"That agreement was concluded by the chapter and council ofseigneurs who governed during my absence, while I was away in England."
"Must I remind you that, upon your return from London, and in consideration of a large sum paid by the bourgeoisie, you signed the charter with your own hand, that you sealed it with your own seal, and that you swore upon your faith that it would be faithfully observed?"
"I was wrong in doing so. The Church holds her seigniories from God alone. She may not alienate her rights. I am absolved from such engagements."
"Have you returned the money that you received for your consent to the Commune? Has restitution been made?"
"The money I received represented, at the most, four years' revenues that I habitually drew from the inhabitants of Laon. Three years have elapsed since the establishment of this Commune. I am only one year in advance of my vassals. My right is to tax at will and mercy. I shall double the tax of the current year, and being quits, I shall, if I please, demand the tax for the next year."
"Yours would be such a right had you not alienated it. But you cannot repudiate your signature, your seal and your oath. Your engagement is binding."
"What is there in a signature? One or two words placed at the bottom of a parchment! What is a seal? A lump of wax! What is an oath? A breath of air that is lost in space, and which the wind carries off!"
Although highly wrought up by the prelate's answer, Anselm restrained his indignation and proceeded: "You, then, persist in your purpose to break your oath and abolish the Commune of Laon?"
"Yes, I intend to smash it."
"You refuse to keep your sacred engagement? Be it so! But the communiers of Laon have had their charter confirmed by the present King. They will turn to him to compel you to respectits clauses. You will have two foes to face—the people and the King."
"To-morrow," answered the bishop, "Louis the Lusty will be here at the head of a goodly number of knights and men-at-arms,—all resolved to crush those miserable bourgeois if they dare defend their Commune. It is all settled between us."
"I can hardly believe what you say, seigneur bishop," replied the archdeacon. "The King, who confirmed and swore to the charter for the enfranchisement of the bourgeois of Laon, and who received the price agreed upon, he surely will not be ready to perjure himself and commit such an infamy."
"The King begins to listen to the voice of the Church. He understands that, though it be good politics and profitable withal, to sell charters of emancipation to the cities that are subject to lay seigniories, his rivals and ours, it is to seriously compromise his own power if he were to favor emancipation from the ecclesiastical seigniories. The King is determined to restore to the episcopal authority all the ecclesiastical cities that have been enfranchised, and to exterminate their inhabitants if they dare oppose his pleasure. To-morrow, perhaps this very day, the King will be in the city at the head of armed men. The nobles of the city have been apprised, like myself, of the pending arrival of the King. We shall notify our will to the people."
"My presentiments did not deceive me when I urged the communiers to redouble their self-control and prudence!"
"You were on the right road. It is, therefore, that, aware of your influence with those clowns, I sent for you, to commission you to induce them to renounce their hellish Commune of their own free will, if they would escape a terrible punishment. We demand absolute submission."
"Bishop of Laon," Anselm answered solemnly and with a tremulous voice, "I decline the mission that you charge me with. I do not wish to see the blood of my brothers flow in this city. If your projects were but suspected, an uprising would break outon the spot among the people, and yourself, the clergy and the knights in the city would be the first victims of the rage of the communiers. Your houses would be burned down over your heads."
"There is no insurrection to be feared," put in the bishop laughing loudly. "John, my negro, will take by the nose the wildest of those clowns and will bring him on his knees to my feet, begging for mercy, trembling and penitent. I need but to say the word."
"If you dare touch the rights of the Commune, then you, the priests and the nobles will all be exterminated by the people in arms. Oh, may heaven's curse fall upon me before I shall by a single word help to unchain such a storm!"
"So, then, you, Anselm, a subordinate to my authority, you refuse the commission that I charge you with?"
"I swear to you upon the salvation of my soul, you are staking your life at a terrible game! May I not have to dispute your bleeding remains from the popular fury in order to give them Christian burial!"
The Bishop of Laon had long remained steeped in revery. The tone of conviction, the imposing authority of the archdeacon's character, left a profound impression upon the man. Though there was no crime he would recoil at in the satisfaction of his passions, yet he fervently clung to life. Accordingly, his blind contempt for the common people notwithstanding, he wavered for a moment in his projects, and, recalling to memory the triumphant revolts, that under similar circumstances, had in recent years been witnessed in other Communes of Gaul, he was lost in sombre, silent perplexity, when the sudden entry of Black John awoke him from his quandary.
"Patron," said Black John, breaking into the room with a malefic grin, "one of the bourgeois dogs has himself walked into the trap. We are holding him, as well as his female, who, by Mahomet, is of the comliest. If the husband is a mastiff, the wife is a dainty greyhound, worthy of a place in the ecclesiastical kennels!"
"Quit your jokes!" remarked the bishop with impatience. "What is the matter now? Speak up!"
