," said Yvon to Marceline the first morning that they awoke
in their new forest home, "What were the motives of my pretended
idiocy?--I was brought up by my father in the hatred of kings. My
grandfather Guyrion, slaughtered in a popular uprising, had taught my
father to read and write, so that he might continue the chronicle of our
family. He preserved the account left by his grandfather Eidiol, the
dean of the skippers of Paris, together with an iron arrow-head, the
emblem attached to the account. We do not know whatever became of the
branch of our family that lived in Britanny near the sacred stones of
Karnak. It has the previous chronicles and relics that our ancestors
recorded and gathered from generation to generation since the days of
Joel, at the time of the Roman invasion of Gaul by Julius Caesar. My
grandfather and my father wrote nothing on their obscure lives. But in
the profound solitude where we lived, of an evening, after a day spent
hunting or in the field, my father would narrate to me what my
grandfather Guyrion had told him concerning the adventures of the
descendants of Joel. Guyrion received these traditions from Eidiol, who
received them from his grandfather, a resident of Britanny, before the
separation of the grandchildren of Vortigern. I was barely eighteen
years old when my father died. He made me promise him to record the
experience of my life should I witness any important event. To that end
he handed me the scroll of parchment written by Eidiol and the iron
arrow-head taken from the wound of Paelo, the pirate. I carefully put
these cherished mementos of the past in the pocket of my hose. That
evening I closed my father's eyes. Early next morning I dug his grave
near his hut and buried him. His bow, his arrows, a few articles of
dress, his pallet, his trunk, his porridge-pot--everything was a fixture
of and belonged to the royal domain. The serf can own nothing.
Nevertheless I cogitated how to take possession of the bow, arrows and a
bag of chestnuts that was left, determined to roam over the woods in
freedom, when a singular accident upturned my projects. I had lain down
upon the grass in the thick of a copse near our hut, when suddenly I
heard the steps of two riders and saw that they were men of
distinguished appearance. They were promenading in the forest. They
alighted from their richly caparisoned horses, held them by the bridle,
and walked slowly. One of them said to the other:
'King Lothaire was poisoned last year by his wife Imma and her lover,
the archbishop of Laon ... but there is Louis left, Lothaire's son ...
Louis the Do-nothing.'
'And if this Louis were to die, would his uncle, the Duke of Lorraine,
to whom the crown would then revert by right, venture to dispute the
crown of France from me ... from me, Hugh, the Count of Paris?'
'No, seigneur; he would not. But it is barely six months since
Lothaire's death. It would require a singular chain of accidents for his
son to follow him so closely to the tomb.'
'The ways of Providence are impenetrable.... Next spring, Louis will
come with the Queen to Compiegne, and--'
"I could not hear the end of the conversation, the cavaliers were
walking away from me as they spoke. The words that I caught gave me
matter for reflection. I recalled some of the stories that my father
told me, that of Amael among others, one of our ancestors, who declined
the office of jailor of the last scion of Clovis. I said to myself that
perhaps I, a descendant of Joel, might now witness the death of the last
of the kings of the house of Charles the Great. The thought so took hold
of me that it caused me to give up my first plan. Instead of roaming
over the woods, I went the next morning to my grandmother. I had never
before stepped out of the forest where I lived in complete seclusion
with my father. I was taciturn by nature, and wild. Upon arriving at the
castle in quest of my grandmother, I met by accident a company of
Frankish soldiers who had been exercising. For pastime they began to
make sport of me. My hatred of their race, coupled with my astonishment
at finding myself for the first time in my life among such a big crowd,
made me dumb. The soldiers took my savage silence for stupidity, and
they cried in chorus: 'He is a calf!' Thus they carried me along with
them amidst wild yells and jeers, and not a few blows bestowed upon me!
I cared little whether I was taken for an idiot or not, and considering
that nobody minds an idiot, I began in all earnest to play the role,
hoping that, thanks to my seeming stupidity, I might succeed in
penetrating into the castle without arousing suspicion. My poor
grandmother believed me devoid of reason, the retainers at the castle,
the courtiers, and later the King himself amused themselves with the
imbecility of Yvon the Calf. And so one day, after having been an unseen
witness to the interview of Hugh the Capet with Blanche near the
Fountain of the Hinds, I saw the degenerate descendant of Charles the
Great expire under my very eyes; I saw extinguished in Louis the
Do-nothing the second royal dynasty of France."
Marceline followed Yvon closely with her hands in his, and kissed him,
thinking the recital over.
"But I have a confession to make to you," Yvon resumed. "Profiting by
the facility I enjoyed in entering the castle, I committed a theft.... I
one day snatched away a roll of skins that had been prepared to write
upon. Never having owned one denier, it would have been impossible for
me to purchase so expensive an article as parchment. As to pens and
fluid, the feathers that I pluck from eagles and crows, and the black
juice of the trivet-berry will serve me to record the events of my life,
the past and recent part of which is monumental, and whose next and
approaching part promises to be no less so."
PART II.
THE END OF THE WORLD.
CHAPTER I.
THE APOCALYPTIC FRENZY.
Two months after the poisoning of Louis the Do-nothing in 987, Hugh the
Capet, Count of Paris and Anjou, Duke of Isle-de-France, and Abbot of
St. Martin of Tours and St. Germain-des-Pres, had himself proclaimed
King by his bands of warriors, and was promptly consecrated by the
Church. By his ascension to the throne, Hugh usurped the crown of
Charles, Duke of Lorraine, the uncle of Blanche's deceased husband.
Hugh's usurpation led to bloody civil strifes between the Duke of
Lorraine and Hugh the Capet. The latter died in 996 leaving as his
successor his son Rothbert, an imbecile and pious prince. Rothbert's
long reign was disturbed by the furious feuds among the seigneurs;
counts, dukes, abbots and bishops, entrenched in their fortified
castles, desolated the country with their brigandage. Rothbert, Hugh's
son, died in 1031 and was succeeded by his son Henry I. His advent to
the throne was the signal for fresh civil strife, caused by his own
brother, who was incited thereto by his mother. Another Rothbert,
surnamed the Devil, Duke of Normandy, a descendant of old Rolf the
pirate, took a hand in these strifes and made himself master of Gisors,
Chaumont and Pontoise. It was under the reign of Hugh the Capet's
grandson, Henry I, that the year 1033 arrived, and with it unheard-of,
even incredible events--a spectacle without its equal until then--which
was the culmination of the prevalent myth regarding the end of the world
with the year 1000.
The Church had fixed the last day of the year 1000 as the final term for
the world's existence. Thanks to the deception, the clergy came into
possession of the property of a large number of seigneurs. During the
last months of that year an immense saturnalia was on foot. The wildest
passions, the most insensate, the drollest and the most atrocious acts
seemed then unchained.
