"Louis, by the Grace of God, King of the French, to the Mayor and inhabitants of Laon, Greeting:—"We order and command you strictly to render, without contradiction or delay, to our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of Laon, the keys of this city, which he holds under us. We likewise order and command you to forward to our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of the diocese of Laon, the seal, the banner and the treasury of the Commune, which we now declare abolished. The tower of the belfry and the Town Hall shall be demolished, within the space of one month at the longest. We order and command you, in addition, to henceforth obey the bans and orders of our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of Laon, the same as his predecessors and himself have always been obeyed before the establishment of the said Commune, because we may not fail to guarantee to our well-beloved and trusty bishops the possession of the seigniories and rights which they hold from God as ecclesiastics and from us as laymen."This is our will."LOUIS."
"Louis, by the Grace of God, King of the French, to the Mayor and inhabitants of Laon, Greeting:—
"We order and command you strictly to render, without contradiction or delay, to our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of Laon, the keys of this city, which he holds under us. We likewise order and command you to forward to our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of the diocese of Laon, the seal, the banner and the treasury of the Commune, which we now declare abolished. The tower of the belfry and the Town Hall shall be demolished, within the space of one month at the longest. We order and command you, in addition, to henceforth obey the bans and orders of our well-beloved and trusty Gaudry, Bishop of Laon, the same as his predecessors and himself have always been obeyed before the establishment of the said Commune, because we may not fail to guarantee to our well-beloved and trusty bishops the possession of the seigniories and rights which they hold from God as ecclesiastics and from us as laymen.
"This is our will.
"LOUIS."
The recommendation of John Molrain was religiously observed. The King's envoy read his message in the midst of profound silence. In the measure, however, as he proceeded with the reading of the act, every word of which conveyed a threat and was an outrage, an iniquity, a perjury towards the Commune, the Mayor and Councilmen exchanged looks successively expressive of astonishment, rage, pain and consternation. Overwhelming, indeed, was the astonishment of the Councilmen, to whom Fergan had not yet had time to communicate his conversation with the archdeacon. However, aware of the evil intentions of the King, yet they had not been able to imagine such a flagrant violation of the rights that had been granted, acknowledged and solemnly sworn to by the Prince and the bishop. Great, indeed, was the anger that seized the Councilmen; the least bellicose among them felt his heart stirred with indignation at the insolent challenge hurled at the Commune, at the brazen robbery contemplated by the King and bishop in the attempt to restore their odious rights, the permanent abolition of which was proclaimed by a charter sold for heavy money. Great was also the pain felt by the Councilmen at the royal order to surrender to the bishop their banner, their seal and their treasury, and to tear down their Town Hall and its belfry. That belfry, that seal, that banner, such dear symbols of an emancipation obtainedafter so many years of oppression, of servitude and of shame,—all were to be renounced by the communiers. They were to fall back under the yoke of Gaudry, when, in their legitimate pride, they expected to bequeath to their children a freedom so painfully acquired. Tears of rage and despair rolled down from all eyes at the bare thought of such a disgrace. Great was the consternation of the Councilmen; even the more energetic of them, while caring little for their own lives, determined to defend the communal franchises unto death, nevertheless anticipated with profound pain the disasters that their flourishing city was threatened with, the torrents of blood that civil war was about to shed. Victory or defeat, what distress, what ravages, what a number of widows and orphans in prospect!
At that supreme moment, some of the Councilmen, they later admitted it themselves, after having first triumphed over a transitory feeling of faintness, felt their resolution waver. To enter into a struggle with a King of the French was, for the city of Laon, an act of almost insane foolhardiness. It was to expose the inhabitants to almost certain deeds of retribution. Moreover, these magistrates—all of them husbands and most of them fathers, men of peaceful habits—were not versed in war. Undoubtedly, to submit to bear the yoke of the bishop and of the nobility meant abysmal degradation; it meant to submit for all future time themselves and their descendants to indignities and incessant exploitation. Life, it is true, would be safe, and by virtue of tame submission to the bishop some concessions might be obtained to render life less miserable. Fortunately, the instances where such unworthy wavering in the face of peril was experienced, had the advantage of unrolling before the shaken hearts the abysmal infamy that fear might drive them to. Promptly returning to their senses, these men realized that the fatal choice was between degradation and servitude on the one side, and, on the other, the dangers of a resistance sacred as justice itself; that they had to choose between shame or a glorious death. Their self-respect soon regained the upper hand, and theyblushed at their own weakness. When the envoy of Louis the Lusty had finished reading the royal message, none of the Councilmen who had just been a prey to cruel perplexities raised the voice to advise the relinquishment of the franchises of the Commune.
The reading of the King's rescript being ended, John Molrain said to the envoy in a solemn voice: "Are you authorized to listen to our objections?"
"There is no room for objections to an act of the sovereign will of our seigneur the King, signed by his own hand and sealed with his own seal," answered the messenger. "The King commands in the fullness of his power; his subjects obey with humility. Bend your knees, bow down your foreheads!"
"Is the will of Louis the Lusty irrevocable?" resumed the Mayor.
"Irrevocable!" answered the envoy. "And as a first proof of your obedience to his orders, the King herein orders you, Councilmen, to hand over to me the keys, the seal and the banner of the city. I have orders to take them to the bishop, in token of submission to the abolition of the Commune."
These words of the messenger carried the exasperation of the Councilmen to its pitch. Some bounded from their seats or raised to heaven their threatening fists; others covered their faces in their hands. Threats, imprecations, moans, escaped from all lips. Dominating the tumult, John Molrain ordered silence. All the Councilmen resumed their seats. Then, rising full of dignity, calmness and firmness, the Mayor turned to the banner of the Commune, that stood behind his seat, pointed towards it with his hand and said to the messenger of the King: "On this banner, that the King commands us to give up like cowards, are traced two towers and a sword: The towers are the emblem of the city of Laon, the sword is the emblem of the Commune. Our duty is inscribed upon that banner—to defend with arms the franchises of our city. That seal, which the King demands as a token of relinquishment of our liberties," John Molrainproceeded, taking up from the table a silver medal, "this seal represents a man raising his right hand to heaven in witness of the sacredness of his oath; in his left hand he holds a sword, with the point over his heart. This man is the Mayor of the Commune of Laon. This magistrate is swearing by heaven to rather die than betray his oath. Now, then,I, Mayor of the Commune of Laon, freely elected by my fellow townsmen, I swear to maintain and to defend our rights and our franchises unto death!"