"A minute ago there was a rap at the main gate. I was in the yard with the serfs who are exercising in arms. I peeped through the wicket and saw a burly fellow, with a casque that fell over his nose, and bursting in his steel corselet, and as incommoded by his sword as a dog to whose tail a kettle has been tied. A young and pretty woman accompanied him. 'What do you want?' said I to the man. 'To speak with the seigneur bishop, and on the spot, too, on grave matters.' To hold one ofthese dogs of communiers in pawn, struck me as timely. After sending one of the men to see through the loopholes in the tower whether the bourgeois was alone, I opened the door. Oh, you would have laughed," Black John proceeded, "had you seen the good man embrace his wife before crossing the threshold of the palace, as though he were stepping into Lucifer's house, and heard his wife say: 'I shall wait for you here; my uneasiness will be shorter than if I had remained at the Town Hall.' By Mahomet! I said to myself, my patron is too fond of receiving pretty penitents to leave this charmer outside; and taking her up like a feather I carried her into the yard. I had a good mind to shut the gate in the husband's face, but I considered it was better to keep him too here. His little wife, furious like a cat in love, screamed and scratched my face when I took her up in my arms, but after she was allowed to join her gander of a husband, she put on airs of bravery and spat in my face. They are both in the next room. Shall they be brought in?"
The announcement of the arrival of one of the communiers, the objects of the bishop's hatred, revived the anger of the seigniorial ecclesiastic, that had been checked for a moment by the words of Archdeacon Anselm. The bishop jumped up, crying out: "By heaven! By the Pope's navel! That bourgeois arrives in time! Bring him in!"
"His wife too?" asked the negro, opening the door. "She will act as a counter-irritant to your worship," and without waiting for his master's answer, the negro vanished.
"Take care!" Anselm said, more and more alarmed. "Take care what you are about to do! The Councilmen are elected by the inhabitants! To do violence to one of their chosen men would be a moral offence!"
"We have had enough remonstrances!" cried out Gaudry with haughty impatience. "You seem to forget that I am your superior, your bishop!"
"It is your conduct that would make me forget it. But it is for the sake of the episcopacy, for the sake of the salvation ofyour soul, for the sake of your own life that I adjure you not to apply the match to a conflagration that neither yourself nor the King might be able to extinguish!"
"What!" exclaimed the bishop with a wrathful sneer; "What! That conflagration could not be extinguished even in the blood of those damned dogs, of the revolted clowns, themselves?"
The prelate had just pronounced these execrable words, when Ancel Quatre-Mains entered, accompanied by his wife, Simonne, and preceded by Black John, who, leaving them at the door of the apartment, withdrew again with a smile on his cruel lips. The Councilman was pale and deeply moved. The good nature, habitual to his features, had now made place to an expression of deliberate firmness. It must, nevertheless, be admitted that his casque thrown too far back on his head and his stomach protruding below his steel corselet imparted to the townsman an almost grotesque appearance that could not fail to strike the Bishop of Laon. Accordingly breaking out in a loud guffaw, not unmixed with rage and disdain, and pointing to Ancel, he said to the archdeacon: "Here have you a bright sample of the gallant men who are to cause bishops, knights and kings to tremble and retreat. By the blood of Christ, what a grotesque appearance!"
The Councilman and his wife, who drew close to him, looked at each other, unable to understand the words of the bishop. No less alarmed than her husband, two distinct sentiments seemed to fill Simonne's mind—fear of some danger to Ancel and horror for Gaudry.
"Well, now, seigneur Councilman, august elective magistrate of the illustrious Commune of Laon!" said the prelate in a jeering and contemptuous accent. "You wanted to see me. Here I am. What do you want?"
"Seigneur bishop, I have had no ambition, and so I haven't, of coming here. I'm merely fulfilling a duty. This month I'mthe judicial Councilman. As such, I am charged with the trials. It is in that capacity that I have come here to fill my office."
"Oh, oh! Greetings to you, seigneur prosecutor!" replied the prelate sneeringly, bowing before the baker. "May we at least know the subject of the process?"
"Certes, seigneur bishop, seeing the action is against yourself and against John, your African servant, I shall inform you of the charge."
"And while my husband is fulfilling a judicial mission," pertly put in Simonne, "he shall also demand justice and indemnity for the insults hurled at me by the noble dame of Haut-Pourcin, the wife of one of the episcopals of the city, so please your seigneur bishop!"
"By heaven, my negro John was right, I have never seen a prettier creature!" observed the dissolute bishop, attentively examining the baker's wife, whom until that instant he had taken little notice of; and seeming to reflect for a moment he asked: "How long have you been married, little darling? Answer your bishop truthfully!"
"Five years, monseigneur."
"My good man," resumed Gaudry addressing the Councilman, "you must have ransomed your wife from the right of the first night at the time when the canon of Amaury was charged with its supervision?"
"Yes, seigneur," answered the baker, while his wife, casting down her eyes, blushed with shame at hearing the bishop refer to that infamous right of the bishop of Laon, who, before the establishment of the Commune had the right to demand "first wedding night of the bride"—a galling shame, that, occasionally, the husband managed to redeem with a money payment.
"That miserable beggar of old Amaury!" exclaimed the prelate with a cynical outburst of laughter. "It was all in vain for me to tell him: 'When a bride and bridegroom come to announce at church their approaching wedding, inscribe on a separate roll the names of the brides that are comely enough toinduce me to exact from them the amorous tax of nature.' But there were none of these according to Amaury; and yet I have before my eyes a striking proof of his fraudulence or his blindness. Almost all the brides were homely, according to him!"
"Happily, seigneur bishop, those evil days are gone by," answered Ancel, hardly able to restrain his indignation. "Those days will never return when the honor of husbands and wives was at the mercy of bishops and seigneurs!"
"Brother," put in the archdeacon, painfully affected by the words of the bishop, and addressing Ancel, "believe me, the Church herself blushes at that monstrous right, that prelates enjoy when they are at once temporal seigneurs."