"The end of the world approaches!" exclaimed the clergy. "Did not St.
John the Divine prophesy it in the Apocalypse saying: '_When the
thousand years are expired, Satan will be loosed out of his prison, and
shall go out to deceive the nations which are in the four quarters of
the earth; the book of life will be opened; the sea will give up the
dead which were in it; death and hell will deliver up the dead which
were in them; they will be judged every man according to his works; they
will be judged by Him who is seated upon a brilliant throne, and there
will be a new heaven and a new earth._'--Tremble, ye peoples!" the
clergy repeated everywhere, "the one thousand years, announced by St.
John, will run out with the end of this year! Satan, the anti-Christ is
to arrive! Tremble! The trumpet of the day of judgment is about to
sound; the dead are about to arise from their tombs; in the midst of
thunder and lightning, and surrounded by archangels carrying flaming
swords, the Eternal is about to pass judgment upon us all! Tremble, ye
mighty ones of the earth: in order to conjure away the implacable anger
of the All-Mighty, give your goods to the Church! It is still time! It
is still time! Give your goods and your treasures to the priests of the
Lord! Give all you possess to the Church!"
The seigneurs, themselves no less brutified than their serfs by
ignorance and by the fear of the devil, and hoping to be able to conjure
away the vengeance of the Eternal, assigned to the clergy by means of
authentic documents, executed in all the forms of terrestrial law,
lands, houses, castles, serfs, their harems, their herds of cattle,
their valuable plate, their rich armors, their pictures, their statues,
their sumptuous robes.
Some of the shrewder ones said: "We have barely a year, a month, a week
to live! We are full of youth, of desires, of ardor! Let us put the
short period to profit! Let us stave-in our wine casks, let us indulge
ourselves freely in wine and women!"
"The end of the world is approaching!" exclaimed with delirious joy
millions of serfs of the domains of the King, of the lay and of the
ecclesiastical seigneurs. "Our poor bodies, broken with toil, will at
last take rest in the eternal night that is to emancipate us. A blessing
on the end of the world! It is the end of our miseries and our
sufferings!"
And those poor serfs, having nothing to spend and nothing to assign
away, sought to anticipate the expected eternal repose. The larger
number dropped their plows, their hoes and their spades so soon as
autumn set in. "What is the use," said they, "of cultivating a field
that, long before harvest time, will have been swallowed up in chaos?"
As a consequence of this universal panic, the last days of the year 999
presented a spectacle never before seen; it was even fabulous!
Light-headed indulgence and groans; peals of laughter and lamentations;
maudlin songs and death dirges. Here the shouts and the frantic dances
of supposed last and supreme orgies; yonder the lamentations of pious
canticles. And finally, floating above this vast mass of terror, rose
the formidable popular curiosity to see the spectacle of the destruction
of the world. It came at last, that day said to have been prophesied by
St. John the Divine! The last hour arrived, the last minute of that
fated year of 999! "Tremble, ye sinners!" the warning redoubled;
"tremble, ye peoples of the earth! the terrible moment foretold in the
holy books is here!" One more second, one more instant, midnight
sounds--and the year 1000 begins.
In the expectation of that fatal instant, the most hardened hearts, the
souls most certain of salvation, the dullest and also the most
rebellious minds experienced a sensation that never had and never will
have a name in any language--
Midnight sounded!... The solemn hour.... Midnight!
The year 1000 began!
Oh, wonder and surprise!... The dead did not leave their tombs, the
bowels of the earth did not open, the waters of the ocean remained
within their basins, the stars of heaven were not hurled out of their
orbits and were not striking against one another in space. Aye, there
was not even a tame flash of lightning! No thunder rolled! No trace of
the cloud of fire in the midst of which the Eternal was to appear.
Jehovah remained invisible. Not one of the frightful prodigies foretold
by St. John the Divine for midnight of the year 1000 was verified. The
night was calm and serene; the moon and stars shone brilliantly in the
azure sky, not a breath of wind agitated the tops of the trees, and the
people, in the silence of their stupor, could hear the slightest ripple
of the mountain streams gliding under the grass. Dawn came ... and day
... and the sun poured upon creation the torrents of its light! As to
miracles, not a trace of any!
Impossible to describe the revulsion of feeling at the universal
disappointment. It was an explosion of regret, of remorse, of
astonishment, of recrimination and of rage. The devout people who
believed themselves cheated out of a Paradise that they had paid for to
the Church in advance with hard cash and other property; others, who had
squandered their treasures, contemplated their ruin with trembling. The
millions of serfs who had relied upon slumbering in the restfulness of
an eternal night saw rising anew before their eyes the ghastly dawn of
that long day of misery and sufferings, of which their birth was the
morning and only their death the evening. It now began to be realized
that, left uncultivated in the expectation of the end of the world, the
land would not furnish sustenance to the people, and the horrors of
famine were foreseen. A towering clamor rose against the clergy; the
clergy, however, knew how to bring public opinion back to its side. It
did so by a new and fraudulent set of prophecies.
"Oh, these wretched people of little faith," thus now ran the amended
prophecy and invocation; "they dare to doubt the word of the
All-powerful who spoke to them through the voice of His prophet! Oh,
these wretched blind people, who close their eyes to divine light! The
prophets have announced the end of time; the Holy Writ foretold that the
day of the last judgment would come a thousand years after the Saviour
of the world!... But although Christ was born a thousand years before
the year 1000, he did not reveal himself as God until his death, that is
thirty-two years after his birth. Accordingly it will be in the year
1032 that the end of time will come!"
Such was the general state of besottedness that many of the faithful
blissfully accepted the new prediction. Several seigneurs, however,
rushed at the "men of God" to take back by force the property they had
bequeathed to them. The "men of God," however, well entrenched behind
fortified walls, defended themselves stoutly against the dispossessed
claimants. Hence a series of bloody wars between the scheming bishops,
on the one hand, and the despoiled seigneurs, on the other, to which
disasters were now superadded the religious massacres instigated by the
clergy. The Church had urged Clovis centuries ago to the extermination
of the then Arian heretics; now the Church preached the extermination of
the Orleans Manichaeans and the Jews. A conception of these abominable
excesses may be gathered from the following passages in the account left
by Raoul Glaber, a monk and eye-witness. He wrote:
"A short time after the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem in the
year 1010, it was learned from unquestionable sources that the calamity
had to be charged to the perverseness of Jews of all countries. When the
secret leaked out throughout the world, the Christians decided with a
common accord that they would expel all the Jews, down to the last, from
their territories and towns. The Jews thereby became the objects of
universal execration. Some were chased from the towns, others massacred
with iron, or thrown into the rivers, or put to death in some other
manner. This drove many to voluntary death. And thus, after the just
vengeance wreaked upon them, there were but very few of them left in the
Roman Catholic world."