"To that oath we shall all be faithful!" cried the Councilmen with frantic enthusiasm. "We swear sooner to die than to renounce our franchises!"
"You have heard the answer of the Mayor and Councilmen of Laon," said John Molrain to the King's man when the tumult was appeased. "Our charter has been sworn to and signed by the King and by Bishop Gaudry in the year 1109. We shall defend that charter with the sword. The King of the French is all-powerful in Gaul, the Commune of Laon is strong only in its rights and in the bravery of its inhabitants. It has done everything to avoid an impious war. It now awaits its enemies."
Hardly had John Molrain pronounced these last words when a deafening uproar rose outside the Town Hall. Colombaik had joined his father to accompany the royal messenger to the council hall. But after hearing the rescript of the King, he was not able longer to restrain his indignation. Hastily descending to the street, packed with a dense mass, he announced that the King abolished the Commune and re-established the bishop in the sovereignty of his so justly abhorred rights. While the news spread like wild-fire from mouth to mouth through the whole city, the crowd, massed upon the square, began to make the air resound with imprecations. The more exasperated communiers invaded the hall, where the council was gathered, and cried, inflamed with fury: "To arms! To arms! Down with the King, the bishop and the episcopals!"
Sufficiently uneasy before now, the royal messenger grew pale with fear, and ran for protection behind the Mayor and Councilmen, saying to them in a trembling voice: "I have only obeyed orders; protect me!"
"Fear nothing!" called Fergan. "I have answered for you with my head. I shall see you safe to the gates of the city."
"To arms!" cried John Molrain, addressing himself to the inhabitants who had invaded the hall. "Ring the belfry bell to convoke the people to the market-place. From there we shall march to the ramparts! To arms, communiers! To arms!"
These words of John Molrain caused the King's messenger to be forgotten. While several inhabitants climbed to the tower of the belfry to set the big bell ringing, others descended quickly to the street and spread themselves over the city crying: "To arms!" "Commune!" "Commune!" And these cries, taken up by the crowds, were soon joined by the clangor from the belfry.
"Molrain," Fergan said to the Mayor, "I shall accompany the envoy of Louis the Lusty to the city's gate that opens opposite the episcopal palace, and I shall remain on guard at that postern, one of the most important posts."
"Go," answered the Mayor; "we of the Council shall remain here in permanence to the end of deciding upon the measures to be taken."
Fergan and Colombaik descended from the council hall. The King's man walked between them. The people, running home for their arms, had cleared the square; only a few groups were left behind. Little Robin the Crumb-cracker, who had been charged with the care of the messenger's palfrey, had hastened to profit by the opportunity of straddling a horse for the first time in his life, and was carrying himself triumphantly in the saddle. At sight of the quarryman, he quickly came down again and said, while placing the reins into his hands: "Master Fergan, here is the horse; I prefer the infantry to the cavalry. I shall now run for my pike. Let the little episcopals look out. If I meet any, I'll massacre them."
The bellicose ardor of the stripling seemed to strike the royal envoy even more forcibly than anything he had yet seen. He remounted his horse escorted by Fergan and his son. The redoubled peals from the belfry resounded far into the distance. In all the streets that the King's man traversed on his way to the city gate, shops were hastily closing, and soon the faces of women and children appeared at the windows, following with anxious mien the husband, father, son or brother, who was leaving the house to meet in arms at the call of the belfry. The King's messenger, sombre and silent, could not conceal the astonishment and fear produced in him by the warlike excitement of that people of bourgeois and artisans, all running with enthusiasm to the defence of the Commune. "Before you arrived at the gate of the city," Fergan said to him, "you surely expected to meet here with a craven obedience to the orders of the King and the bishop. But you see it for yourself, here, as at Beauvais, as at Cambrai, as at Noyons, as at Amiens, the old Gallic blood is waking up after centuries of slavery. Report faithfully to Louis the Lusty and to Gaudry what you have witnessed while crossing the city. Perchance, at the supreme moment, they may recoil before the iniquity that they are contemplating, and they may yet save grave disasters to this city that asks but to be allowed to live peacefully and happy in the name of the faith that has been plighted."
"I have no authority in the councils of my seigneur the King," answered the envoy sadly, "but I swear in the name of God, I did not expect to see what I have seen, and hear what I have heard. I shall faithfully report it all to my master."
"The King of the French is all-powerful in Gaul, the city of Laon is strong only in its right and the bravery of its inhabitants. It now awaits its enemies! You see it is on its guard," added Fergan, pointing to a troop of bourgeois militia that had just occupied the ramparts contiguous to the gate by which the King's envoy made his exit.
The episcopal palace, fortified with towers and thick walls, was separated from the city by a wide space, lined with trees and that served as a promenade. Fergan and his son were busy organizing the transport of materials destined for the defence of the walls in case of an attack, when the quarryman saw the outer gate of the episcopal palace thrown open. Several of the King's men came out, looked around cautiously, as if to make sure that the promenade was clear, re-entered the palace in hot haste, and almost immediately a strong escort of knights rode out, and took the road that led to the boundary of Picardy. This vanguard was closely followed by a few warriors, clad in brilliant armor, one of them, notable for his enormous stomach; two ordinary men could have been easily held in this one's cuirass. The rider's casque was topped with a golden crown engraved with fleur-de-lis. The long scarlet saddle-cloth, that covered his horse almost wholly, was likewise embroidered in gold fleur-de-lis. These insignias, coupled with the extraordinary corpulence of the rider, designated Louis the Lusty to Fergan. A few steps behind the Prince the quarryman recognized the messenger, whom, shortly before, he had himself accompanied to the gate of the city, and who, now was engaged in an animated conversation with the Abbot de la Marche. The train closed with several baggage mules and servants; the rear was brought up by another squad of knights. The whole cavalcade soon fell into a gallop, and Fergan saw the King at a distance turning towards the ramparts of Laon, whose belfry bell did not cease ringing, and menace the city with a gesture of rage by shaking at it his closedfist, covered with a mailed gauntlet. Giving then the spurs to his horse, Louis the Lusty soon disappeared at the turning of the road in the midst of a cloud of dust.