"What I do know, Father Anselm," the baker answered with judicial deliberateness and raising his head, "is that the Church does not forbid the ecclesiastics to use that monstrous right, we see them using it and deflowering young brides."
"By the blood of Christ!" cried out the bishop, while the archdeacon remained silent, unable to gainsay the baker; "that right proves better than any argument how absolutely the body of the serf, the villein or the non-noble vassal is the absolute and undisputed property of the lay or ecclesiastical seigneur. Accordingly, so far from blushing at that right, the Church claims it back for its own seigneurs, and excommunicates those who dare contest it."
The archdeacon, not daring to contradict the bishop, seeing the bishop spoke the truth, lowered his head in mute pain. The Councilman resumed with a mixture of sly good nature and firmness: "I am, seigneur bishop, too ignorant in matters of theology to discuss the orthodoxy of a right that honorable folks speak of only with indignation in their hearts and shame on their brows. But, thanks be to God, since Laon has become an enfranchised Commune, that abominable right has been abolished, along with many others. Among the latter is the right of demanding goods without money, and of taking some one else'shorse without paying for it. This, seigneur bishop, leads me to the matter that has brought me here."
"You, then, mean to start a process against me?"
"I am fulfilling my functions. An hour ago, Peter the Fox, tenant farmer of Colombaik the Tanner, deposed before the Mayor and Councilmen assembled at the Town Hall that you, Bishop of Laon, kept, against all right, a horse belonging to the said Colombaik, and that you refuse to pay the price demanded by the owner."
"Is that all?" the bishop asked laughing. "Have I committed no other sin? Have you no other charges to bring against me?"
"Germain the Strong, master carpenter of the suburb of Grande-Cognee, supported by two witnesses, has deposed before the Mayor and Councilmen that, while passing before the gate of the episcopal palace, he was first insulted and then stabbed in the arm by Black John, a domestic of your household, which constitutes a grave crime."
"Well, then, seigneur justiciary," said the bishop still laughing, "Condemn me, brave Councilman. Formulate your judgment and sentence."
"Not yet," coldly answered the baker. "The suit must first be entered; then the witnesses must be heard; next comes the judgment; and fourth its enforcement. Everything in its order."
"Just see! I am instructed! Let it be, I shall be patient. Yet I am curious to see how far your audacity will lead you, communier of Satan. Go ahead and to work!"
"My audacity is that of a man who fulfills his duty."
"An honest man, who dares not allow himself to be intimidated," put in Simonne with deftness; "a man who will know how to cause the rights of the Commune to be respected, who is not troubled by disdain. A man of sense and of action."
"I love to see your rogish face," replied the bishop, turningto the young woman; "it gives me the necessary humor to listen to this loafer, I swear it by your round and plump throat, by your beautiful black eyes, and by your secret charms!"
"And I swear by the poor eyes of Gerhard of Soisson, whom you have so cruelly deprived of sight, that the sight of you is odious to me, Bishop of Laon! You, whose hands are still red with the blood of Bernard des Bruyeres, whom you murdered in your own church!" And uttering these imprudent words, drawn from her by an impulse of generous indignation, the baker's wife brusquely turned her back upon the bishop.
Enraged at hearing himself reproached in such a manner for two of his crimes, the Bishop of Laon became livid with rage, and half rising from his seat, whose arms he clutched convulsively, he cried out: "Miserable serf! I shall teach you to control your viper's tongue!—"
"Simonne!" said the Councilman to his wife in a tone of earnest reproof, interrupting the prelate. "You should not speak that way. Those past crimes belong before the bar of God, not of the Commune, as are the misdemeanors that I am prosecuting. The bishop is summoned to answer only the two charges that I have preferred."
"I shall save you half your trouble!" cried out Gaudry in a towering rage, and dropping his jeering tone towards the Councilman. "I declare that I am keeping a farmer's horse; I declare that my negro John stabbed a clown of the city this morning. Now, then, decide, you stupid brute!"
"Seeing you admit these wrong-doings, seigneur Bishop of Laon, I decide that you return the horse to its owner, or that you pay him his price, a hundred and twenty silver sous; and I decide that you render justice for the crime committed by your black slave John."
"And I shall keep the horse without paying for it; and I hold that my servant John did justly punish an insolent communier! Now, pronounce your sentence."
"Bishop of Laon, those are very serious words," answered the Councilman with emotion. "I conjure you, deign to think that over while I shall read to you aloud two clauses from our charter, sworn to by yourself, signed with your own hand, and sealed with your own seal; do not forget that; and moreover confirmed by our seigneur the King." Whereat the Councilman, producing a parchment from his pocket, read as follows: "'If anyone injure a man who shall have taken the oath of the Commune of Laon, a complaint being lodged with the Mayor and Councilmen, they shall, after due trial, enforce justice upon the body and upon the property of the guilty party.... If the guilty party takes refuge in a fortified castle, the Mayor and Councilmen shall notify the seigneur of the castle, or his lieutenant. If in their opinion satisfaction shall have been rendered against the guilty party, that will suffice; but if the seigneur refuses satisfaction, they shall themselves enforce justice upon the property and upon the men of the said seigneur.' That, seigneur bishop, is the law of our Commune, agreed and sworn to by yourself and us. If, then, you do not return the horse, if you do not give us satisfaction for the crime of your servant John, we shall see ourselves forced to ourselves enforce justice upon you and upon your men."