Accordingly, the wretched Jews of Gaul were persecuted and slaughtered
at the order of the clergy because the Saracens of Judea destroyed the
Temple of Jerusalem! As to the Manichaeans of Orleans, another passage
from the same chronicle expresses itself in these words:
"In 1017, the King and all his loyal subjects, seeing the folly of these
miserable heretics of Orleans, caused a large pyre to be lighted near
the town, in the hope that fear, produced by the sight, would overcome
their stubbornness; but seeing that they persisted, thirteen of them
were cast into the flames ... and all those that could not be convinced
to abandon their perverse ways met the same fate, whereupon the
venerable cult of the Catholic faith, having triumphed over the foolish
presumption of its enemies, shone with all the greater luster on earth."
What with the wars that the ecclesiastical seigneurs plunged Gaul into
in their efforts to retain possession of the property of the lay
seigneurs whom they had despoiled by the jugglery of the "End of the
World," and what with these religious persecutions, Gaul continued to be
desolated down to the year 1033, the new term that had been fixed for
the last day of judgment. The belief in the approaching dissolution of
the world, which the clergy now again zealously preached, although not
so universally entertained as that of the year 1000, was accompanied
with results that were no less horrible. In 999, the expectation of the
end of the world had put a stop to work; all the fields except those
belonging to the ecclesiastical seigneurs, lay fallow. The formidable
famine of the year 1000 was then the immediate result, and that was
followed by a wide-spread mortality. Agriculture pined for laborers;
every successive scarcity engendered an increased mortality; Gaul was
being rapidly depopulated; famine set in almost in permanence during
thirty years in succession, the more disastrous periods being those of
the years 1003, 1008, 1010, 1014, 1027, 1029 and 1031; finally the
famine of 1033 surpassed all previous ones in its murderous effects. The
serfs, the villeins and the town plebs were almost alone the victims of
the scourge. The little that they produced met the needs of their
masters--the seigneurs, counts, dukes, bishops or abbots; the producers
themselves, however, expired under the tortures of starvation. The
corpses of the wretches who died of inanition strewed the fields, roads
and highways; the decomposing bodies poisoned the air, engendered
illnesses and even pestilential epidemics until then unknown; the
population was decimated. Within thirty-three years, Gaul lost more than
one-half its inhabitants--the new-born babies died vainly pressing their
mother's breasts for nourishment.
CHAPTER II.
YVON THE FORESTER'S HUT.
Yvon--now no longer the Calf, but the Forester, since his appointment
over the canton of the Fountain of the Hinds--and his family did not
escape the scourge.
About five years before the famine of 1033, his beloved wife Marceline
died. He still inhabited his hut, now shared with him by his son
Den-Brao and the latter's wife Gervaise, together with their three
children, of whom the eldest, Nominoe, was nine, the second, Julyan,
seven, and the youngest, Jeannette, two years of age. Den-Brao, a serf
like his father, was since his youth employed in a neighboring stone
quarry. A natural taste for masonry developed itself in the lad. During
his hours of leisure he loved to carve in certain not over hard stones
the outlines of houses and cottages, the structure of which attracted
the attention of the master mason of Compiegne. Observing Den-Brao's
aptitude, the artisan taught him to hew stone, and soon confided to him
the plans of buildings and the overseership in the construction of
several fortified donjons that King Henry I ordered to be erected on the
borders of his domains in Compiegne. Den-Brao, being of a mild and
industrious disposition and resigned to servitude, had a passionate love
for his trade. Often Yvon would say to him:
"My child, these redoubtable donjons, whose plans you are sketching and
which you build with so much care, either serve now or will serve some
day to oppress our people. The bones of our oppressed and martyrized
brothers will rot in these subterraneous cells reared above one another
with such an infernal art!"
"Alack! You are right, father," Den-Brao would at such times answer,
"but if not I, some others will build them ... my refusal to obey my
master's orders would have no other consequence than to bring upon my
head a beating, if not mutilation and even death."
Gervaise, Den-Brao's wife, an industrious housekeeper, adored her three
children, all of whom, in turn, clung affectionately to Yvon.
The hut occupied by Yvon and his family lay in one of the most secluded
parts of the forest. Until the year 1033, they had suffered less than
other serf families from the devastations of the recurring famine.
Occasionally Yvon brought down a stag or doe. The meat was smoked, and
the provision thus laid by kept the family from want. With the beginning
of the year 1033, however, one of the epidemics that often afflict the
beasts of the fields attacked the wild animals of the forest of
Compiegne. They grew thin, lost their strength, and their flesh that
speedily decomposed, dropped from their bones. In default of venison,
the family was reduced towards the end of autumn to wild roots and dried
berries. They also ate up the snakes that they caught and that,
fattened, crawled into their holes for the winter. As hunger pressed,
Yvon killed and ate his hunting dog that he had named Deber-Trud in
memory of the war-dog of his ancestor Joel. Subsequently the family was
thrown upon the juice of barks, and then upon the broth of dried leaves.
But the nourishment of dead leaves soon became unbearable, and likewise
did the sap-wood, or second rind of young trees, such as elders and
aspen trees, which they beat to a pulp between stones, have to be given
up. At the time of the two previous famines, some wretched people were
said to have supported themselves with a kind of fattish clay. Not far
from Yvon's hut was a vein of such clay. Towards the end of December,
Yvon went out for some of it. It was a greenish earth of fine paste,
soft but heavy, and of insipid taste. The family thought themselves
saved. All its members devoured the first meal of the clay. But on the
morrow their contracted stomachs refused the nourishment that was as
heavy as lead.
CHAPTER III.
ON THE BUCK'S TRACK.
Thirty-six hours of fast had followed upon the meal of clay in Yvon's
hut. Hunger gnawed again at the family's entrails.
During these thirty-six hours a heavy snow had fallen. Yvon went out.
His family was starving within. He had death on his soul. He went
towards the nets that he had spread in the hope of snaring some bird of
passage during the snow storm. His expectations were deceived. A little
distance from the nets lay the Fountain of the Hinds, now frozen hard.
Snow covered its borders. Yvon perceived the imprint of a buck's feet.
The size of the imprint on the snow announced the animal's bulk. Yvon
estimated its weight by the cracks in the ice on the stream that it had
just crossed, the ice being otherwise thick enough to support Yvon
himself. This was the first time in many months that the forester had
run across a buck's track. Could the animal, perhaps, have escaped the
general mortality of its kind? Did it come from some distant forest?
Yvon knew not, but he followed the fresh track with avidity. Yvon had
with him his bow and arrows. To reach the animal, kill it and smoke its
flesh meant the saving of the lives of his family, now on the verge of
starvation. It meant their life for at least a month. Hope revivified
the forester's energies; he pursued the buck; the regular impress of its
steps showed that the animal was quietly following one of the beaten
paths of the forest; moreover its track lay so clearly upon the snow
that he could not have crossed the stream more than an hour before, else
the edges of the imprint that he left behind him would have been less
sharp and would have been rounded by the temperature of the air.