"You flee before the insurgent communiers, oh, King of the Franks, noble descendant of Hugh Capet!" cried out Colombaik in the passionate heat of his age. "Old Gaul is waking up! The descendants of the kings of the conquest flee before the popular uprisings! The day predicted by Victoria has arrived!"
Ripened with age and experience, Fergan said to his son in a grave and melancholic voice: "My son, let us not take the first glimmerings of the approaching dawn for the light of the midday sun." At that very moment, the sound of the great bell of the cathedral, never rung but at certain great holidays, was suddenly heard. Instead, however, of ringing slowly and in measured ryhthm, as usual, its clang now was alternately rapid and then again at long intervals. The tolling lasted only a short time; soon the bell was silent. "To arms!" Fergan cried out in a thundering voice. "This must be a signal agreed upon between the knights of the city and the episcopal palace. While waiting for the re-inforcements that, undoubtedly, the King is gone after, the episcopals deem themselves able to overcome us. To arms! Cover the ramparts! Death to the episcopals!"
At the call of Fergan and his son, the latter of whom ran to rally the insurgents, the communiers hastened near, some armed with bows, others with pikes, hatchets and swords—all ready to repel an attack. Others again lighted fires under caldrons full of pitch, while their companions rolled with great effort towards the ramparts certain engines of war, which, by means of turning pallets, fastened in the middle of a twisted rope, hurled enormous stones more than a hundred paces off. Suddenly a great noise, in which shouts were mixed with the clatter of arms, sounded from afar in the center of the city. As Fergan had forseen, the episcopals sallying forth from their fortified dwellings at the signal given by the great bell of the cathedral, had fallen upon the bourgeois in the city at the same time that, asagreed upon, the serfs of the episcopal palace, led by several knights, were to begin the siege of the ramparts. The communiers were, accordingly, to find themselves between two enemies, one within, the other without. In fact, Fergan saw the gate of the episcopal palace swing open once more, and there issued forth from it a huge four-wheeled wagon, pushed from behind with feet and hands. The wagon was filled with straw and faggots, heaped so high, that the mass of combustibles, raised twelve or fifteen feet above the rails of the wagon, completely hid and covered those who shoved it, serving them as a shelter against the projectiles that might be hurled at them from the walls. The assailants figured upon setting fire to the combustibles in the wagon, with the object of pushing it near enough to the gate so as to communicate its fire to the latter. The move, although skilfully planned, was baffled by the quick wit of Robin the Crumb-cracker, the blacksmith's apprentice. Armed with his pike, he was one of the first at the ramparts, and had noticed the chariot advancing slowly and always pushed from behind. Several insurgents, armed with bows, yielded to a thoughtless impulse, and hastened to shoot their arrows at the wagon. These, however, fastened themselves uselessly in the straw or the wood. Robin pulled off his shirt, tore it in shreds, and sighting a tall militiaman, who, seduced by the example of his fellows was also about to shoot uselessly upon the straw, the blacksmith's apprentice brusquely disarmed the townsman, seized the arrow, wrapped it in one of the shreds of his shirt, ran and plunged it into a caldron of pitch, already liquid, lighted it at the fire, and quickly placing it on the cord of the bow, fired the flaming arrow into the middle of the chariot filled with combustibles, and then but a short distance from the walls. Overjoyed at his own inspiration, Robin clapped his hands, turned somersaults, and while returning the bow to the astonished militiaman, set up the shout: "Commune! Commune! The episcopals prepare the bonfires,the communiers light them!" And the blacksmith's apprentice ran to pick up his pike.
Hardly had the firebrand dropped upon that load of straw and fagots than it took fire, and offered to the eyes one mass of flames, overtopped by a dense cloud of smoke that the wind drove towards the episcopal palace. Noticing the circumstance, Fergan hastened to profit by it. "My friends!" cried he, "let's finish the work begun by little Crumb-cracker! That cloud of smoke will mask our movements from the episcopals. Let's make a sortie. Form into a column of armed men, and let's take the episcopal palace by storm. Death to the episcopals!"
"Fall to!" was the insurgents' response. "To the assault! Commune! Commune!"
"One-half of our troops will remain here with Colombaik to guard the walls," Fergan proceeded. "They are fighting in the village. The episcopals might try to attack the ramparts from behind. Let those follow me who are ready to storm the episcopal palace. Forward, march!"
A large number of communiers hastened upon the heels of Fergan. Among them was Bertrand, the son of Bernard des Bruyeres, the ill-starred victim of Gaudry's murderous nature. Bertrand was silent, almost impassible in the midst of the seething effervescence of the people. His only thought was to avoid dropping his heavy axe that weighed down his shoulder. Fergan had cleverly led the sortie of the insurgents. Masked for a sufficient space of time to the eyes of the enemy by the flames and smoke of the burning wagon and its load, they soon reached the walls of the episcopal palace, found the gate open, and a crowd of armed serfs standing under the arch. Under the lead of several knights, they were preparing to march on the assault of the postern, their chief, as well as Fergan, having relied upon masking their attack behind the burning chariot. At the unexpected sight of the insurgents, the episcopals only thought of barring the entrance to the palace. It was too late. A bloody hand-to-hand encounter took place under the arch that joinedthe two towers on either side of the gate. The communiers, warming to the conflict, fought with fury. Many were killed, others wounded. Fergan received from a knight a blow with an axe that broke his casque and struck his forehead. After a stubborn struggle, the inhabitants of Laon threw the episcopals back and entered the vast yard where the combat proceeded with redoubled fury. Fergan, still in the hottest of the fight, despite his wound, for a moment thought himself and his men lost. Just as the fight was at its hottest, Thiegaud came in from the green of the bishopric at the head of a large body of woodmen serfs, armed with stout hatchets, and threw himself into the fray. The re-inforcement was intended to crush the insurgents. What was not the surprise of these, when they heard the serf of St. Vincent and his men set up the cry: "Death to the bishop! To the sack of the palace! To the sack! Commune!"