Certain of the support of the King, the bishop and the episcopals had for some time desired to provoke a conflict with the communiers. They felt certain of success, and looked in that way to reconquer by force their seigniorial rights, a one-time inexhaustible treasure, but alienated by them three years previous, for a considerable sum of money, that had by this time been dissipated. By refusing to satisfy the legitimate demands of the Councilmen, the bishop was inevitably bound to lead to a collision at the very moment when Louis the Lusty would arrive at Laon with a numerous troop of knights. Accordingly, making no doubt that the people would be crushed in the struggle, and considering himself seconded by circumstance, Gaudry,so far from angrily answering the baker, now replied with a sarcastic affectation of humility: "Alack, illustrious Councilman, poor seigneurs that we are, we shall have no choice but to try and resist you, my valiant Caesars, and to prevent you from enforcing justice upon our goods and our persons, as you triumphantly announce. We shall have to don our casques and cuirasses, and await you, lance in hand, mounted on our battle horses! Alack!"
"Seigneur bishop," answered the baker, anxiously joining his hands, "your refusal to do justice to the Commune, is equivalent to a declaration of war between our townsmen and you!"
"Alack!" replied Gaudry ironically imitating Ancel's gesture, "we shall then have to resign ourselves to battle. Fortunately the episcopal knights know how to manage the lance and sword wherewith they will run you through."
"The battle will be terrible in our city," cried out the Councilman excitedly. "Why would you reduce us to such extremities, when it depends upon you to avert such a calamity by proving yourself equitable and faithful to your oath?"
"I implore you, yield to these wise words," now put in the archdeacon addressing Gaudry. "Your refusal will unchain all the scourges of civil war, and cause torrents of blood to flow. Woe is us!"
"Seigneur bishop," the Councilman resumed with insistence and in a sad yet firm tone: "What is it that we demand of you? Justice. Nothing more. Return the horse or pay for it. Your servant has committed a crime. Inflict exemplary punishment upon him. Is that asking too much of you? Are you ready by your resistance to hand over our beloved country to innumerable calamities, and cause the shedding of blood? Reflect on the consequences of the conflict. Think of the women whom you will have widowed, the children whom you will have orphaned! Think of the calamities that you will conjure over our city!"
"I'm bound to think, heroic Councilman," replied the bishop with a disdainful sneer, "that you are afraid of war!"
"No, we are not afraid!" cried out Simonne, unable longer to control her impetuous nature. "Let the belfry summon the inhabitants to the defense of the Commune, and you will see that, as at Beauvais, as at Noyons, as at Rheims, the men will fly to arms and the women will accompany them to nurse the wounded!"
"By the blood of Christ, my charming Amazon, if I take you prisoner, you will pay the arrears due to your seigneur."
"Seigneur bishop," interposed the Councilman, "such words ill-become the mouth of a priest, above all when the issue is bloodshed. We dread war! Yes, undoubtedly, we dread it, because its evils are irreparable. I fear war as much or more than anyone else, because I wish to live for my wife, whom I love, and to enjoy in peace our modest means, the fruit of our daily labor. I fear war by reason of the disasters and the ruin that follow upon its wake."
"But you will fight like any other!" cried out Simonne almost irritated at the sincerity of her husband. "Oh, I know you! You will fight even more bravely than others!"
"More bravely than others is saying too much," naively interposed the baker. "I have never fought in my life. But I shall do my duty, although I am less at home with the lance or the sword than with the poker of the furnace in my bakery. Each to his trade."
"Admit it, good man," retorted the bishop laughing uproarously, "you prefer the fire of your furnace to the heat of battle?"
"On my faith, that's the truth of it, seigneur bishop. All of us good people of the city, bourgeois and artisans that we are, prefer good to evil, peace to war. But, take my word for it, there are things we prefer to peace, they are the honor of our wives, our daughters and sisters, our dignity, our independence, the right of ourselves and through ourselves to administeringthe affairs of our city. We owe these advantages to our enfranchisement from the seigniorial rights. Accordingly, we shall all allow ourselves to be killed, to the last man, in the defence of our Commune and in the protection of our freedom. That's why, in the name of the public peace, we implore you to do justice to our demand."
"Patron," broke in at this point Black John who entered the room precipitately, "a forerunner of the King has just arrived. He announces that he precedes his master only two hours, and that he comes accompanied with a strong escort."
"The King must have hastened his arrival!" cried out the prelate triumphantly. "By the blood of Christ, everything is working according to our wishes!"
"The King!" exclaimed the Councilman with joy, "The King in our city! Oh, we now have nothing more to fear. He signed our charter, he will know how to compel you to respect it, Bishop of Laon. Your wicked intentions will now be paralyzed."
"Certes!" answered Gaudry with a sardonic smile. "Count with the support of the King, good people. He comes in person, followed by a large troop of knights armed with strong lances and sharp swords. Now, then, my valiant bourgeois, go and join your shop heroes, and carry my answer to them. It is this: 'Gaudry, bishop and seigneur of Laon, certain of the support of the King of the French, awaits in his episcopal palace to see the communiers come themselves to enforce justice upon his property and his men!'" And turning then to Black John: "Order my equerry to saddle the stallion that was brought here this morning. I know no more mettlesome horse to ride on ahead of the King and in the beard of those city clowns. Let the knights of the city be notified, they shall serve for my escort. To horse! To horse!" Saying which, the prelate stepped off into another room, leaving the baker as stupefied as he was alarmed at the sight of his crumbling hopes. He heard the bishop's words regardingthe King's intention, yet hesitated to give them credence. The townsman remained thunderstruck.