Following its tracks, Yvon confidently expected to catch sight of the
buck within an hour and bring the animal down. In the ardor of the
chase, the forester forgot his hunger. He had been on the march about
an hour when suddenly in the midst of the profound silence that reigned
in the forest, the wind brought a confused noise to his ears. It sounded
like the distant bellowing of a stag. The circumstance was
extraordinary. As a rule the beasts of the woods do not cry out except
at night. Thinking he might have been mistaken, Yvon put his ear to the
ground.... There was no more room for doubt. The buck was bellowing at
about a thousand yards from where Yvon stood. Fortunately a turn of the
path concealed the hunter from the game. These wild animals frequently
turn back to see behind them and listen. Instead of following the path
beyond the turning that concealed him, Yvon entered the copse expecting
to make a short cut, head off the buck, whose gait was slow, hide behind
the bushes that bordered the path, and shoot the animal when it hove in
sight.
The sky was overcast; the wind was rising; with deep concern Yvon
noticed several snow flakes floating down. Should the snow fall heavily
before the buck was shot, the animal's tracks would be covered, and if
opportunity failed to dart an arrow at it from the forester's ambuscade,
he could not then expect to be able to trace the buck any further.
Yvon's fears proved correct. The wind soon changed into a howling storm
surcharged with thick snow. The forester quitted the thicket and struck
for the path beyond the turning and at about a hundred paces from the
clearing. The buck was nowhere to be seen. The animal had probably
caught wind of its pursuer and jumped for safety into the thicket that
bordered the path. It was impossible to determine the direction that it
had taken. Its tracks vanished under the falling snow, that lay in ever
thicker layers.
A prey to insane rage, Yvon threw himself upon the ground and rolled in
the snow uttering furious cries. His hunger, recently forgotten in the
ardor of the hunt, tore at his entrails. He bit one of his arms and the
pain thus felt recalled him to his senses. Almost delirious, he rose
with the fixed intent of retracing the buck, killing the animal,
spreading himself beside its carcass, devouring it raw, and not rising
again so long as a shred of meat remained on its bones. At that moment,
Yvon would have defended his prey with his knife against even his own
son. Possessed by the fixed and delirious idea of retracing the buck,
Yvon went hither and thither at hap-hazard, not knowing in what
direction he walked. He beat about a long time, and night began to
approach, when a strange incident came to his aid and dissipated his
mental aberration.
CHAPTER IV.
GREGORY THE HOLLOW-BELLIED.
Driven by the gale, the snow continued to fall, when suddenly Yvon's
nostrils were struck by the exhalations emitted by frying meat. The odor
chimed in with the devouring appetite that was troubling his senses, and
at least bestowed back upon him the instinct of seeking to satisfy his
hunger. He stood still, whiffed the air hither and thither like a wolf
that from afar scents carrion, and looked about in order to ascertain by
the last glimmerings of the daylight where he was. Yvon was at the
crossing of a path in the forest that led from the little village of
Ormesson. The road ran before a tavern where travelers usually put up
for the night. It was kept by a serf of the abbey of St. Maximim named
Gregory, and surnamed the Hollow-bellied, because, according to him,
nothing could satisfy his insatiable appetite. An otherwise kind-hearted
and cheerful man, the serf often, before these distressful times, and
when Yvon carried his tithe of game to the castle, had accommodatedly
offered him a pot of hydromel. A prey now to the lashings of hunger and
exasperated by the odor of fried meat which escaped from the tavern,
Yvon carefully approached the closed door. In order to allow the smoke
to escape, Gregory had thrown the window half open without fear of being
seen. By the light of a large fire that burned in the hearth, Yvon saw
Gregory seated on a stool placidly surveying the broiling of a large
piece of meat whose odor had so violently assailed the nostrils of the
famishing forester.
To Yvon's great surprise, the tavern-keeper's appearance had greatly
changed. He was no longer the lean and wiry fellow of before. Now his
girth was broad, his cheeks were full, wore a thick black beard and
tinkled with the warm color of life and health. Within reach of the
tavern-keeper lay a cutlass, a pike and an ax--all red with blood. At
his feet an enormous mastiff picked a bone well covered with meat. The
spectacle angered the forester. He and his family could have lived a
whole day upon the remnants left by the dog; moreover, how did the
tavern-keeper manage to procure so large a loin? Cattle had become so
dear that only the seigneurs and the ecclesiastics could afford to
purchase any; beef cost a hundred gold sous, sheep a hundred silver
sous! A sense of hate rose in Yvon's breast against Gregory whom he had
until then looked upon very much as a friend. The forester could not
take his eyes from the meat, thinking of the joy of his family if he
were to return home loaded with such a booty. For a moment Yvon was
tempted to knock at the door of the serf and demand a share, at least
the chunks thrown at the dog. But judging the tavern-keeper by himself,
and noticing, moreover, that the former was well armed, he reflected
that in days like those bread and meat were more precious than gold and
silver; to request Gregory the Hollow-bellied to yield a part of his
supper was folly; he would surely refuse, and if force was attempted he
would kill the intruder. These thoughts rapidly succeeded one another in
Yvon's troubled brain. To add to his dilemma, his presence was scented
by the mastiff who, at first, growled angrily without, however, dropping
his bone, and then began to bark.
At that moment Gregory was removing the meat from the spit. "What's the
matter, Fillot? Be brave, old boy! We shall defend our supper. You are
furnished with good strong jaws and fangs, I with weapons. Fear not. No
one will venture to enter. So be still, Fillot! Lie down and keep
quiet!" But so far from lying down and keeping quiet, the mastiff
dropped his bone, stood up, and approaching the window where Yvon stood,
barked louder still. "Oh, oh!" remarked the tavern-keeper depositing the
meat in a large wooden platter on the table. "Fillot drops a bone to
bark ... there must be someone outside." Yvon stepped quickly back, and
from the dark that concealed him he saw Gregory seize his pike, throw
the window wide open and leaning out call with a threatening voice: "Who
is there? If any one is in search of death, he can find it here." The
deed almost running ahead of the thought, Yvon raised his bow, adjusted
an arrow and, invisible to Gregory, thanks to the darkness without, took
straight aim at the tavern-keeper's breast. The arrow whizzed; Gregory
emitted a cry followed by a prolonged groan; his head and bust fell over
the window-sill, and his pike dropped on the snow-covered ground. Yvon
quickly seized the weapon. It was done none too soon. The furious
mastiff leaped out of the window over his dead master's shoulders and
made a bound at the forester. A thrust of the pike nailed the faithful
brute to the ground. Yvon had committed the murder with the ferocity of
a famished wolf. He appeased his hunger. The dizziness that had assailed
his head vanished, his reason returned, and he found himself alone in
the tavern with a still large piece of meat beside him,--more than half
of the original chunk.