The combat changed its aspect on the spot. The larger number of the bishop's serfs who had taken part in the struggle, hearing the woodmen cry: "Commune! Death to the bishop! To the sack of the palace!" dropped their arms. Deserted by a part of their men, the knights redoubled their efforts of valor, but in vain; they were all killed or disabled. Soon masters of the palace, the insurgents spread in all directions, yelling: "Death to the bishop!"
Thiegaud approached Fergan with a mien of triumphant hatred brandishing his cutlass. "I answered Gaudry for the faithfulness of the woodmen of the abbey," cried the serf of St. Vincent, "but in order to revenge myself upon the wretch for having debauched my daughter, I caused our men to mutiny against him and his tonsured fellow devils!"
"Where is the bishop?" the insurgents shouted, brandishing their weapons. "To death with him!"
"Friends, your vengeance shall be satisfied, and mine also. Gaudry will not escape us," replied Thiegaud. "I know where the holy man lies in hiding. The moment you forced the gate of the palace, and fearing the issue of the fight, Gaudry put onthe coat of one of the servants, in the hope of fleeing under cover of the disguise. But I advised him to lock himself up in his storeroom, and to crawl into the bottom of one of the empty hogsheads. Come, come!" he proceeded with savage laughter, "We shall stave in the head and draw red wine." Saying which, the serf of St. Vincent, followed by the mob of the insurgents who were exasperated at the bishop, wended his way to the storeroom. Among the furious crowd was the son of Bernard des Bruyeres. Having by the merest chance escaped unscathed from the melée, the frail youth marched close behind Thiegaud, endeavoring, despite the smallness of his stature and his feebleness, not to lose the post he had taken. His pale and sickly features were rapidly regaining their color; a feverish ardor illumined his eyes and imparted to him fictitious strength. No longer did his heavy battle axe seem to weigh on his puny arm. From time to time he lovingly contemplated the weapon, while he passed his finger along its sharp edge. At such times he would emit a sigh of repressed joy, while he raised his flashing eyes to heaven. Guiding the communiers, the serf of St. Vincent, threaded his way to the storeroom, a spacious chamber located at one of the corners of the first yard. Before reaching it, the inhabitants of Laon, having stumbled against the corpse of Black John that lay riddled with wounds, they threw themselves in a paroxysm of fury upon the lifeless body of the savage executor of Gaudry's cruelties. In the tumult that ensued upon these acts of reprisal, the son of Bernard des Bruyeres was, despite all stubborn resistance on his part, separated from Thiegaud, at the moment when the latter, helped by several of the insurgents, broke down and forced the door of the storeroom, that, for greater precaution, the prelate had bolted and barred from within. The mass emptied itself into the vast chamber that was barely lighted by narrow skylights and crowded with full and empty vats. A kind of alley wound its way between the numerous hogsheads. Thiegaud made a sign to the insurgents to halt and stay at a distance. Wishing to prolong the bishop's agony, he struck withthe flat of his cutlass the head of several vats, calling out each time: "Anyone inside?" Of course he received no answer. Arriving finally near a huge hogshead that stood on end he turned his head to the communiers with the slyness of a wolf, and removing and throwing down the cover that had been lightly placed upon it, asked again: "Any one inside?"
"There is here an unhappy prisoner," came from the trembling voice of the bishop. "Have mercy upon him in the name of Christ!"
"Oho! my friend Ysengrin!" said Thiegaud, now taking his turn in giving the nickname to his master. "Is it you who are cowering down in that barrel? Come out! Come out! I want to see whether, perhaps, my daughter is there in hiding with you." Saying which, the serf of St. Vincent seized the prelate by his long hair with a vigorous clutch, and forced him, despite his resistance, to rise by little and little from the bottom of the ton into which he had crawled. It was a frightful spectacle. For a moment, always holding the bishop by the hair as the latter rose on his feet in the barrel, Thiegaud seemed to hold in his hand the head of a corpse, so livid was Gaudry's face. For a moment Gaudry stood upon his legs inside of the barrel, with his head and shoulders above the edge. But his limbs shook so that, wishing to support himself inside of the barrel, it tumbled over and the Bishop of Laon rolled at the feet of the serf. Stooping down, while the prelate was painfully trying to rise, Thiegaud affected to look into the bottom of the barrel, and cried out: "No, friend Ysengrin, my daughter is not there. The jade must have stayed in your bed."
"Beloved sons in Jesus Christ!" stammered Gaudry, who, upon his knees, extended his hands towards the communiers. "I swear to you upon the gospels and upon my eternal salvation, I shall uphold your Commune! Have pity upon me!"
"Liar, renegade!" yelled back the enraged communiers. "We know what your oath is worth. Swindler and hypocrite!"
"You shall pay with your life for the blood of our people that has flowed to-day! Justice! Justice!"
"Yes, justice and vengeance in the name of the women, who this morning had husbands, and this evening are widows!"
"Justice and vengeance in the name of the children, who this morning had fathers, and this evening are orphans!"
"Oh, Gaudry, you and yours have by dint of perjuries and untold outrages tired the patience of the people! Your hour has sounded!"
"Which of us is it that wanted war, you or we? Did you listen to our prayers? Did you have pity for the peace of our city? No! Well, then, neither shall there be pity for you! Death to the bishop!"
"My good friends ... grant me my life," repeated the bishop, whose teeth chattered with terror. "Oh! I pray you!... Grant me my life! I ... I shall renounce the bishopric.... I shall leave this city.... You shall never see my face again.... Only leave me my life!"
"Did you show mercy to my brother Gerhard, whose eyes were put out by your orders?" cried a communier, seizing the prelate by the collar and shaking him with fury. "Infamous criminal! Did you have pity for him?"