"Ancel," said the archdeacon to him. "There is no doubt about it. Louis the Lusty will side with the episcopals. A conflict must be avoided at any price. Recommend the other Councilmen to redouble their prudence. I shall, on my part, endeavor to conjure off the storm that threatens."
"Come, my poor wife," said the Councilman, whose eyes were filling with tears! "Come! Woe is us, the King of the French is against us. May God protect the Commune of Laon!"
"As to me," answered Simonne, "upon the faith of a Picardian woman, I place my reliance upon the stout hearts of our communiers, upon the pikes, the hatchets and the swords in our hands!"
Louis the Lusty had made his entry into the city of Laon on the eve of Holy Thursday of the year 1112. On the day following the arrival of the Prince, Colombaik, his mother and his wife were seated together in the basement chamber of their house. Dawn was about breaking. Fergan's son, Martine and Joan the Hunchback had watched all night. A lamp threw its light upon them. The two women, uneasy in the extreme, were stripping old linen into bandages and lint, while Colombaik, together with his three apprentices, plying their saws and planes, were actively engaged in fashioning pike-shafts, four feet long, of oak and ash branches recently lopped off. Colombaik did not seem to share the apprehension of his mother and his wife, who silently pursued their work, listening from time to time in the direction of the little window that opened on the street. They awaited, with as much impatience as anxiety, the return of Fergan, absent since the previous evening. What tidings would he bring?
"Lively, my lads," Colombaik was jovially saying to his apprentices, "ply your planes and your saws with dispatch! It does not much matter if these pike-shafts be rough. They are to be used by hands as callous as our own. May there be a chance to use them!"
"Oh, master Colombaik," remarked one of the young apprentices laughing, "as to that, these handles will be less smooth to the touch than the fine doe skins that we tan for the embroidered gloves of the noble dames and their elegant young ladies."
"The ornament of a pike is its iron head," rejoined Colombaik; "but little Robin the Crumb-cracker, the apprentice of theblacksmith, is long in fetching us those ornaments. However, with him it will not be as with the little apprentice of our friend the baker. There is no fear of Robin's nibbling at his goods on the way." The lads laughed at the joke of Colombaik. But accidentally turning his eyes in the direction of Joan and Martine, he was struck by the increasing uneasiness of their looks. "Good mother," said he to Joan in a tender and beseeching voice, "pardon me if I have saddened you with jokes that may be out of season at this time."
"Oh, my child," answered Joan, "if I look sad, it is not on account of your jokes, but the result of thoughts suggested by the sight of men shaping weapons, and women preparing lint for the wounded."
"And when we consider," put in Martine, unable to keep back her tears, "that a father, a son, a husband may happen to be among the wounded! Confound the people who brought war upon the city! Confound this clergy of the devil and their train of churchmen!"
"Dear Martine, and you, good mother," Colombaik rejoined, seeking to calm the two women, "to prepare for war is not to wage it. It is prudent to be on one's guard, just in order to secure peace, honorable peace."
"Your father!... Here is your father!" Joan cried out abruptly, hearing a rap at the street door. She rose, together with Martine, while one of the apprentices ran to open the door. But the expectation of the two women was not verified. They heard a childish voice cry out gleefully: "It burns!... It burns!... Who wants buns.... It burns!" And Robin the Crumb-cracker, the blacksmith's apprentice, a lad about twelve years of age, wide awake, but all black with the smoke of the forge, stepped in, holding in his little leather apron about twenty pike-heads which he dropped on the floor. "Who wants fire-buns!... They are hot!... They just come from the furnace!..."
"Master Colombaik feared you had been nibbling the goods on the way," one of the young tanners observed with a laugh. "We hold you quite capable of doing so, little Robin!"
"You are right. I took my bite on the way!" laughingly answered the urchin. "But in order to chew my pretty piece of pointed iron, I need one of your fine ash branches. Let me have one."
"What the devil would you do with a pike?" asked Colombaik, smiling upon him. "You are barely twelve years old. That is no toy for urchins."
"I want to use it, if there be blows coming. My master, Paynen-Oste-Loup, will tap the backs of the great episcopals; so will I! I shall roll over the little noblemen in my best style. Those scamps have hurt my feelings quite often, pointing their finger at me and calling out: 'Look at the little villain with the black face! He looks like a blackamoor!'"
"Hold, my bold lad," said Colombaik to Robin; "here is a good oak handle for you. Give us the news. What is doing in the city?"
"They are rejoicing as on Christmas eve. Light is seen at all the windows. The forges are shooting up flame. The anvils ringing. They are making an infernal racket. One would think that the blacksmiths, locksmiths and armorers were all working at their master-pieces; and one would think all the shops are smithies."
"This time it is your father!" Joan cried out to her son, hearing a second rapping at the door. Fergan soon appeared. He entered at the moment when Robin was leaving, brandishing his oak branch and shouting: "Commune! Commune! Death to the episcopals!"
