THE MIRACLE OF ST. LOUP'S TEETH.
On the morning of the fateful day when the abbess Meroflede drowned, as
in a mouse-trap, the troop of Frankish warriors that had presumed to
dispossess her, the goldsmith Bonaik entered his workshop at the
accustomed hour. He was soon joined by his slave apprentices. After
lighting the fire in the forge, the old man opened the window that
looked over the fosse, to let the smoke escape. With no little
astonishment Bonaik observed that the water in the moat had risen so
high as to be within a foot of the window sill. "Oh, my lads," said he
to the apprentices, "I fear some great calamity happened last night! For
very many years the water of this moat did not reach the height of
to-day, and then it happened when the dike of the upper lake broke, and
caused widespread disasters. Look yonder at the other end of the moat.
The water is almost up to the air-hole cut into the cavern under the
building opposite us."
"And it looks as if the water were still rising, Father Bonaik."
"Alack, yes, my lad! It is still rising. Oh, the bursting of the dikes
will bring on great calamities. There will be many victims!"
While Bonaik and his apprentices were looking at the rising water in the
moat, the voice of Septimine was heard calling on the outside: "Father
Bonaik, open the door of the workshop!" One of the apprentices ran to
the door and the girl entered, supporting a woman whose long hair
streamed with water; her clothes were drenched, her face livid; she was
barely able to drag herself along; so weak was she that after taking a
few steps in the shop she fell fainting in the arms of the old goldsmith
and Septimine.
"Poor woman! She is cold as ice!" exclaimed the old man, and turning to
his apprentices: "Quick, quick boys! Fetch some coal from the vault, ply
the bellows and raise the fire in the forge to warm up this unfortunate
woman. I thought so! This inundation must have caused much damage."
At the words of the goldsmith, two apprentices ran down into the vault
behind the forge for charcoal, and the other blew upon the fire, while
the old man approached Septimine, who, on her knees before the
unconscious woman, wept and said: "Oh, she is going to die!"
"Reassure yourself," the old man said; "this poor woman's hands, icy
cold a minute ago, are becoming warmer. But what has happened? Your
clothes also are drenched. You look strangely shocked."
"Good father, at daybreak this morning, the girls who sleep in my room
and I woke up and went into the courtyard. There we heard other slaves
crying that the dikes had burst. The girls all ran to see the progress
of the inundation. I went along without knowing why. They dispersed. I
advanced to a tongue of land that is washed by the water of the pond. A
large willow stands near the spot. I presently saw a half-submerged cart
floating a little way off. It was being turned around by the opposite
currents, and it was covered by a tent-cloth."
"Thanks be to God! The spreading tent-cloth acted like a balloon and
kept the cart from sinking."
"The wind blew into this sort of a sail, driving the cart towards the
shore where I stood. I then saw this unfortunate woman, holding to the
tent-cloth, the rest of her body in the water."
"And what happened then, my daughter?"
"There was not a second to lose. The failing hands of the poor woman,
whose strength was exhausted, were about to drop. I fastened one end of
my belt to one of the branches of the willow-tree and the other to my
wrist and I leaned forward towards the poor woman calling out to her:
'Courage!' She heard me, and seized my right hand convulsively. The
sudden pull caused my feet to slip from the edge and I fell into the
water."
"Fortunately your left wrist was tied to one of the ends of the belt
that you had fastened to the tree!"
"Yes, good father. But the shock was violent. I thought my arm was
wrenched from its socket. Fortunately the poor woman took hold of the
edge of my dress. My first pain having passed I did my best, and with
the aid of my belt that remained fastened to the tree and on which I
tugged away, I succeeded in reaching the shore and pulling out this
woman, on the point of drowning. Our workshop being the nearest place
that I could think of, I brought her here; she could hardly support
herself; but, alack!" added the girl at the sight of the still inanimate
face of Rosen-Aer, for it was Berthoald's mother that Septimine had just
saved, "I may only have retarded the supreme moment for a few seconds!"
"Do not lose hope," answered the old man, "her hands are growing
warmer."
With the aid of the apprentices, who were no less compassionate than
Septimine and the old man, Rosen-Aer was drawn sitting on a stool near
the forge. Little by little she felt the salutary effect of the
penetrating heat, she gradually recovered her senses, and finally awoke.
Gathering her thoughts, she stretched out her arms to Septimine and said
in a feeble voice: "Dear child, you saved me!"
Septimine threw herself around Rosen-Aer's neck, shedding glad tears,
and answered: "We have done what we could; we are only poor slaves."
"Oh! my child, I am a slave like yourselves, brought to this country
from the center of Languedoc. We spent the night on the road between the
two ponds of this monastery. The oxen had been unhitched from the carts.
We were caught in the inundation that began at daybreak----" But
Rosen-Aer suddenly broke off and rose to her feet. Her face was at first
expressive of stupor, but immediately a delirious joy seized her, and
precipitating herself towards the open window, she passed her arm
through the thick iron bars, crying: "My son! I see my son Amael
yonder!"
For a moment both Septimine and Bonaik believed the unhappy woman had
become demented, but when they approached the window the young girl
joined her hands and cried out: "The Frankish Chief, he in an
underground passage of the abbey?"
Rosen-Aer and Septimine saw on the other side of the moat Berthoald
holding himself up with both hands by the iron bars of the air-hole of
the cavern. He suddenly saw and as quickly recognized his mother, and,
delirious with joy, he cried in a thrilling voice that, despite the
distance, reached the workshop: "Mother!... My dear mother!"
"Septimine," Bonaik said anxiously to the girl, "do you know that young
man?"
"Oh, yes! He was as good to me as an angel from Heaven! I saw him at the
convent of St. Saturnine. It is to that warrior that Charles donated
this abbey."
"To him!" replied the old man, bewildered. "How, then, comes he in that
cavern?"
"Master Bonaik," one of the apprentices ran by saying, "I hear outside
the voice of the intendant Ricarik. He stopped under the vault to scold
some one. He will be here in a minute. He is coming on his morning
round, as is his habit. What is best to be done?"
"Good God!" cried the old man in terror. "He will find this woman here,
and will question her. She may betray herself and acknowledge that she
is the mother of that young man--undoubtedly a victim of the abbess."
And the old man, running to the window, seized Rosen-Aer by the arm and
said to her while he dragged her away: "In the name of your son's life,
come! Come quick!"
"What threatens my son's life?"
"Follow me, or he is lost, and you also." And Bonaik, without further
explanations to Rosen-Aer, pointed out to her the vault behind the
forge, saying: "Hide there, do not stir," and turning to his apprentices
while he put on his apron: "You, boys, hammer away as loud as you can,
and sing at the top of your voices! You, Septimine, sit down and polish
this vase. May God prevent that poor young man from remaining at the
air-hole or from being seen by Ricarik!" Saying this the old goldsmith
started to hammer upon his anvil, striking with a sonorous voice the old
and well-known goldsmith's song in honor of the good Eloi:
"From the station of artisan
He was raised to that of bishop,--
With his duties of pastor,
Eloi purified the goldsmith.
His hammer is the authority for his word,
His furnace the constancy of zeal,
His bellows the inspirer,
His anvil, obedience!"
Ricarik entered the workshop. The goldsmith seemed not to notice him,
and proceeded with his song while flattening with hammer blows a silver
leaf into which the abbatial cross terminated. "You are a jolly set,"
remarked the intendant stepping to the center of the workshop; "stop
your singing ... you dogs ... you deafen my ears!"
"I have not a drop of blood in my veins," Septimine whispered to Bonaik.
"That wicked man is drawing near the window.... If he were to see the
Frankish chief--"
"Why have you so much fire in the forge?" the intendant proceeded to
say, taking a step towards the fireplace, behind which was the cave that
Rosen-Aer was concealed in. "Do you amuse yourself burning coal
uselessly?"
"No, indeed! This very morning I shall melt the silver that you brought
me yesterday."
"Metal is melted in crucibles, not in forges--"
"Ricarik, everyone to his trade. I have worked in the workshops of the
great Eloi. I know my profession, seigneur intendant. I shall first
subject my metal to the strong fire of the forge, then hammer it, and
only after that will it be ready for the crucible. The cast will then be
more solid."
"You never lack for an answer."
"Because I always have good ones to give. But there are several
necessary things that I shall want from you for this work, the most
important of any that I shall have made for the monastery, seeing the
silver vase is to be two feet high, as you may judge from the cast on
the table."
"What do you need, dotard?"
"I shall need a barrel that I shall fill with sand, and in the middle of
which I shall place my mold.... That is not all.... I have often found
that, despite the hoops that hold the staves of the barrel, where molds
are placed inside of the sand, the barrel bursts when the molten metal
is poured into the hollow. I shall need a long rope to wind tightly
around the barrel. If the hoops snap, the rope will hold. I shall also
need a long thin string to hold the sides of the mold."
"You shall have the barrel, the rope and string."
"These young folks and I shall be forced to spend part of the night at
the work. The days are short at this season. Order a pouch of wine for
us, who otherwise drink only water. The good cheer will keep up our
strength during our hard night's work. On casting days, at the workshops
of the great Eloi, the slaves were always treated to something extra....
Eatables were not spared."
"You shall have your pouch of wine ... seeing that this is a holy-day at
the convent. A miracle has taken place--"
"A miracle! Tell us about it!"
"Yes.... A just punishment of heaven has struck a band of adventurers
upon whom Charles the accursed had the audacity of bestowing this abbey
that is consecrated to the Church. They camped last night upon the
jetty, expecting to attack the monastery at daybreak. But the Lord, by
means of a redoubtable and astonishing prodigy opened the cataracts of
heaven. The ponds swelled and the whole band of criminals was drowned!"
"Glory be to the Lord!" cried the old goldsmith, making a sign to his
apprentices to imitate him. "Glory be to the Lord, who drowns impious
wretches in the cataracts of his wrath!"
"Glory be to the Lord!" repeated the young slaves in chorus at the top
of their voices. "Glory be to the Lord, who drowns impious wretches in
the cataracts of his wrath! Amen!"
"It is a miracle that does not at all surprise me, Ricarik," added the
goldsmith; "it is surely due to the teeth of St. Loup, to the holy relic
that you brought me yesterday."
"That's probable ... it is certain.... You do not need anything else?"
"No," answered the old man, rising and looking into several boxes; "I
have here for the mold enough sulphur and bitumen, there is also enough
charcoal; one of my apprentices shall go with you, Ricarik, and bring
the barrel, rope and cord, and do not forget the pouch of wine and the
victuals, seigneur intendant!"
"You will get them later, together with your pittances at double
rations."
"Ricarik, we shall not be able to leave the workshop one instant, on
account of the mold. Let us have our daily pittance this morning, if you
please, so that the work may not be interrupted. We shall lock the door
to keep out intruders."
"Let one of your apprentices come with me; he shall bring all the
things, but be sure and have the vase cast to-morrow so as to please our
holy abbess; if you fail your backs will have to pay for it."
"You may assure our holy and venerable abbess that when the vase shall
come out of the mold it will be worthy of an artisan who saw the great
Eloi handle the file and burin." Bonaik then said in a low voice to one
of the apprentices, while Ricarik was moving towards the door: "Pick up
on your way a dozen stones of the size of walnuts; keep them in your
pockets, and bring them to me." He then said aloud: "Accompany the
seigneur intendant, my boy; and be sure not to loiter on the way back."
"Rest assured, master," said the apprentice with a significant gesture
to the old man while following the intendant out of the shop; "your
orders will be obeyed to the letter."