"Did you have mercy for my friend Robert of the Mill, who was stabbed to death by Black John?" added another insurgent. And the two accusers seized the prelate, who quietly allowed himself to be dragged upon his knees, "You shall die in the face of the sun that has witnessed your crimes!"
Overwhelmed with blows and insults, Gaudry was pushed out of the storeroom. In vain did he cry: "Have pity upon me!... I shall restore your Commune!... I swear to you!... I swear!—"
"Will you restore their husbands to the widows, their fathers to the orphans you have made?"
"After having lived the life of a traitor and a homicide; after exasperating an inoffensive people that only asked to be allowedto live in peace in accordance with the pledge that was sworn, it is not enough to cry 'Pity!' in order to be absolved."
"Clemency is holy, but impunity is impious! Death to the bishop!"
"Heaven and earth!" cried Fergan. "The justice of the people is the justice of God! Death to the bishop! Death!"
"Yes, yes! To death with the bishop!"
The prelate was dragged in the midst of these furious cries outside of the storeroom. Suddenly a tremulous voice dominated the uproar: "What, shall not the son of Bernard des Bruyeres be allowed to avenge his father!" Immediately, by a simultaneous movement, the insurgents opened a path to the son of the victim. His face radiant, his eyes flashing, Bertrand rushed upon the prostrate bishop, and raising his heavy axe with his weak hands, cleaved the skull of Gaudry; then, casting off the blood-stained weapon, he cried: "You are avenged, my father!"
"Well done, my lad! The death of your father and the dishonor of my daughter are avenged at one blow!" cried Thiegaud; and seeing the episcopal ring on the bishop's finger, he added: "I take my daughter's token of marriage!" Unable, however, to tear the ring off the prelate's finger, the serf of St. Vincent cut it off with a blow of his cutlass and stuck both finger and ring in his pocket.
So legitimate was the hatred that Gaudry inspired the communiers, that it survived even the man's death. His corpse was riddled with wounds and covered with curses. The insurgents were in the act of throwing his lifeless body into a sewer close to the storeroom, when from another side the cry fell upon their ears: "Commune! Commune! Death to the episcopals!"
While this tragic scene was enacting, another body of the people of Laon, led by Ancel Quatre-Mains and his sprightly wife, invaded the episcopal palace from another side. Fergan was running to meet them the moment he saw them enter the green, when he caught sight of Archdeacon Anselm, who, having so far kept aloof from the theater of the conflict, was now hastening to the spot, informed of the bishop's fate by one of his domestics. The archdeacon succeeded in inducing the communiers to refrain from submitting the remains of their enemy to the idle and last disgrace contemplated by them. Helped by two servants, the worthy priest of Christ was carrying the corpse of the bishop, when he noticed Fergan, and said to him in a voice deeply moved, with the tears running down his cheeks: "I wish to bury the body of this unfortunate man, and to pray for him. My sad forecasts have been verified. Only yesterday, warning him in the midst of his braggart and fatal illusion of security, I expressed the hope that I may not soon have to pray over his grave. Oh, Fergan, civil war is a terrible scourge!"
"A curse upon those who provoke these execrable strifes, that carry mourning into the camp of both the vanquishers and the vanquished!" answered the quarryman, and leaving the archdeacon to fulfil his pious office, he proceeded to join Quatre-Mains, who commanded the other troop of the invaders.
The worthy Councilman, ever hampered and incommoded by his military equipment, had rid himself of it in the moment of battle. Replacing his iron casque with a woolen cap and keeping on his leather jerkin only, with his coat sleeves rolled back, ashe was wont when kneading his dough, he had armed himself with the poker of his oven, a long and heavy iron implement, bent at one end. His stout-hearted little wife Simonne, her cheeks in a glow and her eyes aflame, carried in her skirt a bundle of lint and bandages ready for use, together with a wicker-covered flask, containing a decoction, pronounced marvelous by her for checking the flow of blood. Joy and the excitement of triumph radiated from the charming features of the baker's wife. At the sight of Fergan, however, whose face was clotted with the blood of the wound he had received on his head, she cried out sadly: "Neighbor Fergan, you are wounded! Let me tend you, the fight is over; be not alarmed about your son; we have just seen him at his post on the ramparts; he is safe and sound, although there was a sharp encounter at that spot; sit down on this bench, I shall nurse you the same as I would have done Ancel, had he been wounded. Upon the faith of a Picardian woman, if he escaped being hurt, it was not his fault; he merited anew his surname of Quatre-Mains, the way he belabored the heads and backs of the episcopals."
Fergan accepted Simonne's offer and sat down upon a bench, while the young woman looked for the lint in her pockets. The baker himself stopped a few steps behind to gather the details of the capture of the bishop. He then approached his wife, and seeing her engaged upon Fergan, hastened his steps, asking with deep interest: "What, neighbor, wounded? Nothing serious?"
"I was struck with an axe on my casque," and raising his head which he had inclined to facilitate the nursing of Simonne, Fergan noticed the rather unmilitary accoutrement of his friend: "Why did you take off your armor in the middle of the fight?"
"Upon my faith, the casque kept dropping on my nose, the corselet took the breath from me, the sword encumbered my legs. Accordingly, when the fight started, I made myself comfortable, just as I do when I am kneading dough. I rolled up my sleeves, and instead of that devil of a sword, which I cannot handle, Iarmed myself with my iron poker, the use of which is familiar to me."
"But what could you do with a poker? It is a rather singular implement of war."
"What could he do with it?" put in Simonne, saturating a bandage with the contents of the wicker-covered flask, and applying the same to the quarryman's wound. "Oh, Ancel is quick with his hands. If a nobleman on horseback came near, armed to the teeth, my husband grappled his throat with the hook of his long poker and then pulled with all his might; I helped when necessary. In almost every instance we unhorsed the knight, and throwing him to the ground he was at our mercy."
"After which," added the baker calmly, "and after beating my man with the hook of my poker, I dispatched him with the handle. I settled more than one of them. One does what he can!"