"Oh!" said the quarryman, following the blacksmith's apprentice with his eye. "How could we fear for our cause when even the children—"; and interrupting himself to address hiswife, who ran with Martine to meet him: "Come, now, dear bundles of timidity! The news makes for peace."
"Can it be true!" exclaimed the two women, folding their hands together. "There is to be no war?" And running to Colombaik, on whose neck she threw herself, Martine cried out: "Did you hear your father? There is to be no war! What happiness! It is over! Let's rejoice!"
"Upon my soul, dear Martine, so much the better!" remarked the young tanner, returning the embrace of his wife. "We shall not recoil before war, but peace is better. So, then, father, everything is adjusted? The bishop pays, or surrenders the horse? Justice will be enforced against that scamp of a Black John? And the King, true to his oath, backs the Commune against the bishop?"
"My friends," answered the quarryman, "we must, all the same, not hope for too much."
"But what about what you said just before," replied Joan with returning uneasiness, "did you not tell me the news was good?"
"I said, Joan, that the news was favorable to peace. Here is what happened last night: You heard the insolent answer of the bishop, reported at the meeting of the Councilmen by our neighbor Quatre-Mains, the baker, an answer that was rendered all the more threatening by the entry of the King into our city at the head of an armed troop of men. The Councilmen decided to take measures of resistance and safety. As constable of the militia, I ordered watchmen placed at all the towers that command the gates of the city, with orders to close them and allow none to enter. I likewise issued orders to the guilds of the blacksmiths, locksmiths and armorers to turn out quickly a large number of pikes, to the end of being able to arm all the male inhabitants. Quatre-Mains, like a man of foresight and good judgment, proposed sending under a good escort for all the flour in the mills of the suburbs, fearing the bishop may havethem pillaged by his men to starve out Laon. These precautions being taken, they were reported to the Council. We did not recoil before war, but did all we could to conjure it away. It was agreed that John Molrain was to appear before the King and pray him to induce the bishop to do us justice, and to promise henceforth to respect our charter. The Mayor went to the house of the Sire of Haut-Pourcin, where the King had taken quarters. Unable, however, to see the Prince, he conferred long with Abbot Peter de la Marche, one of the royal counselors, and showed him that we demanded nothing but what was just. The abbot did not conceal from John Molrain that the bishop, having ridden ahead with the King, had entertained him for a long time, and that Louis the Lusty seemed greatly irritated against the inhabitants of Laon. John Molrain had had dealings with the Abbot de la Marche on the confirmation of our Commune. Knowing the abbot's cupidity, he said to him: 'We are resolved to maintain our rights with arms, but before arriving at such extremities we desire to try all the means of conciliation. No sacrifice will be too great for us. Already have we paid Louis the Lusty a considerable sum to obtain his adhesion to our charter, let him deign to confirm it anew and to order the bishop to do us justice. We offer the King a sum equal to that which he received before. And to you, seigneur abbot, a handsome purse as a testimony of our gratitude.'"
"And attracted by such a promise," put in Colombaik, "the abbot surely accepted?"
"Without making any promises, the tonsured gentleman agreed to communicate our offer to the King when he retired, and he made an appointment with John Molrain for eleven in the evening. The Councilmen, having approved the proposition of the Mayor, went over the city, soliciting each of our friends to contribute according to his power towards the sum offered to the King. This last sacrifice was expected to roll away from our city the threatened dangers of war. All the inhabitants hastenedto put in their quota. Those who had not enough money, gave some vessel of silver; women and young girls offered their trinkets and their collars; finally, towards evening, the sum or its equivalent in articles of gold and silver was deposited in the communal treasury. John Molrain returned to the King to hear his answer. The Abbot de la Marche informed the Mayor that the King did not seem indisposed to accept our propositions, but that he desired to wait till morning before taking a definite resolution. There is where matters now stand. In a hurry to make the rounds of our watchmen, and having no time to come here for money, I requested our good neighbor the baker to pay for us our share of the contribution. Colombaik shall take to Ancel the money he advanced for our family."
"Surely the King will accept the offer of the Councilmen," observed Joan, "what interest could he have in refusing to profit by so large a sum? He is a greedy prince. He will accept our money."
"What a wretched trader that Louis the Lusty is!" exclaimed Colombaik. "He has us pay him to confirm our charter, and he has us pay him a second time to re-confirm it. Patient people that we are! We must pay, and pay again!"
"What does it matter, my child," said Joan; "provided no blood flows, let us pay a double tribute, if necessary!"
"'It is with iron that tribute should be paid to kings,' said our ancestor Vortigern to that other tonsured representative sent by Louis the Pious," rejoined Colombaik, looking almost with regret at the iron pikes that his apprentices, who had not intermitted their work, were engaged upon. "Oh, those times are long gone by!"
"Fergan!" suddenly Joan called out, inclining her head towards the street; "listen! Is not that the bell, and the voice of a crier. Let's find out what is up—"
At these words the quarryman's family approached the open window. The sun had just risen. A crier of the bishop, distinguishableby the arms embroidered on the breast of his coat, was seen passing the house. He alternately rang his bell and then cried out: "In the name of our seigneur the King! In the name of our seigneur the Bishop! Inhabitants of Laon assemble in the market-place at the eighth hour of the day!" and the crier rang anew his bell, the sound of which was soon lost in the distance. For an instant the family of the quarryman remained silent, each seeking to guess the object of the King and the bishop in ordering the assemblage. Joan, always yielding to hope, said to Fergan: "The King probably wishes to assemble the inhabitants in order to announce to them that he accepts the money and confirms the charter anew."