Feeling as if he just woke from a dream, Yvon looked around and felt
frozen to the marrow. The light emitted by the hearth enabled him to see
distinctly among the bloody remnants near where the mastiff had been
gnawing his bone, a human hand and the trunk of a human arm. Horrified
as he was, Yvon approached the bleeding members.
There was no doubt. Before him lay the remains of a human body. The
surprising girth that Gregory the Hollow-bellied had suddenly developed
came to his mind. The mystery was explained. Nourished by human flesh,
the monster had been feeding on the travelers who stopped at his place.
The roast that had just been hungrily swallowed by Yvon proceeded from a
recent murder. The forester's hair stood on end; he dare not look
towards the table where still lay the remains of his cannibal supper. He
wondered how his mouth did not reject the food. But that first and
cultivated sense of horror being over, the forester could not but admit
to himself that the meat he had just gulped down differed little from
beef. The thought started a poignant reflection: "My son, his wife and
children are at this very hour undergoing the tortures of hunger; mine
has been satisfied by this food; however abominable it may be, I shall
carry off the rest; the same as I was at first ignorant of what it was
that I ate, my family shall not know the nature of the dish.... I shall
at least have saved them for a day!" The reasoning matured into
resolution.
As Yvon was about to quit the tavern with his load of human flesh, the
gale that had been howling without and now found entrance through the
window, violently threw open the door of a closet connecting with the
room he was in. The odor of a charnel house immediately assailed the
forester's nostrils. He ran to the hearth, picked up a flaming brand,
and looked into the closet. Its naked walls were bespattered with blood;
in a corner lay a heap of dried twigs and leaves used for kindling a
fire and from beneath them protruded a foot and part of a leg. Yvon
scattered the heap of kindling material with his feet ... they hid a
recently mutilated corpse. The penetrating smell obviously escaped from
a lower vault. Yvon noticed a trap door. Raising it, there rose so
putrid an odor that he staggered back; but driven despite himself to
carry his investigation to the end, he approached the flaming brand to
the opening and discovered below a cavern that was almost filled with
bones, heads and other human members, the bloody remnants of the
travelers whom Gregory the Hollow-bellied had lived upon. In order to
put an end to the horrible spectacle, Yvon hurled his flaming brand into
the mortuary cellar; it was immediately extinguished; for a moment the
forester remained in the dark; he then stepped back into the main room;
and overcoming a fresh assault of human scruple, darted out with the
remains of the roast in his bag, thinking only of his famishing family.
Without, the gale blew violently; its rage seemed to increase. The moon,
then at its fullest, cast enough light, despite the whirls of snow, to
guide Yvon's steps. He struck the road to the Fountain of the Hinds in
haste, moving with firm though rapid strides. The infernal food he had
just partaken of returned to him his pristine strength. About two
leagues from his hut, he stopped, struck with a sudden thought. The
mastiff he had killed was enormous, fleshy and fat. It could furnish his
family with food for at least three or four days. Why had he forgotten
to bring it along? Yvon turned back to the tavern, long though the road
was. As he approached the house of Gregory he noticed a great brilliancy
from afar and across the falling snow. The light proceeded from the door
and window of the tavern. Only two hours before when he left, the hearth
was extinct and the place dark. Could someone have gone in afterwards
and rekindled the fire? Yvon crept near the house hoping to carry off
the dog without attracting notice, but voices reached him saying:
"Friends, let us wait till the dog is well roasted."
"I'm hungry! Devilish hungry!"
"So am I ... but I have more patience than you, who would have eaten the
dainty raw.... Pheu! What a smell comes from that charnel room! And yet
the door and window are open!"
"Never mind the smell!... I'm hungry!"
"So, then, Master Gregory the Hollow-bellied slaughtered the travelers
to rob them, I suppose.... One of them must have been beforehand with
him and killed him.... But the devil take the tavern-keeper! His dog is
now roasted. Let's eat!"
"Let's eat!"
CHAPTER V.
THE DELIRIUM OF STARVATION.
Too old a man to think of contesting the spoils for which he had
returned to Gregory's tavern, Yvon hurried back home and reached his hut
towards midnight.
On entering, a torch of resinous wood, fastened near the wall by an iron
ring, lighted a heart-rending spectacle. Stretched out near the hearth
lay Den-Brao, his face covered by his mason's jacket; himself expiring
of inanition, he wished to escape the sight of the agony of his family.
His wife, Gervaise, so thin that the bones of her face could be counted,
was on her knees near a straw pallet where Julyan lay in convulsions.
Almost fainting, Gervaise struggled with her son who was alternately
crying with fury and with pain and in the frenzy of starvation sought to
apply its teeth to his own arms. Nominoe, the elder, lay flat on his
face, on the pallet with his brother. He would have been taken for dead
but for the tremor that from time to time ran over his frame still more
emaciated than his brother's. Finally Jeannette, about three years old,
murmured in her cradle with a dying voice: "Mother ... I am hungry.... I
am hungry!"
At the sound of Yvon's steps, Gervaise turned her head: "Father!" said
she in despair, "if you bring nothing with you, I shall kill my children
to shorten their agony ... and then myself!"
Yvon threw down his bow and took his bag from his shoulders. Gervaise
judged from its size and obvious weight that it was full. She wrenched
it from Yvon's hands with savage impatience, thrust her hand in it,
pulled out the chunk of roasted meat and raising it over her head to
show it to the whole family cried out in a quivering voice: "Meat!...
Oh, we shall not yet die! Den-Brao.... Children!... Meat!... Meat!" At
these words Den-Brao sat up precipitately; Nominoe, too feeble to rise,
turned on his pallet and stretched out his eager hands to his mother;
little Jeannette eagerly looked up from her cradle; while Julyan, whom
his mother was not now holding, neither heard nor saw aught but was
biting into his arms in the delirium of starvation, unnoticed by either
Yvon or any other member of the family. All eyes were fixed upon
Gervaise, who running to a table and taking a knife sliced off the meat
crying: "Meat!... Meat!"
"Give me!... Give me!" cried Den-Brao, stretching out his emaciated
arms, and he devoured in an instant the piece that he received.
"You next, Jeannette!" said Gervaise, throwing a slice to the little
girl who uttered a cry of joy, while her mother herself, yielding to the
cravings of starvation bit off mouthfuls from the slice that she reached
out to her oldest son, Nominoe, who, like the rest, pounced upon the
prey, and fell to eating in silent voracity. "And now, you, Julyan,"
continued Gervaise. The lad made no answer. His mother stooped down over
him: "Julyan, do not bite your arm! Here is meat, dear boy!" But his
elder brother, Nominoe, having swallowed up his own slice, brusquely
seized that which his mother was tendering to Julyan. Seeing that the
latter continued motionless, Gervaise insisted: "My child, take your arm
from your teeth!" But hardly had she pronounced these words than,
turning towards Yvon, she cried: "Come here, father.... His arm is icy
and rigid ... so rigid that I cannot withdraw it from his jaws."
Yvon rushed to the pallet where Julyan lay. The little boy had expired
in the convulsion of hunger, although less unfeebled than his brother
and sister. "Step aside," Yvon said to Gervaise; "step aside!" She
realized that Julyan was dead, obeyed Yvon's orders and went on to eat.
But her hunger being appeased, she approached her son's corpse and
sobbed aloud:
"My poor little Julyan!" she lamented. "Oh, my dear child! You died of
hunger!... A few minutes longer and you would have had something to eat
like the others ... at least for to-day!"
"Where did you get this roast, father?" asked Den-Brao.
"I found the tracks of a buck," answered Yvon dropping his eyes; "I
followed the animal but failed to come up to it. In that way I went as
far as the tavern of Gregory the Hollow-bellied. He was at supper.... I
shared his repast, and he gave me what you have just eaten."
"Such a gift! and in days of famine, father! in such days when only
seigneurs and the clergy do not suffer of hunger!"
"I made the tavern-keeper sympathize with our distress," Yvon answered
brusquely, and, in order to put an end to the subject he added: "I am
worn out with fatigue; I must rest," saying which he walked into the
contiguous room to stretch himself out on his couch, while his son and
daughter remained on their knees near the body of little Julyan. The
other two children fell asleep, still saying they were hungry. After a
long and troubled sleep, Yvon woke up. It was day. Gervaise and her
husband still knelt near Julyan. His brother and sister were saying:
"Mother, give us something to eat; we are hungry!"
"Later, dear little ones," answered the unhappy woman to console them;
"later you shall have something to eat."
Den-Brao raised his head and asked: "Where are you going, father?"
"I am going to dig the grave of my little grandson.... I wish to save
you the sad task."
"Dig ours also, father," Den-Brao replied with a dejected mien. "We
shall all die to-night. For a moment allayed, our hunger will rise more
violent than last night ... dig a wide grave for us all."
"Despair not, my children. It has stopped snowing. I may be able to find
again the traces of the buck."
Yvon picked up a spade with which to dig Julyan's grave near where the
boy's great-grandfather, Leduecq, lay buried. Near the place was a heap
of dead branches that had been gathered shortly before by the woodsmen
serfs to turn into coal. After the grave was dug, Yvon left his spade
near it and as the snow had ceased falling he started anew in pursuit of
the buck. It was in vain. Nowhere were the animal's tracks to be seen.
It grew night with the prospect of a long darkness, seeing the moon
would not rise until late. Yvon was reminded by the pangs of hunger,
that began to assail him, that in his hut the sufferings must have
returned. A spectacle, even more distressing than that of the previous
night now awaited him--the convulsive cries of starving children, the
moaning of their mother, the woe-begone looks and dejectment of his son
who lay on the floor awaiting death, and reproaching Yvon for having
prolonged his own and the sufferings of his family with their lives.
Such was the prostration of these wretched beings that, without turning
their heads to Yvon, or even addressing a single word to him, they let
him carry out the corpse of the deceased child.
An hour later Yvon re-entered his hut. It was pitch dark; the hearth was
cold. None had even the spirit to light a resin torch. Hollow and
spasmodic rattlings were heard from the throats of those within.
Suddenly Gervaise jumped up and groped her way in the dark towards Yvon
crying: "I smell roast meat ... just as last night ... we shall not
die!... Den-Brao, your father has brought some more meat!... Come,
children, come for your share.... A light quick!"
"No, no! We want no light!" Yvon cried in a tremulous voice. "Take!"
said he to Gervaise, who was tugging at the bag on his shoulders.
"Take!... Divide this venison among yourselves, and eat in the dark!"
The wretched family devoured the meat in the dark; their hunger and
feebleness did not allow them to ask what kind of meat it was. But Yvon
fled from the hut almost crazed with horror. Abomination! His family was
again feeding upon human flesh!
CHAPTER VI.
THE FLIGHT TO ANJOU.
Long, aimless, distracted, Yvon wandered about the forest. A severe
frost had succeeded the fall of snow that covered every inch of the
ground. The moon shone brilliantly in the crisp air. The forester felt
chilled; in despair he threw himself down at the foot of a tree,
determined there to await death.
The torpor of death by freezing was creeping upon the mind of the
heart-broken serf when, suddenly, the crackling of branches that
announce the passage of game fell upon his ears and revived him with the
promise of life. The animal could not be more than fifty paces away.
Unfortunately Yvon had left his bow and arrows in his hut. "It is the
buck! Oh, this time I shall kill him!" he murmured to himself. His
revived will-power now dominated the exhaustion of his forces, and it
was strong enough to cause him to lose no time in vain regrets at not
having his hunting arms with him, now when the prey would be certain.
The crackling of the branches drew nearer. Yvon found himself under a
clump of large and old oaks, a little distance away was the thick copse
through which the animal was then passing. He rose up and planted
himself motionless close to and along the trunk of the tree at the foot
of which he had thrown himself down. Covered by the tree's thickness and
the shadow that it threw, with his neck extended, his eyes and ears on
the alert, the serf took his long forester's knife between his teeth and
waited. After several minutes of mortal suspense--the buck might get the
wind of him or come from cover beyond his reach--Yvon heard the animal
approach, then stop an instant close behind the tree against which he
had glued his back. The tree concealed Yvon from the eyes of the animal,
but it also prevented him from seeing the prey that he breathlessly lay
in wait for. Presently, six feet from Yvon and to the right, he saw
plainly sketched upon the snow, that the light of the moon rendered
brilliant, the shape of the buck and the wide antlers that crowned his
head. Yvon stopped breathing and remained motionless so long as the
shadow stood still. A moment later the shadow began to steal towards
him, and with a prodigious bound Yvon rushed at and seized the animal by
the horns. The buck was large and struggled vigorously; but clambering
himself around the horns with his left arm, Yvon plunged his knife with
his right hand into the animal's throat. The buck rolled over him and
expired, while Yvon, with his mouth fastened to the wound, pumped up and
swallowed the blood that flowed in a thick stream.
The warm and healthy blood strengthened and revivified the serf.... He
had not eaten since the previous night.
Yvon rested a few moments; he then bound the hind legs of the buck with
a flexible twig and dragging his booty, not without considerable effort
by reason of its weight, he arrived with it at his hut near the Fountain
of the Hinds. His family was now for a long time protected from hunger.
The buck could not yield less than three hundred pounds of meat, which
carefully prepared and smoked after the fashion of foresters, could be
preserved for many months.
Two days after these two fateful nights, Yvon learned from a woodsman
serf, that one of his fellows, a forester of the woods of Compiegne like
himself, having discovered the next morning the body of Gregory the
Hollow-bellied pierced with an arrow that remained in the wound, and
having identified the weapon as Yvon's by the peculiar manner in which
it was feathered, had denounced him as the murderer. The bailiff of the
domain of Compiegne detested Yvon. Although the latter's crime delivered
the neighborhood of a monster who slaughtered the travelers in order to
gorge himself upon them, the bailiff ordered his arrest. Thus notified
in time, Yvon the Forester resolved to flee, leaving his son and family
behind. But Den-Brao as well as his wife insisted upon accompanying him
with their children.
The whole family decided to take the road and place their fate in the
hands of Providence. The smoked buck's meat would suffice to sustain
them through a long journey. They knew that whichever way they took,
serfdom awaited them. It was a change of serfdom for serfdom; but they
found consolation in the knowledge that the change from the horrors they
had undergone could not but improve their misery. The famine, although
general, was not, according to reports, equally severe everywhere.
The hut near the Fountain of the Hinds was, accordingly, abandoned.
Den-Brao and his wife carried the little Jeannette by turns on their
backs. The other child, Nominoe, being older, marched besides his
grandfather. They reached and crossed the borders of the royal domain,
and Yvon felt safe. A few days later the travelers learned from some
pilgrims that Anjou suffered less of the famine than did any other
region. Thither they directed their steps, induced thereto by the
further consideration that Anjou bordered on Britanny, the cradle of the
family. Yvon wished eventually to return thither in the hope of finding
some of his relatives in Armorica.
The journey to Anjou was made during the first months of the year 1034
and across a thousand vicissitudes, almost always accompanied by some
pilgrims, or by beggars and vagabonds. Everywhere on their passage the
traces were met of the horrible famine and not much less horrible
ravages caused by the private feuds of the seigneurs. Little Jeannette
perished on the road.
EPILOGUE.
The narrative of my father, Yvon the Forester, breaks off here. He could
not finish it. He was soon after taken sick and died. Before expiring he
made to me the following confession which he desired inserted in the
family's annals:
"I have a horrible confession to make. Near by the grave to which I took
the body of Julyan, lay a large heap of wood that was to be reduced to
coal by the woodsmen. My family was starving in the hut. I saw no way of
prolonging their existence. The thought then occurred to me: 'Last night
the abominable food that I carried to my family from Gregory's human
charnel house kept them from dying in the agonies of starvation. My
grandson is dead. What should I do? Bury the body of little Julyan or
have it serve to prolong the life of those who gave him life?'
"After long hesitating before such frightful alternatives, the thought
of the agonies that my family were enduring decided me. I lighted the
heap of dried wood. I laid upon it the flesh of my grandson, and by the
light cast from the pyre I buried his bones, except a fragment of his
skull, which I preserved as a sad and solemn relic of those accursed
days, and on which I engraved these fateful words in the Gallic tongue:
_Fin-al-bred_--The End of the World. I then took the broiled pieces of
meat to my expiring family!... You all ate in the dark.... You knew not
what you ate.... The ghastly meal saved your lives!"
My father then delivered to me the parchment that contained his
narrative, accompanied with the lettered bone from the skull of my poor
little Julyan, and also the iron arrow-head which accompanied the
narrative left by our ancestor Eidiol, the skipper of Paris. Some day,
perhaps, these two narratives may be joined to the chronicle of our
family, no doubt held by those of our relatives who must still be living
in Britanny.
My father Yvon died on the 9th of September, 1034.
This is how our journey ended: Following my father's wishes and also
with the purpose of drawing near Britanny, we marched towards Anjou,
where we arrived on the territory of the seigneur Guiscard, Count of the
region and castle of Mont-Ferrier. All travelers who passed over his
territory had to pay tribute to his toll-gatherers. Poor people, unable
to pay, were, according to the whim of the seigneur's men, put through
some disagreeable, or humiliating, or ridiculous performance: they were
either whipped, or made to walk on their hands, or to turn somersaults,
or kiss the bolts of the toll-gatherer's gate. As to the women, they
were subjected to revolting obscenities. Many other people as penniless
as ourselves were thus subjected to indignity and brutality. Desirous of
sparing my father and my wife the disgrace, I said to the bailiff of the
seigniory who happened to be there: "The castle I see yonder looks to me
weak in many ways. I am a skillful mason; I have built a large number of
fortified donjons; employ me and I shall work to the satisfaction of
your seigneur. All I ask of you is not to allow my father, wife and
children to be maltreated, and to furnish us with shelter and bread
while the work lasts." The bailiff accepted my offer gladly, seeing that
the mason, who was killed during the last war against the castle of
Mont-Ferrier, had not yet been replaced, and besides I furnished ample
evidence of knowing how to build. The bailiff assigned us to a hut where
we were to receive a serf's pittance. My father was to cultivate a
little garden attached to our hovel, while Nominoe, then old enough to
be of assistance, was to help me at my work which would last until
winter. We contemplated a journey to Britanny after that. We had lived
here five months when, three days ago, I lost my father.
* * * * *
To-day the eleventh day of the month of June, of the year 1035, I,
Den-Brao add this post-script to the above lines that I appended to my
father's narrative. I have to record a sad event. The work on the castle
of Mont-Ferrier not being concluded before the winter of 1034, the
bailiff of the seigneur, shortly after my father's death proposed to me
to resume work in the spring. I accepted. I love my trade. Moreover, my
family felt less wretched here than in Compiegne, and I was not as
anxious as my father to return to Britanny where, after all, there may
be no member of our family left. I accepted the bailiff's offer, and
continued to work upon the buildings, that are now completed. The last
piece of work I did was to finish up a secret issue that leads outside
of the castle. Yesterday the bailiff came to me and said: "One of the
allies of the seigneur of Mont-Ferrier, who is just now on a visit at
the castle, expressed great admiration for the work that you did, and as
he is thinking of improving the fortifications of his own manor, he
offered the count our master to exchange you for a serf who is a
skillful armorer, and whom we need. The matter was settled between
them."
"But I am not a serf of the seigneur of Mont-Ferrier," I interposed; "I
agreed to work here of my own free will."
The bailiff shrugged his shoulders and replied: "The law says--_every
man who is not a Frank, and who lives a year and a day upon the land of
a seigneur, becomes a serf and the property of the said seigneur, and as
such is subject to taille at will and mercy_. You have lived here since
the tenth day of June of the year 1034; we are now at the eleventh day
of June of the year 1035; you have lived a year and a day on the land of
the seigneur of Mont-Ferrier; you are now his serf; you belong to him,
and he has the right to exchange you for a serf of the seigneur of
Plouernel. Drop all thought of resisting our master's will. Should you
kick up your heels, Neroweg IV, seigneur and count of Plouernel, will
order you tied to the tail of his horse, and drag you in that way as
far as his castle."
I would have resigned myself to my new condition without much grief, but
for one circumstance. For forty years I lived a serf on the domain of
Compiegne, and it mattered little to me whether I exercised my trade of
masonry in one seigniory or another. But I remember that my father told
me that he had it from his grandfather Guyrion how an old family of the
name of Neroweg, established in Gaul since the conquest of Clovis, had
ever been fatal to our own. I felt a sort of terror at the thought of
finding myself the serf of a descendant of the Terrible Eagle--that
first of the Nerowegs that crossed our path.
May heaven ordain it so that my forebodings prove unfounded! May heaven
ordain, my dear son Nominoe, that you shall not have to register on this
parchment aught but the date of my death and these few words:
"My father Den-Brao ended peaceably his industrious life of a mason
serf."
(THE END.)
* * * * *
The Gold Sickle;
...OR...
Hena the Virgin of the Isle of Sen.
By EUGENE SUE.
Translated from the original French
By DANIEL DE LEON.
This story is the first of the gems in the necklace of gems
that Eugene Sue felicitously named "The Mysteries of the
People; or The History of a Proletarian Family Across the Ages."
It is a story of Druid Gaul, captivating in its simplicity and
superbly preluding the grand drama that is gradually unfolded
from story to story, ending in the great French Revolution.
PRICE 50 CENTS.
New York Labor News Co.
2, 4 & 6 New Reade St., New York, N. Y.
* * * * *
THE PILGRIM'S SHELL
----OR----
FERGAN THE QUARRYMAN
By Eugene Sue.
Translated By Daniel De Leon.
283 pp., on fine book paper, cloth 75 cents.
This great historical story by the eminent
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* * * * *
Woman
Under
Socialism
By August Bebel
Translated from the Original
German of the Thirty-third
Edition by Daniel De Leon,
Editor of the New York Daily
People, with translator's preface
and foot notes.
Cloth, 400 pages, with pen
drawing of the author.
Price, $1.00
The complete emancipation of woman, and her complete
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CONTENTS:
WOMAN IN THE PAST.
Before Christianity.
Under Christianity.
WOMAN IN THE PRESENT.
Sexual Instinct, Wedlock, Checks and Obstructions to Marriage.
Further Checks and Obstructions to Marriage, Numerical Proportion of
the Sexes, Its Causes and Effects.
Prostitution a Necessary Institution of the Capitalist World.
Woman's Position as a Breadwinner. Her Intellectual Faculties,
Darwinism and the Condition of Society.
Woman's Civic and Political Status.
The State and Society.
The Socialization of Society.
WOMAN IN THE FUTURE.
INTERNATIONALITY.
POPULATION AND OVER-POPULATION.
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* * * * *
The Paris Commune
By Karl Marx, with the elaborate introduction
of Frederick Engels. It includes
the First and Second manifestos
of the International Workingman's Association,
the Civil War in France and the
Anti-Plebiscite Manifesto. Near his close
of the Civil War in France, turning from
history to forecast the future, Marx
says:
"After Whit-Sunday, 1871, there can be
neither peace nor truce possible between
the Workingmen of France and the appropriators
of their produce. The iron
hand of a mercenary soldiery may keep
for a time both classes tied down in
common oppression. But the battle
must break out in ever growing dimensions,
and there can be no doubt as to
who will be the victor in the end--the
appropriating few, or the immense working
majority. And the French working
class is only the vanguard of the modern
proletariat."
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50 Cents.
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* * * * *
DEVELOPMENT
OF ...
SOCIALISM
From
Utopia
to
Science.
BY
Frederick Engels.
This is the first complete American
edition of Frederick Engels' popular essay
on Socialism, Utopian and Scientific.
As an introduction to the work itself, it
contains an essay on Historical Materialism,
written by Engels in 1892, and also
a short but instructive essay as an appendix,
written in the same year, treating
of the primitive form of collective
land ownership in Germany, and the subsequent
development of private property.
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* * * * *
VALUE,
PRICE
AND
PROFIT
From a Mechanical Standpoint
it is the first one of Marx's works published in
America that can be looked upon as a careful
piece of publishing. It is to be hoped that this
excellent volume is the forerunner of other
volumes of Marx, and that America will have
the honor of publishing an edition that is accurate
as to text, thorough in annotations, convenient
in size and presentable in every way.
The present book will delight the lover of
Marx, and every Socialist will desire a copy
of it.--N. Y. Daily People.
By KARL MARX. Edited by his daughter,
ELEANOR MARX AVELING.
PRICE 15 CENTS.
This book is especially timely, like everything else that Marx
wrote. Written a couple of years before his "Capital" appeared,
it is an address to workingmen, and covers in popular form many
of the subjects later scientifically expanded in "Capital."
It is universally considered as the best epitome we have of the
first volume of "Capital," and as such is invaluable to the
beginner in economics. It places him squarely on his feet at
the threshold of his inquiry; that is, in a position where his
perceptive faculties cannot be deceived and his reasoning power
vitiated by the very use of his eyesight; whereas, by the very
nature of his capitalist surroundings, he now stands on his head
and sees all things inverted.
Special interest attaches to what Marx says relative to
strikes. Were the working class thoroughly acquainted with the
subject matter of this little work, we should hear no more of the
"common ground" on which capital and labor might meet to
settle their differences.
The thousand and one schemes that are daily being flaunted
in the faces of the working class by the lieutenants of the
capitalists show the necessity there is on the part of the working
class for a comprehensive understanding of the matter of wages,
the relation of the wage worker to the employer, the source of
profits, and the relation between profits and wages. These and
other subjects are here presented, and so clearly does Marx
present them that all he has to say can be understood by any
person willing to pay close attention to his words.
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY,
2-6 New Reade Street, New York City.
* * * * *
_Two Pages
From
Roman
History_
_I. Plebs Leaders and
Labor Leaders_
_II. The Warning
of the Gracchi_
Two Lectures by
DANIEL DE LEON
Editor of The Daily People
The Trades Union Question is becoming the Burning Question
of the day. Reform movements are simultaneously growing
into political factors. In this work the "pure and simple" union
labor leader is held up to the light of the plebeians' experience
with the leaders of their time; and, through the failure of the
Gracchian movement, it is shown how modern reforms are pitfalls
for the labor movement of to-day.
A 96-PAGE PAMPHLET SELLING AT
15 CENTS.
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