"Oh, neighbor!" Simonne proceeded with enthusiasm; "it was especially at the siege of the house of the knight of Haut-Pourcin that Ancel made a famous use of his poker. Several episcopals and their servants, entrenched upon a crenelated terrace, fired down upon us with cross-bows. They had killed or wounded so many communiers, that none dared come near the accursed house, and our people had retired to the end of the street. Presently, we saw the wicked knight of Haut-Pourcin, cross-bow in hand, leaning half over the battlement of the terrace, to see if there was any of ours that he could hit. At that instant—," but interrupting herself, Simonne said to her husband: "Tell your own story, Ancel; while I speak I cannot pay proper attention to the bandage of our neighbor."
While Simonne finished attending to Fergan, the baker continued the narrative that his wife had commenced: "Noticing that the knight of Haut-Pourcin leaned over the terrace several times, I profited by a moment when he had withdrawn; I slided along the wall to the foot of the house; as the projection of the balcony prevented him from seeing me, I watched for my man;the instant he again put out his head I snatched him up with the hook of my poker exactly at the jointure of his casque and his cuirass with might and main; Simonne came and helped; and we had the satisfaction of making that noble personage turn a somersault from the height of the terrace down to the street; our communiers ran by; the episcopals rushed out of the knight's house to deliver him; they were driven back and we stormed the building!"
"And lo!" cried Simonne heroically, "I, who did not leave the heels of Ancel, find myself face to face with that old hag of the dame of Haut-Pourcin, who was yelling like a fury: 'Kill! Kill! No quarter for those vile clowns! Exterminate them!' I was seized with rage, and recalling the insults that the harpy had poured upon me shortly before I threw her down, grabbed her by the throat, and, as true as Ancel is called Quatre-Mains, I slapped her face as thoroughly as if I was endowed with six hands, all the while saying to her: 'Take this! and that! you proud dame of Haut-Pourcin. Take this, and that, and still another, you wicked old hag! Oh, my gallants pay for my skirts, do they! Very well, I pay cash, and in round sums for the insults I receive!' Upon the faith of a Picardian woman, had her hair not been gray, like my mother's, I would have strangled the she-devil!"
Fergan could not help smiling at the exaltation of Simonne. He then said to Ancel: "When I heard the large bell of the cathedral ringing in a peculiar way, I concluded it was the signal agreed upon between the bishop and his partisans to attack our people simultaneously from within and from without the city."
"You were not mistaken, neighbor. At that signal, the episcopals, who had laid their plans and gathered their forces over night, sallied forth from their houses crying: 'Kill, kill the communiers!' Other noblemen also were besieged in their houses. The fight was going on with the same vigor on the streets and squares, while a troop of episcopals betook itself to the ramparts on the side of the bishop's gate."
"Expecting to fall from the rear upon our people who they thought were being attacked in front," said Fergan. "For that reason I ordered my son to be on his guard. You assure me he is not wounded? God be praised!"
"If he is wounded, neighbor Fergan," replied Simonne, "it can only be slightly. He called out to us from the top of the ramparts: 'Victory! Victory! Our people are masters of the bishop's palace!'"
"And now," said Quatre-Mains, "meseems the Mayor and Councilmen should meet at the Town Hall to consider what is to be done."
"I think so, too, Ancel. We shall leave here a sufficient force to keep the palace. Watch shall continue to be held on the ramparts of the city, whose gates shall be closed and barricaded. Let's not deceive ourselves. However legitimate our insurrection, we must be prepared to see Louis the Lusty return to lay siege to the city at the head of the re-inforcements that he has gone to fetch. The Princes are on the side of the clergy."
"I think so, too," replied the Councilman with resignation and fortitude: "John Molrain said to the royal messenger: 'The King of the French is all-powerful in Gaul; the Commune of Laon is strong only in its right and the courage of its inhabitants.' We shall fight as well as we may against Louis the Lusty and his army; and we shall, if need be, be killed to the last man."
"Thank you for your kind nursing, good neighbor," Fergan said to Simonne; "I now feel in good trim. My poor Joan will be jealous."
"It is rather I who should be jealous," retorted Simonne. "Crossing our street, we saw the basement room of your house full of wounded men, at whom your wife and Martine were busy. The good souls!"
"Dear souls! How uneasy they must feel!" said Fergan. "I must hasten to ease their minds, and I shall return to superintend our defence."
The conversation between Fergan and Ancel was here interrupted by cries and shouts mingled with cheers that went up from one of the yards of the palace, which was given up to pillage and devastation. The insurgents sought vengeance not only for the perjury of Gaudry, but also for the odious exactions and cruelties that they had suffered before the establishment of the Commune. Some, staving in the vats in the storeroom, were getting drunk on the bishop's precious wines, a rich tithe, once collected by him on the vineyards of the villeins; others, making a heap of the tapestry and furniture which they dragged from his rooms into the yard, set fire to the pile; finally, and it was the shouts of these last that reached the quarryman and the baker, yet others, seizing the sacerdotal robes and insignia of the prelate, organized themselves into a grotesque procession, of which little Robin the Crumb-cracker was the hero. The blacksmith's apprentice, carrying on his head the episcopal mitre that almost completely hid his face, and robed in a cape of gold cloth that trailed at his heels, held in his hands a vermillion cross studded with precious stones. He scattered to the right and left grotesque benedictions, while the communiers, now half drunk, as well as the bishop's serfs, who, after the fight had joined the vanquishers, sang at the top of their voices a parody of church hymns, interspersed ever and anon with cheers of "Long live Robin the Crumb-cracker!"
Leaving these rolicking youngsters to amuse themselves at their pleasure on the bishop's premises, Fergan and his neighbors betook themselves to the city. Night was approaching. Bidding good-bye to the baker and his wife and requesting them to hasten ahead of him to his house and set Joan and Martine's minds at ease, Fergan mounted the rampart to meet his son. The latter, considering it prudent to keep watch, even after the victory of the day, was busy with the measures for the night. At sight of his father with his head bandaged, Colombaik uttered a cry of alarm, but soon was set at ease by Fergan. After providing for additional measures of security, both returned home.