"If such was the intention of Louis the Lusty, if he had accepted the offer of the Commune, he would have notified the Mayor," the quarryman answered, sadly shaking his head.
"Perhaps he has done that. We may expect him to have done so, father."
"In that case the Mayor would have issued orders to ring the belfry bell, in order to assemble the communiers and announce to them the happy tidings. I do not like this convocation, made in the name of the King and the bishop. It presages nothing good. We have everything to fear from our enemies."
"Fergan!" replied Joan alarmed, "must we, then, renounce all hope of an accommodation? Is it war? Is it peace?"
"We shall soon be clear upon that. It will not be long before the eighth hour will sound," whereupon Fergan resumed his casque and his sword, which he had put away upon entering, and said to his son: "Arm yourself and let's go to the market-place. As to you, my young ones," said he, turning to the apprentices, "continue adjusting the pike-heads to the shafts."
"Fergan!" exclaimed Joan anxiously, "you foresee war?"
"Oh, Colombaik," said Martine, weeping and throwing herself upon the neck of her husband, "I die with fear, when I think of the dangers that you and your father are about to run!"
"Be comforted, dear wife, by ordering these preparations of resistance to continue, my father only adopts a measure of prudence," answered Colombaik. "The situation is not desperate."
"My dear Joan," the quarryman said sadly, "I have seen you bear up more bravely on the sands of Syria. Remember what perils you, your child and I escaped during our long journey in Palestine, and when we were serfs of Neroweg VI—"
"Fergan," Joan broke in, overcome with anguish, "the dangers of the past were terrible, and the future looks menacing."
"We were all so happy in this city!" muttered Martine. "Those wicked episcopals, so anxious to turn our joy into mourning, have, nevertheless, the same as the communiers, wives, mothers, sisters, daughters!"
"That is true," said Fergan bitterly; "but those men of the nobility and their families, driven by the pride of station and living in idleness, are furious at no longer being able to dispose of our hard labor. Oh! If they tire our patience and if they mean to reconquer their hateful rights, woe be unto the episcopals! Terrible reprisals await them!" And embracing Joan and Martine, the quarryman added: "Good-bye, wife; good-bye, my child."
"Good-bye, good mother; good-bye, Martine," Colombaik said in his turn, "I accompany my father to the market-place. Soon as we shall have definite information, I shall return to let you know. Remain at ease and without any apprehensions."
"Come, daughter," said Joan to Martine, after once more embracing her husband and her son, who forthwith went out, "let's resume our sad task. For a moment I had hoped we could drop it."
The two women began anew to prepare lint and bandages, while the young apprentices, resuming their work with renewed ardor, continued shafting the iron pikes.
An ever increasing crowd flowed into the market-place. Not now, as on the previous day, did joy and the breath of security brighten the faces of men, women and children gathering to celebrate the inauguration of the communal Town Hall and belfry, the symbol of the emancipation of the inhabitants. No; neither women nor children assisted at this gathering, so different from the first. Only the men met, sombre, uneasy, some determined, others crestfallen, and all foreseeing the approach of a public danger. Assembled in large groups around the pillars of the market-place, the communiers discussed the latest tidings—not yet known by Fergan at the time when, in the company of his son, he left his house—significant and alarming tidings. The watchmen on the towers, between which one of the gates of the city opened on a promenade that extended between the ramparts and the episcopal palace, had seen a large troop of woodmen serfs and colliers, with Thiegaud, the bandit and favorite of Bishop Gaudry, march into the palace at daybreak. A short time after daybreak, the King, accompanied by his knights and men-at-arms, had also retired into the fortified dwelling of the prelate, leaving Laon by the south gate, which the sentinels had not dared to refuse to open to the royal cavalcade. The courtiers of the King having warned him that the inhabitants of the city had been up all night, and that the blacksmiths' and locksmiths' anvils had constantly rung under the hammer in the manufacture of a large number of pikes, such preparations of defence, such a nocturnal excitement, all so contrary to the peaceful habits of the townsmen, awoke the royal suspicions and fears,and he had hastened to transfer his quarters to the episcopal palace, where he considered himself safer. Instructed on the departure of the Prince, the Mayor, John Molrain had himself run to the episcopal palace, where admission was refused him. Foreseeing as much, the Mayor had provided himself with a letter to the abbot counselor of the King, in which Molrain repeated his propositions of the previous day, and implored the King to accept them in the name of public peace. Molrain added that the Commune held the promised sum at the disposal of the King. To a letter so wisely framed and so conciliating, the King sent for answer that in the morning the inhabitants of Laon would be apprized of his pleasure. During that same night, it had been noticed in the city that the episcopals, entrenched in their fortified and solidly barricaded houses, had frequently exchanged signals among themselves by means of torches placed at their windows and alternately lighted and extinguished. These alarming tidings demolished almost completely the hope of an accommodation, and threw the communiers into a state of increasing anxiety. The Councilmen had been the first to appear at the market-place, where they were soon joined by the Mayor. The latter, grave and resolute, ordered silence, mounted one of the stands in the deserted stalls and said to the crowd:
"The eighth hour of the day will soon sound. I have ordered the messenger of the King to be allowed into the city when he presents himself at the gate. The King and the bishop have ordered us to meet here, at the market-place, to hear their pleasure. We prefer to receive the royal message at our Town Hall. That is the seat of our power. The more that power is contested from us, all the more zealous should we show ourselves in holding it high."