Night had set in. Everywhere the fight had long ended. The communiers were collecting their dead and wounded by the light of torches. Women, bathed in tears, ran to the places where the fight had been hottest, and looked for a father, a husband, a son, or a brother, in the midst of the corpses that the streets were strewn with. At other places, exasperated at the chiefs of the episcopal party, the communiers were demolishing their fortified houses. Finally, at a distance, a brilliant gleam crimsoned the sky, and cast its reflection hither and thither on the gables of the taller houses. It was the glare of a conflagration. The fire was devouring the dwelling of the bishop's treasurer, one of the most execrated of the episcopals. Neither did the cathedral of Laon escape the avenging torch of the insurgents.
"Never, my child, blot this terrible spectacle from your memory. Such are the fruits of civil war," said Fergan to his son, stopping in the middle of the Exchange square, one of the most elevated spots of the city, and whence the burning cathedral could be seen at a distance. "Look at the flames of the conflagration that is devouring the cathedral; hark to the sound of the seigniorial towers crashing down under the hammer blows of the communiers; listen to the moaning of yonder children, now become orphans, of their mothers, now become widows; contemplate these wounded men, these bleeding corpses carried away by their relatives and by friends in tears; behold at this hour, everywhere in the city, mourning, consternation, vengeance, disaster, fire and death! Then recall the happy and peaceful aspect that this same city offered only yesterday, when the people, in the fullness of their joy, inaugurated the symbol of their enfranchisement, bought, agreed and sworn to by our oppressors! It was a beautiful day. How our hearts leaped at every peal from our belfry! How all eyes shone with pride at the sight of our communal banner! All of us, bourgeois and artisans, rejoicing in the present and confident of the future, wished to continue to live under a charter sworn to by the nobles, the bishop and the King. But it happened that nobles, bishop and King, havingdissipated the money with which we paid for our franchises, said to themselves: 'What does a signature or an oath matter; we are powerful and numerous; we are used to wielding the lance and the sword; those artisans and bourgeois, vile clowns all, will flee before us. To horse, noble episcopals, to horse! High the sword! High the lance! Kill, massacre the communiers!'"
"But the communiers made the King of the French take to his heels, and have exterminated the knights!" cried Colombaik with enthusiasm. "The son of one of the victims of that infamous bishop cleaved his skull in two with a blow of his axe! The cathedral is on fire, and the seigniorial towers are crumbling down! Such is the price of perjury! Such is the terrible and just chastisement of the people who unchained the furies of war against this city, so tranquil but yester night! Oh, let the blood that has been shed fall upon the criminals! Their turn has come to tremble! Old Gaul is waking up after six centuries of torpor! The day of the rule of might and clerical chicanery is over! The hour of deliverance has sounded!——"
"Not yet, my son!"
"What! The King is fleeing; the bishop killed; the episcopals exterminated or in hiding; the city ours!"
"Have you given a thought to the morrow?"
"The morrow? We shall preserve our conquest, or shall fight other battles, equally victorious!"
"No illusions, dear boy! Louis the Lusty fled before an insurrection that he did not think himself equal to cope with. But ere long he will be back to the walls of Laon with considerable forces, and he will then dictate his will."
"We shall resist unto death!"
"I know, that despite all our heroism, we shall succumb in the fray."
"What! These franchises, paid for with our good money and now sealed with our blood,—shall they be torn from us? Are our children to fall back under the abhorred yoke of the lay andecclesiastical seigneurs? Oh, father, are we to despair of the future?"
"To despair? Never! Thanks to the communal insurrections, that were provoked by the feudal atrocities, our worst days are over. The legitimate and terrible reprisals of Noyon, Cambrai, Amiens and Beauvais, just as these fresh ones of Laon, will inspire the seigneurs with a wholesome fear. These holy insurrections have proved to our masters that the 'clowns, artisans and bourgeois' will no longer allow themselves to be taxed at mercy, robbed, tortured and killed with impunity. Our darkest days are over. But our descendants will still have bloody battles to fight before the arrival of the radiant day predicted by Victoria the Great!"
"And yet all has gone our way on this day."
"Rely upon my experience and foresight. Louis the Lusty will presently return at the head of redoubtable forces. The death of this infamous Gaudry, just though it was, will unchain against our city the fury of the clericals. The bolts of excommunication will second the royal arms. We are bound to go down—not before the excommunication; people laugh at that—but under the blows of the soldiers of Louis the Lusty. Our bravest men will be killed in battle, banished or executed after the King's victory. Another bishop will be imposed upon the city of Laon. Our belfry will be torn down, our seal will be broken, our banner torn and our treasury pilfered. The episcopals, supported by the King, will take vengeance for their defeat. Torrents of blood will flow in the city. That's what's before us."
"Then all is lost!"
"Child," proceeded Fergan with a melancholy smile, "men are killed; the principle of freedom never, after it has once penetrated the popular heart. Will Louis the Lusty, the new bishop, the nobles, however cruel their vengeance may be, massacre all the inhabitants of Laon? No. They are bound to leave alive the larger part of the communiers, if for no other purpose than to have whom to levy taxes on. The mothers, sisters, wives, thechildren of those who will have died for liberty, will continue to live. Oh, no doubt, for a while, the terror will be intense; the recollection of the disasters, of the massacres, of the banishments, and of the executions that will have followed upon the struggle, will at first paralyze all thought of insurrection. But none of that will last."
"Accordingly, the new bishop and the nobles will redouble their audacity? Their oppression will become more frightful than before?"
"No, the new bishop, however insensate he may be, will never forget the terrible fate of Gaudry; the nobles will not forget the death of so many of their people, who fell under the blows of the people's justice. That valuable example will be useful to us. The first thirst for vengeance on the part of the episcopals, once slaked, they will ease the yoke out of fear for new revolts. Nor is that all. Those of us who will have survived the struggle, will gradually forget those evil days and recall the happy ones when the Commune, free, peaceful, flourishing, exempt from all crushing imposts, and wisely governed by a magistracy of its own choice, was the pride and bulwark of its inhabitants. Those who will have witnessed those happy days will speak of them to their children with enthusiasm. They will tell their little ones how one day the King and the bishop having leagued themselves against the Commune, the latter valiantly rose in arms, forced Louis the Lusty to flee, and exterminated the bishop and his episcopals. The glory of the triumph will cause the disaster of the subsequent defeat to be forgotten. The feeling will take hold of revenging the overthrow of the Commune by restoring it. By little and little the enthusiasm will gain ground, and, when the moment shall have come, the insurrection will break out anew. Just reprisals will once more be exercised against our enemies, and our franchises will be proclaimed again. Mayhaps that again that second step towards freedom is followed by a savage re-action. But the step will have been taken. Some franchises will continue in force. And thus, step by step, painfully, by dintof struggles, of courage, of perseverance, our descendants, alternately vanquishers and vanquished, halting at times after battle to tend their wounded and recover breath, but never retreating an inch, will in the course of time arrive at the goal of that laborious and bloody journey. Then will the radiant sun of the day of Gaul's enfranchisement rise in all its glory!"
"Oh, father," said Colombaik, overpowered with sorrow, "woe is us, if Victoria's prediction is not to be verified, according to her prophetic visions, but across heaps of ruins and torrents of blood!"
"Do you imagine freedom is gained without struggle? We are the vanquishers. Our cause is holy like justice, sacred like right. And yet, look around!" answered the quarryman, pointing his son to the dismal spectacle presented by Exchange square, encumbered with the dead and dying, and lighted by the glamor of the torches and the lingering gleams of the fire of the Cathedral. "Look around, what streams of blood, what heaps of ruins!"
"Oh, why this terrible fatality!" resumed Colombaik in tones almost of despair. "Why must the conquest of such legitimate rights cost so dear!"
"The insurrection of the communal bourgeois is but the symptom of an enfranchisement, universal, but still far away. That day of deliverance will arrive, but it will arrive only when all the oppressed in city and field will rise in a body against their masters.Yes, that great day will come ... it may take centuries ... but I shall at least have caught the glamour of its dawn ... and I shall die happy!"
Two months after the victory of the Commune of Laon over its seigniorial suzerain, the Bishop of Laon, and its episcopals, Fergan the Quarryman died on the ramparts of the city, defending them against the troops of Louis the Lusty. The quarryman's apprehensions had been verified, fully and promptly.
The day after the victory the Mayor, Councilmen and several other leading citizens, convened to consider the dangers of the situation. An attack by Louis the Lusty was expected any moment, nor did any give themselves up to illusions concerning the issue. Left to fight the King single-handed, the citizens of Laon realized that they would be crushed. They decided to seek an ally. One of the most powerful seigneurs of Picardy, Thomas, seigneur of the castle of Marle, known for his bravery, as well as for his ferocity, in which he equalled Neroweg VI., was a personal enemy of the King. Shortly before, in 1108, he had leagued himself with Guy, seigneur of Rochefort, and several other knights, to prevent the King's being consecrated at Rheims. Despite the iniquitous character of Thomas de Marle, and against the advice of Fergan, the Commune of Laon, pressed by danger, made propositions to that seigneur, who was known to have a large force at his command, for an alliance against the King. Thomas de Marle, unwilling to affront the royal power, refused to declare war against the King, but consented, in consideration of a money payment, to receive on his lands all the communiers who stood in fear of the royal vengeance.
A considerable number of insurgents, foreseeing the consequences of a struggle with the King, accepted the offer of Thomas de Marle, and, carrying their valuables with them, left Laon with wife and children. Others, Fergan among them, preferred staying in the city and defending themselves against the Kingunto death. Although the number of the communiers was reduced by the migrations to the surrounding regions, nevertheless, generous and credulous, the remaining inhabitants of Laon had entered into the pacific overtures of the surviving episcopals, who were laboring under the demoralizing effect of their recent defeat. Soon, however, as the latter realized how greatly the ranks of the communiers were thinned by death, and, above all, by the migrations, they picked up courage. They ordered the serfs of the abbey to meet in the market-place on a given day, and, taking them in command, fell upon the communiers in their own houses. Whoever fell into their hands was put to the sword. Thus, civil war broke out afresh. The serfs pillaged and set on fire all the houses of the bourgeois that they succeeded in capturing. Fergan and Joan, Colombaik and Martine, together with the apprentices of the tanner, entrenched themselves in their house, which, happily fortified, enabled them to sustain victoriously more than one siege to which they were subjected.
During these internal disturbances that decimated still further the ranks of the remaining communiers, Louis the Lusty was busily engaged gathering his forces. Learning that Thomas de Marle was giving asylum on his domains to the inhabitants of Laon, the King first marched against him, ravaged his lands, besieged him in his fortress of Couchy, took him prisoner, and mulcted him with a heavy ransom. As to the people of Laon, found within the territory of Thomas de Marle, the King had them all sabred or hanged, and their bodies long served as pasture to the birds of prey. A rich butcher of Laon, Robert the Eater, was tied to the tail of a fiery horse, and died the frightful death of the Queen Brunhild, five hundred years before. Through with these bloody executions, Louis the Lusty marched upon Laon. The Mayor and Councilmen, faithful to their oaths of defending the Commune with their lives, ran to the ramparts, together with Fergan, Colombaik and several others of the citizens, to oppose the entrance of the King. At the last battle a large number of the communiers fell on the field, dead or wounded.Fergan was killed, Colombaik was wounded in two places. The defeat of the communiers was inevitable.
The King took the city and placed a new bishop in the seigniory. But here also the forecast of Fergan proved correct. Thanks to the remembrance of the insurrection and of the just reprisals of the insurgents, the exorbitant privileges of the bishop and noblemen were modified.
Colombaik was not allowed to taste these limited sweets of the heroic defence of Laon. Himself and others, among whom were the Mayor and the Councilmen, too deeply compromised in the insurrection, were banished from the place, and all their property confiscated. But young and full of life as well as of hope for the future and of pride at the past, though ruined, the quarryman's son settled down with his mother and wife, and resumed his trade as a tanner at Toulouse in Languedoc, where, thanks to the local advantages of industry and intelligence, commerce then flourished and, at that season, thought enjoyed freedom.
(The End.)