The Mayor's proposition was received with acclamation, and while the crowd followed the magistrates, Fergan and his son, commissioned to wait for the King's messengers, saw Archdeacon Anselm approaching with hurried steps. Thanks to his goodness and his uprightness, the prelate was beloved and venerated by all.Making a sign to the quarryman to draw near, he said to him in an agitated voice: "Will you join me in an endeavor to avert the frightful misfortunes that this city is threatened with?"
"The King has not, then, been moved even by the last sacrifice that we imposed upon ourselves? He refused the offer of John Molrain?"
"The bishop, learning that the Mayor had offered the King a considerable sum for the re-confirmation of your charter, offered Louis the Lusty twice as much to abolish the Commune, and promised rich presents to the King's counselors."
"And the King gave ear to such an infamous auction sale?"
"He gave ear to the suggestions of his own cupidity. He listened to the counselors that surround him, and he accepted the bishop's offer."
"The oath that Louis the Lusty took, his signature, his seal affixed to our charter—all that is then nullified?"
"The bishop absolved the King of his oath, by virtue of his episcopal power of binding and unbinding here on earth. A sacredotal chicanery."
"The King is in error if he expects to receive the price of that infamous traffic. The treasure of the bishop is empty. How could the King, so astute a trader, rely upon the promises of Gaudry?"
"Once the bishop's seigniorial power is restored, he will clap upon the townsmen, who will have again become taxable and subject to any imposts at his mercy, a tax to pay the sum promised to the King, and the latter himself will lend armed assistance to the bishop to levy the new contributions."
"Fatality!" cried out Fergan in an outburst of rage. "We shall, accordingly, have paid to obtain our enfranchisement, and are to pay over again to fall back into servitude!"
"The projects of the bishop are as criminal as insane. But if you desire to ward off even greater dangers, you will try to allay the popular effervescence when the decision of the King shall be announced to the Councilmen."
"You advise a cowardly act! No, I shall not seek to pacify the people, when the insolent challenge shall have been thrown in their faces! You will hear me the first to cry out: 'Commune! Commune!' and I shall march at the head of my forces against the bishop. It will be a battle to the knife!"
"Will you promise me not to precipitate so bloody a solution, that I may make new efforts to lead the bishop back to more equitable sentiments?"
Anselm had hardly finished speaking when a man on horseback, preceded by a sergeant-at-arms, covered with iron and the visor of his casque up, appeared at the entrance of the street.
"Here is the royal messenger," said the quarryman to the archdeacon, advancing towards the two cavaliers; "if the resolution of the King and the bishop is such as you have just informed me of, let the blood that is to run fall upon them!" Addressing then the royal messenger:
"The Mayor and the Councilmen are awaiting you in the large reception room of the Town Hall of the Commune."
"Monseigneur the King and monseigneur the Bishop commanded the inhabitants to assemble here at the market-place, in order to hear the rescript that I bring," answered the messenger; "I must obey the orders given me."
"If you wish to fulfil your mission, follow me," replied the quarryman. "Our magistrates, representing the inhabitants of the city, are assembled at the Town Hall. They have not chosen to wait here." Fearing some trap, the King's messenger hesitated to follow Fergan, who, surmising his thoughts, added: "Fear nothing; your person will be respected; I answer for you with my head."
The sincerity that breathed through the words of Fergan reassured the envoy, who, from greater prudence, ordered the knight, by whom he was escorted, to accompany him no further, lest the sight of an armed man should irritate the crowd. The royal messenger then followed the quarryman.
"Fergan," the archdeacon called in a penetrating voice, "alast time I conjure you, seek to curb the popular anger. I return to the King and the bishop to renew my endeavors against the fatal course they are starting on."
With that the archdeacon precipitately left the quarryman, who, leaving the market-place, reached the Town Hall, and stepping ahead of the messenger into the crowd repeated several times, while elbowing his way through: "Room and respect for the envoy; he is alone and unarmed!"
Arrived at the threshold of the Town Hall, the envoy left his horse in charge of Robin the Crumb-cracker, who pressed forward offering to guard the palfrey; and accompanied by the quarryman he went up to the large reception hall where were gathered the Mayor and the Councilmen, some in arms, others merely in the robes of their office. The faces of the magistrates were at once grave and uneasy. They misgave the approach of events disastrous to the city. Above the Mayor's seat stood the Communal banner; on a table before him, lay the official silver seal. The gathering was silent and wrapt in thought.
"Mayor and Councilmen! Here is the royal envoy who wishes to make a communication to you."
"We shall listen to him," answered the Mayor, John Molrain; "let him communicate to us the message he is charged with."
The King's man seemed embarrassed in the fulfillment of his errand. He drew from his breast a parchment scroll, sealed with the royal seal, and unfolding it he said in a tremulous voice: "This is the pleasure of our seigneur the King. He has ordered me to read this rescript to you aloud, and to leave it with you, to the end that you may not remain in ignorance upon its contents. Listen to it with respect."
"Read," said John Molrain; and turning to the Councilmen: "Above all, my friends, whatever our sentiments, let us not interrupt the envoy during the reading."
The King's man then read aloud: