Title: The Gold Sickle - or Hena, The Virgin of The Isle of Sen. A Tale of Druid Gaul
Author: Sue, Eugène, 1804-1857
Language: English
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THE GOLD SICKLE

Or

Hena, The Virgin of The Isle of Sen

A Tale of Druid Gaul

by

EUGENE SUE

Translated from the Original French by Daniel De Leon



New York Labor News Company, 1904

Copyright, 1904, by the
New York Labor News Company



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE


_The Gold Sickle; or, Hena the Virgin of the Isle of Sen_, is the
initial story of the series that Eugene Sue wrote under the collective
title of _The Mysteries of the People; or, History of a Proletarian
Family Across the Ages_.

The scheme of this great work of Sue's was stupendously ambitious--and
the author did not fall below the ideal that he pursued. His was the
purpose of producing a comprehensive "universal history," dating from
the beginning of the present era down to his own days. But the history
that he proposed to sketch was not to be a work for closet study. It was
to be a companion in the stream of actual, every-day life and struggle,
with an eye especially to the successive struggles of the successively
ruled with the successively ruling classes. In the execution of his
design, Sue conceived a plan that was as brilliant as it was
poetic--withal profoundly philosophic. One family, the descendants of a
Gallic chief named Joel, typifies the oppressed; one family, the
descendants of a Frankish chief and conqueror named Neroweg, typifies
the oppressor; and across and adown the ages, the successive struggles
between oppressors and oppressed--the history of civilization--is thus
represented in a majestic allegory. In the execution of this superb plan
a thread was necessary to connect the several epochs with one another,
to preserve the continuity requisite for historic accuracy, and, above
all, to give unity and point to the silent lesson taught by the
unfolding drama. Sue solved the problem by an ingenious scheme--a series
of stories, supposedly written from age to age, sometimes at shorter,
other times at longer intervals, by the descendants of the ancestral
type of the oppressed, narrating their special experience and handing
the supplemented chronicle down to their successors from generation to
generation, always accompanied with some emblematic relic, that
constitutes the first name of each story. The series, accordingly,
though a work presented in the garb of "fiction," is the best universal
history extant: Better than any work, avowedly on history, it
graphically traces the special features of class-rule as they have
succeeded one another from epoch to epoch, together with the special
character of the struggle between the contending classes. The "Law,"
"Order," "Patriotism," "Religion," "Family," etc., etc., that each
successive tyrant class, despite its change of form, fraudulently sought
refuge in to justify its criminal existence whenever threatened; the
varying economic causes of the oppression of the toilers; the mistakes
incurred by these in their struggles for redress; the varying fortunes
of the conflict;--all these social dramas are therein reproduced in a
majestic series of "novels" covering leading and successive episodes in
the history of the race--an inestimable gift, above all to our own
generation, above all to the American working class, the short history
of whose country deprives it of historic back-ground.

It is not until the fifth story is reached--the period of the Frankish
conquest of Gaul, 486 of the present era--that the two distinct streams
of the typical oppressed and typical oppressor meet. But the four
preceding ones are necessary, and preparatory for the main drama, that
starts with the fifth story and that, although carried down to the
revolution of 1848 which overthrew Louis Philippe in France, reaches its
grand climax in _The Sword of Honor; or, The Foundation of the French
Republic_, that is, the French Revolution. These stories are nineteen in
number, and their chronological order is the following:

     1. The Gold Sickle; or, Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen;
     2. The Brass Bell; or, The Chariot of Death;
     3. The Iron Collar; or, Faustine and Syomara;
     4. The Silver Cross; or, The Carpenter of Nazareth;
     5. The Casque's Lark; or, Victoria, The Mother of the Fields;
     6. The Poniard's Hilt; or, Karadeucq and Ronan;
     7. The Branding Needle; or, The Monastery of Charolles;
     8. The Abbatial Crosier; or, Bonaik and Septimine;
     9. Carlovingian Coins; or, The Daughters of Charlemagne;
    10. The Iron Arrow-Head; or, The Maid of the Buckler;
    11. The Infant's Skull; or, The End of the World;
    12. The Pilgrim's Shell; or, Fergan the Quarryman;
    13. The Iron Pincers; or, Mylio and Karvel;
    14. The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion;
    15. The Executioner's Knife; or, Joan of Arc;
    16. The Pocket Bible; or, Christian the Printer;
    17. The Blacksmith's Hammer; or, The Peasant-Code;
    18. The Sword of Honor; or, The Foundation of the French Republic;
    19. The Galley-Slave's Ring; or, The Family of Lebrenn.

Long and effectually has the influence of the usurping class in the
English-speaking world succeeded in keeping this brilliant torch that
Eugene Sue lighted, from casting its rays across the path of the
English-speaking peoples. Several English translations were attempted
before this, in England and this country, some fifty years ago. They
were all fractional: they are all out of print now: most of them are not
to be found even in public libraries of either England or America, not a
wrack being left to them, little more than a faint tradition. Only two
of the translations are not wholly obliterated. One of them was
published by Trübner & Co. jointly with David Nutt, both of London, in
1863; the other was published by Clark, 448 Broome street, New York, in
1867. The former was anonymous, the translator's identity being
indicated only with the initials "K. R. H. M." It contains only eight of
the nineteen stories of the original, and even these are avowedly
abridgments. The latter was translated by Mary L. Booth, and it broke
off before well under way--extinguished as if snuffed off by a gale.
Even these two luckier fragmentary translations, now surviving only as
curios in a few libraries, attest the vehemence and concertedness of the
effort to suppress this great gift of Sue's intellect to the human race.
It will be thus no longer. _The Mysteries of the People; or, History of
a Proletarian Family Across the Ages_ will henceforth enlighten the
English-speaking toiling masses as well.

DANIEL DE LEON.

New York, May 1, 1904.



INDEX.


Translator's Preface                           iii

Chapter 1. The Guest                             1

Chapter 2. A Gallic Homestead                   11

Chapter 3. Armel and Julyan                     20

Chapter 4. The Story of Albrege                 27

Chapter 5. The Story of Syomara                 33

Chapter 6. The Story of Gaul                    39

Chapter 7. "War! War! War!"                     45

Chapter 8. "Farewell!"                          53

Chapter 9. The Forest of Karnak                 66



CHAPTER I.

THE GUEST.


He who writes this account is called Joel, the brenn[A] of the tribe of
Karnak; he is the son of Marik, who was the son of Kirio, the son of
Tiras, the son of Gomer, the son of Vorr, the son of Glenan, the son of
Erer, the son of Roderik chosen chief of the Gallic army that, now two
hundred and seventy-seven years ago, levied tribute upon Rome.

[A] Gallic word for chief.

Joel (why should I not say so?) feared the gods, he was of a right
heart, a steady courage and a cheerful mind. He loved to laugh, to tell
stories, and above all to hear them told, like the genuine Gaul that he
was.

At the time when Cæsar invaded Gaul (may his name be accursed!), Joel
lived two leagues from Alrè, not far from the sea and the isle of
Roswallan, near the edge of the forest of Karnak, the most celebrated
forest of Breton Gaul.

One evening towards nightfall--the evening before the anniversary of the
day when Hena, his daughter, his well-beloved daughter was born unto
him--it is now eighteen years ago--Joel and his eldest son Guilhern were
returning home in a chariot drawn by four of those fine little Breton
oxen whose horns are smaller than their ears. Joel and his son had been
laying marl on their lands, as is usually done in the autumn, so that
the lands may be in good condition for seed-time in the spring. The
chariot was slowly climbing up the hill of Craig'h at a place where that
mountainous road is narrowed between two rocks, and from where the sea
is seen at a distance, and still farther away the Isle of Sen--the
mysterious and sacred isle.

"Father," Guilhern said to Joel, "look down there below on the flank of
the hill. There is a rider coming this way. Despite the steepness of the
descent, he has put his horse to a gallop."

"As sure as the good Elldud invented the plow, that man will break his
neck."

"Where can he be riding to in such a hurry? The sun is going down; the
wind blows high and threatens a storm; and that road that leads to the
desert strand--"

"Son, that man is not of Breton Gaul. He wears a furred cap and a shaggy
coat, and his tanned-skin hose are fastened with red bands."

"A short axe hangs at his right and he has a long knife in a sheath at
his left."

"His large black horse does not seem to stumble in the descent.... Where
can he be going in such a hurry?"

"Father, the man must have lost his way."

"Oh, my son, may Teutates hear you! We shall tender our hospitality to
the rider. His dress tells he is a stranger. What beautiful stories will
he not be able to tell us of his country and his travels!"

"May the divine Ogmi, whose words bind men in golden chains, be
propitious to us, father! It is long since any strange story-teller has
sat at our hearth."

"Besides, we have had no news of what is going on elsewhere in Gaul."

"Unfortunately so!"

"Oh, my son, if I were all-powerful as Hesus, I would have a new
story-teller every evening at supper."

"I would send men traveling everywhere, and have them return and tell
their adventures."

"And if I had the power of Hesus, what wonderful adventures would I not
provide for my travelers so as to increase the interest in their stories
on their return."

"Father, the rider is coming close to us!"

"Yes, he reins in because the road is here narrow, and we bar his
passage with our chariot. Come, Guilhern, the moment is favorable; the
passenger must have lost his way; let us offer him hospitality for
to-night. We shall then keep him to-morrow, and perhaps several other
days. We shall have done him a good turn, and he will give us the news
from Gaul and of the other countries that he has visited."

"Besides, it will be a great joy to my sister Hena who is to come home
to-morrow for the feast of her birthday."

"Oh, Guilhern, I never thought of the pleasure that my beloved daughter
will have listening to the stranger! He must be our guest!"

"That he shall be, father! Indeed, he shall!" answered Guilhern
resolutely.

Joel and his son alighted from the chariot, and advanced towards the
rider. Once close to him, both were struck with the majesty of the
stranger's looks. Nothing haughtier than his eyes, more masculine than
his face, more worthy than his bearing. On his forehead and on one cheek
were visible the traces of two wounds only freshly healed. To judge by
his dauntless appearance, the rider must have been one of those chiefs
whom the tribes elect from time to time to lead them in battle. Joel and
his son were all the more anxious to have him accept their hospitality.

"Friend traveler," said Joel, "night is upon us; you have lost your way;
the road you are on leads nowhere but to the desert strands; the tide
will soon be washing over them because the wind is blowing high. To keep
on your route by night would be dangerous. Come to my house. You may
resume your journey to-morrow."

"I have not lost my way; I know where I am going to; and I am in a
hurry. Turn your oxen aside; make room for me to pass," was the brusque
answer of the rider, whose forehead was wet with perspiration from the
hurry of his course. By his accent he seemed to be from central Gaul,
towards the Loire. After having thus addressed Joel, he struck his
large black horse with both heels in the flanks and tried to draw still
nearer to the oxen that now completely barred his passage.

"Friend traveler, did you not hear me?" rejoined Joel. "I told you that
this road led only to the seashore, that night was on, and that I offer
you my house."

The stranger, however, beginning to wax angry, replied: "I do not need
your hospitality.... Draw your oxen aside.... Do you not see that the
rocks leave me no passage either way?... Hurry up; I am in haste--"

"Friend," said Joel, "you are a stranger; I am of this country; it is my
duty to prevent you from going astray.... I shall do my duty--"

"By Ritha-Gaür, who made himself a blouse out of the beard of the kings
he shaved!" cried the stranger, now in towering rage. "I have traveled a
deal since my beard began to grow, have seen many countries, many
peoples and many strange customs, but never yet have I come across two
fools like these!"

Learning from the mouth of the stranger himself that he had seen many
countries, many peoples and many strange customs, Joel and his son, both
of whom were passionately fond of hearing stories, concluded that many
and charming must be the ones the stranger could tell, and they felt all
the more desirous of securing such a guest. Accordingly, so far from
turning the chariot aside, Joel advanced close to the rider, and said to
him with the sweetest voice that he could master, his natural voice
being rather rough:

"Friend, you shall go no further! I wish to be respectful to the gods,
above all to Teutates, the god of travelers, and shall therefore keep
you from going astray by making you spend a good night under a good
roof, instead of allowing you to wander about the strand, where you
would run the risk of being drowned in the rising tide."

"Take care!" replied the unknown rider carrying his hand to the axe that
hung from his belt. "Take care!... If you do not forthwith turn your
oxen aside, I shall make a sacrifice to the gods, and shall join you to
the offering!"

"The gods cannot choose but protect such a worshipper as yourself,"
answered Joel, who, smiling, had passed a few words in a low voice to
his son. "The gods will prevent you from spending the night on the
strand.... You'll see--"

Father and son precipitated themselves unexpectedly upon the traveler.
Each took him by a leg, and both being large and robust men, raised him
erect over his saddle, giving at the same time a thump with their knees
to his horse's belly. The animal ran ahead, and Joel and Guilhern
respectfully lowered the rider on his feet to the ground. Now in a wild
rage, the traveler tried to resist, but before he could draw his knife
he was held fast by Joel and Guilhern, one of whom produced a strong
rope with which they firmly tied the stranger's feet and hands--all of
which was done with great mildness and affability on the part of the
story-greedy father and son, who despite the furious wrestling of the
stranger, deposited him on the chariot with increasing respect and
politeness, seeing they were increasingly struck by the virile dignity
of his face.

Guilhern then mounted the traveler's horse and followed the chariot that
Joel led, urging on the oxen with his goad. They were in earnest haste
to reach the shelter of their house: the gale increased; the roar of the
waves was heard dashing upon the rocks along the coast; streaks of
lightning glistened through the darkening clouds; all the signs
portended a stormy night.

All these threatening signs notwithstanding, the unknown rider seemed
nowise thankful for the hospitality that Joel and his son had pressed
upon him. Extended on the bottom of the chariot he was pale with rage.
He ground his teeth and puffed at his mouth. But keeping his anger to
himself he said not a word. Joel (it must be admitted) passionately
loved a story, but he also passionately loved to talk. He turned to the
stranger:

"My guest, for such you are now, I give thanks to Teutates, the god of
travelers, for having sent me a guest. You should know who I am. Yes, I
must tell you who I am, seeing you are to sit down at my hearth;" and
unaffected by the stranger's gesture of anger, which seemed to say he
cared not to know who Joel was, the latter proceeded:

"My name is Joel ... I am the son of Marik, who was the son of Kirio ...
Kirio was the son of Tiras ... Tiras was the son of Gomer ... Gomer was
the son of Vorr ... Vorr was the son of Glenan ... Glenan, son of Erer,
who was the son of Roderik, chosen brenn of the confederated Gallic
army, who two hundred and seventy-six years ago levied tribute upon Rome
in order to punish the Romans for their treachery. I have been chosen
brenn of my tribe, which is the tribe of Karnak. From father to son we
have been peasants; we cultivate our fields as best we can, following
the example left by Coll to our ancestors.... We sow more wheat and
barley than rye and oats."

The stranger continued nursing his rage rather than paying any attention
to these details. Joel continued imperturbably:

"Thirty-two years ago, I married Margarid, the daughter of Dorlern. I
have from her three sons and a daughter. The elder boy is there behind
us, leading your good black horse, friend guest ... his name is
Guilhern. He and several other relatives help me in the cultivation of
our field. I raise a good many black sheep that pasture on our meadows,
as well as half-wild hogs, as vicious as wolves and who never sleep
under a roof.... We have some fine meadows in this valley of Alrè.... I
also raise horses, colts of my spirited stallion Tom-Bras.[B] My son
amuses himself raising war and hunting dogs. The hunting dogs are of the
breed of a greyhound named Tyntammar; the ones destined for war are the
whelps of a large mastiff named Deber-Trud.[C] Our horses and our dogs
are so renowned that people come more than twenty leagues from here to
buy them. So you see, my guest, that you might have fallen into a worse
house."

[B] Ardent.

[C] Man-eater.

The stranger emitted a sigh of suppressed rage, bit what he could reach
of his long blonde mustache and raised his eyes to heaven.

Joel proceeded while pricking his oxen:

"Mikael, my second son, is an armorer at Alrè, four leagues from
here.... He does not fashion war implements only, but also plow-coulters
and long Gallic scythes and axes that are highly prized, because he
draws his iron from the mountains of Arres.... But there is more, friend
traveler.... Mikael does other things besides. Before establishing
himself at Alrè, he was at Bourges and worked with one of our parents
who is a descendant of the first artisan who ever conceived the idea of
alloying iron and copper with block-tin, a composition in which the
artisans of Bourges excel.... Thus my son Mikael came away a worthy
pupil of his masters. Oh, if you only saw the things he turns out! You
would think the horse's bits, the chariot ornaments, the superb casques
of war that Mikael manufactures to be of silver! He has just finished a
casque the point of which represents an elk's head with its horns....
There is nothing more magnificent!"

"O!" murmured the stranger between his teeth, "how true is the saying:
'The Sword of a Gaul kills but once, his tongue massacres you without
end!'"

"Friend guest, so far I can bestow no praise upon your tongue, which is
as silent as a fish's. But I shall await your leisure, when it will be
your turn to tell me who you are, whence you come, where you are going
to, what you have seen in your travels, what wonderful people you have
met, and the latest news from the sections of Gaul that you have
traversed. While waiting for your narratives, I shall finish informing
you about myself and family."

At this threat the stranger contorted his members in an effort to snap
his bonds; he failed; the rope was staunch, and Joel as well as his son
made perfect knots.

"I have not yet spoken to you of my third son Albinik the sailor,"
continued Joel. "He traffics with the island of Great Britanny, as well
as all the ports of Gaul, and he goes as far as Spain carrying Gascony
wines and salted provisions from Aquitaine.... Unfortunately he has been
at sea a long time with his lovely wife Meroë; so you will not see them
this evening at my house. I told you that besides three sons I had a
daughter ... as to her! Oh, as to her!... See here," added Joel with an
air that was at once boastful and tender, "she is the pearl of the
family.... It is not I only who say so, my wife also, my sons, my whole
tribe says the same thing. There is but one voice to sing the praises of
Hena, the daughter of Joel ... of Hena, one of the virgins of the Isle
of Sen."

"What!" cried the traveler sitting up with a start, the only motion
allowed to him by his bonds, that held his feet tied and his arms
pinioned behind him. "What? Your daughter? Is she one of the virgins of
the Isle of Sen?"

"That seems to astonish and somewhat mollify you, friend guest!"

"Your daughter?" the stranger proceeded, as if unable to believe what he
heard. "Your daughter?... Is she one of the nine druid priestesses of
the Isle of Sen?"

"As true as that to-morrow it will be eighteen years since she was born!
We have been preparing to celebrate her birthday, and you may attend the
feast. The guest seated at our hearth is of our family.... You will see
my daughter. She is the most beautiful, the sweetest, the wisest of her
companions, without thereby detracting from any of them."

"Very well, then," brusquely replied the unknown, "I shall pardon you
the violence you committed upon me."

"Hospitable violence, friend."

"Hospitable, or not, you prevented me by force from proceeding to the
wharf of Erer, where a boat awaited me until sunset, to take me to the
Isle of Sen."

At these words Joel broke out laughing.

"What are you laughing about?" asked the stranger.

"If you were to tell me that a boat with the head of a dog, the wings of
a bird and the tail of a fish was waiting for you to take you to the
sun, I would laugh as loud, and for the same reason. You are my guest; I
shall not insult you by telling you that you lie. But I will tell you,
friend, you are joking when you talk of a boat that is to take you to
the Isle of Sen. No man, excepting the very oldest druids, have ever or
ever will set foot on the Isle of Sen."

"And when you go there to see your daughter?"

"I do not step on the isle. I stop at the little island of Kellor. There
I wait for my daughter, and she goes there to meet me."

"Friend Joel," said the traveler, "you have so willed it that I be your
guest; I am that, and, as such, I ask a service of you. Take me
to-morrow in your boat to the little island of Kellor."

"Do you know that the ewaghs watch day and night?"

"I know it. It was one of them who was to come for me this evening at
the wharf of Erer to conduct me to Talyessin the oldest of the druids,
who, at this hour, is at the Isle of Sen with his wife Auria."

"That is true!" exclaimed Joel much surprised. "The last time my
daughter came home she said that Talyessin was on the isle since the new
year, and that the wife of Talyessin tendered her a mother's care."

"You see, you may believe me, friend Joel. Take me to-morrow to the
island of Kellor; I shall see one of the ewaghs."

"I consent. I shall take you to the island of Kellor."

"And now you may loosen my bonds. I swear by Hesus that I shall not seek
to elude your hospitality."

"Very well," responded Joel, loosening the stranger's bonds; "I trust my
guest's promise."

While this conversation proceeded it had grown pitch dark. But the
darkness notwithstanding and the difficulties of the road, the chariot,
conducted by the sure hand of Joel, rolled up before his house. His son,
Guilhern, who, mounted on the stranger's horse, had followed the van,
took an ox-horn that was opened at both ends, and using it for a trumpet
blew three times. The signal was speedily answered by a great barking of
dogs.

"Here we are at home!" said Joel to the stranger. "Be not alarmed at the
barking of the dogs. Listen! That loud voice that dominates all the
others is Deber-Trud's, from whom descends the valiant breed of war dogs
that you will see to-morrow. My son Guilhern will take your horse to the
stable. The animal will find a good shelter and plenty of provender."

At the sound of Guilhern's trump, one of the family came out of the
house holding a resin torch. Guided by the light, Joel led his oxen and
the chariot entered the yard.



CHAPTER II.

A GALLIC HOMESTEAD.


Like all other rural homes, Joel's was spacious and round of shape. The
walls consisted of two rows of hurdles, the space between which was
filled with a mixture of beaten clay and straw; the inside and outside
of the thick wall was plastered over with a layer of fine and fattish
earth, which, when dry, was hard as sandstone. The roofing was large and
projecting. It consisted of oaken joists joined together and covered
with a layer of seaweed laid so thick that it was proof against water.

On either side of the house stood the barns destined for the storage of
the harvest, and also for the stables, the sheepfolds, the kennels, the
storerooms and the washrooms.

These several structures formed an oblong square that surrounded a large
yard, closed up at night with a massive gate. On the outside, a strong
palisade, raised on the brow of a deep ditch, enclosed the system of
buildings, leaving between it and them an alley about four feet wide.
Two large and ferocious war mastiffs were let loose during the night in
the vacant space. The palisade had an exterior door that corresponded
with an interior one. All were locked at night.

The number of men, women and children--all more or less near relatives
of Joel--who cultivated fields in common with him, was considerable.
These lodged in the houses attached to the principal building, where
they met at noon and in the evening to take their joint meals.

Other homesteads, similarly constructed and occupied by numerous
families who cultivated lands in common, lay scattered here and there
over the landscape and composed the _ligniez_, or tribe of Karnak, of
which Joel was chosen chief.

Upon his entrance in the yard of his homestead, Joel was received with
the caresses of his old war dog Deber-Trud, an animal of an iron grey
color streaked with black, an enormous head, blood-shot eyes, and of
such a high stature that in standing up to caress his master he placed
his front paws upon Joel's shoulders. He was a dog of such boldness that
he once fought a monstrous bear of the mountains of Arres, and killed
him. As to his war qualities, Deber-Trud would have been worthy of
figuring with the war pack of Bithert, the Gallic chieftain who at sight
of a small hostile troop said disdainfully: "They are not enough for a
meal for my dogs."

As Deber-Trud looked over and smelled the traveler with a doubtful air,
Joel said to the animal: "Do you not see he is a guest whom I bring
home?"

As if he understood the words, Deber-Trud ceased showing any uneasiness
about the stranger, and gamboled clumsily ahead of his master into the
house. The house was partitioned into three sections of unequal size.
The two smaller ones, separated from each other and from the main hall
by oaken panels, were destined, one for Joel and his wife, the other for
Hena, their daughter, when she came to visit the family. The vast hall
between the two served as a dining-room, and in it were performed the
noon and evening in-door labors.

When the stranger entered the hall, a large fire of beech wood,
enlivened with dry brush wood and seaweed burned in the hearth, and with
its brilliancy rendered superfluous the light of a handsome lamp of
burnished copper that hung from three chains of the same metal. The lamp
was a present from Mikael the armorer.

Two whole sheep, impaled in long iron spits broiled before the hearth,
while salmon and other sea fish boiled in a large pewter pot filled with
water, seasoned with vinegar, salt and caraway.

The panels were ornamented with heads of wolves, boars, cerfs and of two
wild bulls called _urok_, an animal that began to be rare in the region;
beside them hung hunting weapons, such as bows, arrows and slings, and
weapons of war, such as the _sparr_ and the _matag_, axes, sabres of
copper, bucklers of wood covered with the tough skin of seals, and long
lances with iron heads, sharpened and barbed and provided with little
brass bells, intended to notify the enemy from afar that the Gallic
warrior approached, seeing that the latter disdains ambuscades, and
loves to fight in the open. There were also fishing nets and harpoons to
harpoon the salmon in the shallows when the tide goes out.

To the right of the main door stood a kind of altar, consisting of a
block of granite, surmounted and covered by large oak branches freshly
cut. A little copper bowl lay on the stone in which seven twigs of
mistletoe stood. From above, on the wall, the following inscription
looked down:

          Abundance and Heaven
        Are for the Just and the Pure.
            He is Pure and Holy
    Who Performs Celestial Works and Pure.

When Joel stepped into the house, he approached the copper basin in
which stood the seven branches of mistletoe and reverently put his lips
to each. His guest followed his example, and then both walked towards
the hearth.

At the hearth was Mamm' Margarid, Joel's wife, with a distaff. She was
tall of stature, and wore a short, sleeveless tunic of brown wool over a
long robe of grey with narrow sleeves, both tunic and robe being
fastened around her waist with her apron string. A white cap, cut
square, left exposed her grey hair, that parted over her forehead. Like
many other women of her kin, she wore a coral necklace round her neck,
bracelets inwrought with garnets and other trinkets of gold and silver
fashioned at Autun.

Around Mamm' Margarid played the children of Guilhern and several other
of her kin, while their young mothers busied themselves preparing
supper.

"Margarid," said Joel to his wife, "I bring a guest to you."

"He is welcome," answered the woman without stopping to spin. "The gods
send us a guest, our hearth is his own. The eve of my daughter's birth
is propitious."

"May your children when they travel, be received as I am by you,"
answered the stranger respectfully.

"But you do not yet know what kind of a guest the gods have sent us,
Margarid," rejoined Joel; "such a guest as one would request of Ogmi for
the long autumn and winter nights; a guest who in the course of his
travels has seen so many curious things and wonderful that a hundred
evenings would not be too many to listen to his marvelous stories."

Hardly had Joel pronounced these words when, from Mamm' Margarid and the
young mothers down to the little boys and girls, all looked at the
stranger with the greed of curiosity, expectant of the marvelous stories
he was to tell.

"Are we to have supper soon, Margarid?" asked Joel. "Our guest is
probably as hungry as myself; I am hungry as a wolf."

"The folk have just gone out to fill the racks of the cattle," answered
Margarid; "they will be back shortly. If our guest is willing we shall
be pleased of his company at supper."

"I thank the wife of Joel, and shall wait," said the unknown.

"And while waiting," remarked Joel, "you can tell us a story--"

But the traveler interrupted his host and said smiling:

"Friend, as one cup serves for all, so does the same story serve for
all.... The cup will shortly circulate from lip to lip, and the story
from ear to ear.... But now tell me, what is that brass belt for that I
see hanging yonder?"

"Have you not also in your country the belt of agility?"

"Explain yourself, Joel."

"Here, with us, at every new moon, the lads of each tribe come to the
chief and try on the belt, in order to prove that their girth has not
broadened with self-indulgence, and that they have preserved themselves
agile and nimble. Those who cannot hitch the belt around themselves, are
hissed, are pointed at with derision, and must pay a fine. Accordingly,
all see to their stomachs lest they come to look like a leathern bottle
on two skittles."

"A good custom. I regret it fell into disuse in my province. And what is
the purpose of that big old trunk? It is of precious wood and seems to
have seen many years."

"Very many. That is the family trunk of triumph," answered Joel opening
the trunk, in which the stranger saw many whitened skulls. One of them,
sawn in two, was mounted on a brass foot like a cup.

"These are, no doubt, the heads of enemies who have been killed by your
fathers, friend Joel? With us this sort of family charnel houses has
long been abandoned."

"With us also. I preserve these heads only out of respect for my
ancestors. Since more than two hundred years, the prisoners of war are
no longer mutilated. The habit existed in the days of the kings whom
Ritha-Gaür shaved of their hair, as you mentioned before, to make
himself a blouse out of their beards. Those were gay days of barbarism,
were those days of royalty. I heard my grandfather Kirio say that even
as late as in the days of his father, Tiras, the men who went to war
returned to their tribes carrying the heads of their enemies stuck to
the points of their lances, or trailed by the hair from the
breast-plates of their horses. They were then nailed to the doors of the
houses for trophies, just as you see yonder on the wall the heads of
wild animals."

"With us, in olden days, friend Joel, these trophies were also
preserved, but preserved in cedar oil when they were the heads of a
hostile chieftain."

"By Hesus! Cedar oil!... What magnificence!" exclaimed Joel smiling.
"That is the way our wives reason: 'for good fish, good sauce.'"

"These relics were with us, as with you, the book from which the young
Gaul learned of the exploits of his fathers. Often did the families of
the vanquished offer to ransom these spoils; but to relinquish for money
a head conquered by oneself or an ancestor was looked upon as an
unpardonable crime of avarice and impiousness. I say with you, those
barbarous customs passed away with royalty, and with them the days when
our ancestors painted their bodies blue and scarlet, and dyed their hair
and beard with lime water to impart to them a copper-red hue."

"Without wronging their memory, friend guest, our ancestors must have
been unpleasant beings to look upon, and must have resembled the
frightful red and blue dragons that ornament the prows of the vessels of
those savage pirates of the North that my son Albinik the sailor and his
lovely wife Meroë have told us some curious tales about. But here are
our men back from the stables; we shall not have to wait much longer for
supper. I see Margarid unspitting the lambs. You shall taste them,
friend, and see what a fine taste the salt meadows on which they browse
impart to their flesh."

All the men of the family of Joel who entered the hall wore, like him, a
sleeveless blouse of coarse wool, through which the sleeves of their
jackets or white shirts were passed. Their breeches reached down to
their ankles; and they were shod with low slippers. Several of these
laborers, just in from the fields, wore over their shoulders a cloak of
sheep-skin, which they immediately took off. All wore woolen caps, long
hair cut round, and bushy beards. The last two to enter held each other
by the arm; they were especially handsome and robust.

"Friend Joel," inquired the stranger, "who are those two young fellows?
The statues of the heathen god Mars are not better shaped, nor have so
valiant an aspect."

"They are two relatives of mine; two cousins, Julyan and Armel. They
love each other like brothers.... Quite recently an enraged bull rushed
at Armel and Julyan saved Armel at the peril of his own life. Thanks to
Hesus we are not now in times of war. But should it be necessary to take
up arms, Julyan and Armel have taken 'the pledge of brotherhood'.... But
supper is ready.... Come, yours is the seat of honor."

Joel and the unknown guest drew near the table. It was round and raised
somewhat above the floor which was covered with fresh straw. All around
the table were seats bolstered with fragrant grass. The two broiled
muttons, now quartered, were served up in large platters of beechwood,
white as ivory. There were also large pieces of salted pork and a smoked
ham of wild boar. The fish remained in the large pot that they had been
boiled in.

At the place where Joel, the head of the family, took his seat, stood a
huge cup of plated copper that even two men could not have drained. It
was before that cup, which marked the place of honor, that the stranger
was placed with Joel at his left and Mamm' Margarid at his right.

The old men, the young girls and the children then ranked themselves
around the table. The grown up and the young men sat down behind these
in a second row, from which they rose from time to time to perform some
service, or, every time that, passing from hand to hand, beginning with
the stranger, the large cup was empty, to fill it from a barrel of
hydromel, that was placed at a corner of the hall. Furnished with a
piece of barley or wheat bread, everyone received or took a slice of
broiled or salted meat, which he cut up with his knife, or into which he
bit freely without the help of knife.

The old war-dog Deber-Trud, enjoying the privileges of his age and long
years of service, lay at the feet of Joel, who did not forget his
faithful servitor.

Towards the end of the meal, Joel having carved the wild boar ham,
detached the hoof, and following an ancient custom, said to his young
relative Armel, handing it to him:

"To you, Armel, belongs the bravest part! To you, the vanquisher in last
evening's fight!"

At the moment when, proud of being pronounced the bravest in the
presence of the stranger, Armel was stretching out his hand to take the
wild boar's hoof that Joel presented to him, an exceptionally short man
in the family, nicknamed "Stumpy" by reason of his small stature,
observed aloud:

"Armel won in yesterday's fight because he was not fighting with Julyan.
Two bullocks of equal strength avoid and fear each other, and do not
lock horns."

Feeling humiliated at hearing it said of them, and before a stranger,
that they did not fight together because they were mutually afraid of
each other, Julyan and Armel grew red in the face.

With sparkling eyes, Julyan cried: "If I did not fight with Armel it was
because someone else took my place; but Julyan fears Armel as little as
Armel fears Julyan; and if you were but one inch taller, Stumpy, I would
show you on the spot that, beginning with you, I fear nobody--not even
my good brother Armel--"

"Good brother Julyan!" added Armel whose eyes also began to glisten, "we
shall have to prove to the stranger that we do not fear each other."

"Done, Armel--let's fight with sabres and bucklers."

The two friends reached out their hands to each other and pressed them
warmly. They entertained no rancor for each other; they loved each other
as warmly as ever; the combat decided upon by them was a not uncommon
outbreak of foolhardiness.

Joel was not sorry at seeing his kin act bravely before his guest; and
his family shared his views.

At the announcement of the battle, everybody present, even the little
children and young women and girls felt joyful; they clapped their hands
smiling and looked at each other proud of the good opinion that the
unknown visitor was to form of the courage of their family.

Mamm' Margarid thereupon addressed the young men: "The fight ends the
moment I lower my distaff."

"These children are feasting you at their best, friend guest," said Joel
to the stranger; "you will, in turn, have to feast them by telling them
and all of us some of the marvelous things that you have seen in your
travels."

"I could not do else than pay in my best coin for your hospitality,
friend," answered the stranger. "I shall tell you the stories."

"Let's hurry, brother Julyan," said Armel; "I have a strong desire to
hear the traveler. I can never get tired of listening to stories, but
the story-tellers are rare around Karnak."

"You see, friend," said Joel, "with what impatience your stories are
awaited. But before starting, and so as to give you strength, you shall
presently drink to the victor with good wine of Gaul," and turning to
his son: "Guilhern, fetch in the little keg of white wine from Beziers
that your brother Albinik brought us on his last trip; fill up the cup
in honor of the traveler."

When that was done, Joel said to Julyan and Armel:

"Now, boys, fall to with your sabres!"



CHAPTER III.

ARMEL AND JULYAN.


The numerous family of Joel, gathered in a semi-circle at one end of the
spacious hall, impatiently awaited the combat, with Mamm' Margarid
holding the place of honor. The stranger stood at her right, her husband
at her left, and two of the smallest children before her on their knees.
Margarid raised her distaff and gave the signal for the combat to begin;
the lowering of the distaff was to be the signal for the combat to end.

Julyan and Armel stripped down to the waist, preserving their breeches
only. Again they clasped hands. Each thereupon slung on his left arm a
buckler of wood covered with seal-skin, armed himself with a heavy sabre
of copper, and impetuously assailed each other, being all the more
spurred by the presence of the stranger, before whom they were eager to
display their skill and valor. Joel's guest looked more highly delighted
than anyone else at the spectacle before him, and his face lighted with
warlike animation.

Julyan and Armel were at it. Their eyes sparkled, not with hatred but
with foolhardiness. They exchanged no words of anger but of friendly
cheer, all the while dealing out terrible blows that would have been
deadly had they not been skillfully parried. At every thrust,
brilliantly made, or dexterously avoided, the men, women and children in
the audience clapped their hands, and according as the combat ran,
cried:

"_Her_ ... _her_ ... Julyan!"

"_Her_ ... _her_ ... Armel!"

Such was the effect of these cries, of the sight of the combat, of the
clash of arms, that the huge mastiff Deber-Trud, the man-eater, felt
the ardor of battle seize also himself, and barked wildly looking up at
his master, who calmed and caressed him with his hand.

Perspiration covered the young bodies of the handsome and robust Julyan
and Armel. Each other's peers in courage, vigor and agility, neither had
yet wounded the other.

"Let's hurry, brother Julyan!" said Armel rushing on his companion with
fresh impetus. "Let us hurry to hear the pretty stories of the
stranger."

"The plow can go no faster than the plowman, brother Armel," answered
Julyan.

With these words, Julyan seized his sabre with both hands, stretched
himself at full length, and dealt so furious a stroke to his adversary
that, although the latter threw himself back and thereby softened the
blow, his buckler flew into splinters and the weapon struck Armel in the
temple. The wounded man staggered for an instant and then fell flat upon
his back, amid the admiring cries of "_Her_ ... _her_ ... Julyan!" from
the enraptured by-standers among whom Stumpy was the loudest with the
cry of "_Her_ ... _her_!"

After lowering her distaff as a sign that the combat was over Mamm'
Margarid stepped toward the wounded combatant to give him her attention,
while Joel said to his guest, reaching him the cup:

"Friend guest, you shall drink this old wine to the triumph of Julyan."

"I drink to the triumph of Julyan and also to the valiant defeat of
Armel!" responded the stranger. "The courage of the vanquished youth
equals that of the vanquisher.... I have seen many a combat, but never
have I seen greater bravery and courage displayed! Glory to the family
of Joel!... Glory to your tribe!"

"Formerly," said Joel, "these festive combats took place among us almost
every day. Now they are rarer; they have been replaced by wrestling
matches; but sabre combats better recall the habits of the old Gauls."

Mamm' Margarid shook her head after a second inspection of the wound,
while Julyan steadying himself against the wall sought to hold up his
friend. One of the young women hurried with a casket of lint and salves,
in which was also a little vial of mistletoe water. Armel's wound bled
copiously; it was staunched with difficulty; the wounded youth's face
was pale and his eyes closed.

"Brother Armel," said Julyan to him in a cheerful voice, on his knees
beside the prostrate Armel, "do not break down for so little.... Each
has his day and his hour.... To-day you were wounded, to-morrow will be
my turn.... We fought bravely.... The stranger will not forget the young
men of Karnak and of the family of Joel, the brenn of the tribe."

His face down, his forehead bathed in cold perspiration, Armel seemed
not to hear the voice of his friend. Mamm' Margarid again shook her
head, ordered some burnt coal, that was brought her on a little flat
stone and threw on it some of the pulverized mistletoe bark. A strong
vapor rose from the little brasier, and Mamm' Margarid made Armel inhale
it. A little after he opened his eyes, looked around as if he awoke from
a dream, and said feebly:

"The angel of death calls me.... I shall now live no longer here but
yonder.... My father and mother will be surprised and pleased to see me
so soon.... I also shall be happy to meet them."

A second later he added regretfully:

"How I would have liked to hear the pretty stories of the traveler!"

"What, brother Armel!" said Julyan, visibly astonished and grieved. "Are
you to depart so soon from us? We were enjoying life so well
together.... We swore brotherhood and never to leave each other!"

"We did so swear, Julyan," Armel answered feebly, "but it is otherwise
decreed."

Julyan dropped his head upon his two hands and made no answer.

Mamm' Margarid, skillful in the art of tending wounds, an art that she
learned from a druid priestess her relative, placed her hand on Armel's
heart. A few seconds later she said to those near her and who, together
with Joel and his guest, stood around:

"Teutates calls Armel away to take him to those who have preceded us. He
will soon depart. If any of us has any message for the loved ones who
have preceded us yonder, and wishes Armel to carry it--let him make
haste."

Mamm' Margarid thereupon kissed the forehead of the dying young man and
said to him: "Give to all the members of our family the kiss of
remembrance and hope."

"I shall give them, Mamm' Margarid, the kiss of remembrance and hope in
your name," answered Armel in a fainting voice, and added again in a
pet, "and yet I would so much have liked to hear the pretty stories of
the traveler!"

These words seemed deeply to affect Julyan, who still holding his
friend's head looked down upon him with sadness.

Little Sylvest, the son of Guilhern, a child of rosy cheeks and golden
hair, who held with one hand the hand of his mother Henory, advanced a
little and addressing the dying relative said:

"I loved little Alanik very much; he went away last year.... Tell him
that little Sylvest always remembers him, and embrace him for me,
Armel."

"I shall embrace little Alanik for you, little Sylvest," and Armel added
again, "and yet I would have liked to hear the pretty stories of the
traveler!"

Another man of Joel's family said to his expiring kinsman:

"I was a friend of Houarne of the tribe of Morlech, our neighbor. He was
killed defenceless, while asleep, a short time ago. Tell him, Armel,
that Daoulas, his murderer, was discovered, was tried and condemned by
the druids of Karnak and his sacrifice will soon take place. Houarne
will be pleased to learn of Daoulas' punishment."

Armel signified that he would convey the message to Houarne.

Stumpy, who, not through wickedness but intemperate language, was the
cause of Armel's death, also drew near with a message to the one about
to depart, and said:

"You know that at the eighth face of this month's moon old Mark, who
lives near Glen'han was taken ill; the angel of death told him also to
prepare for a speedy departure. Old Mark was not ready. He wished to
assist at the wedding of his daughter's daughter. Not being ready to go,
old Mark bethought him of some one who might be ready to go in his place
and that would satisfy the angel of death. He asked the druid, his
physician, if he knew of some 'substitute.' The druid answered him that
Gigel of Nouaren, a member of our tribe, would be available, that he
might consent to depart in the place of old Mark, and that he might be
induced to do so both out of kindness to Mark and to render himself
agreeable to the gods, who are always pleased at the sight of such
sacrifices. Gigel consented freely. Old Mark made him a present of ten
pieces of silver with the stamp of a horse's head, which Gigel
distributed among his friends before departing. He then cheerfully
emptied his last cup and bared his breast to the sacred knife amid the
chants of the bards. The angel of death accepted the substitute. Old
Mark attended the wedding of his daughter's daughter, and to-day he is
in good health--"

"Do you mean to say that you are willing to depart in my stead, Stumpy?"
asked the dying warrior. "I fear it is now too late--"

"No, no; I am not ready to depart in your stead," Stumpy hastened to
answer. "I only wish to request you to return to Gigel three pieces of
silver that I owed him; I could not repay him sooner. I feared Gigel
might come and demand his money by moonlight in the shape of some
demon." Saying which Stumpy rummaged in his lamb-skin bag, took out
three pieces with the stamp of a horse's head, and placed them in the
pocket of Armel's breeches.

"I shall hand your three pieces of silver to Gigel," said Armel in a
voice now hardly audible; and for a last time he murmured at Julyan's
ear: "And yet ... I would ... have liked ... to hear ... the pretty
stories ... of ... the traveler."

"Be at ease, brother Armel," Julyan answered him; "I shall attentively
listen to the pretty stories so that I may remember them well; and
to-morrow ... I shall depart and tell them to you.... I would weary here
without you.... We swore brotherhood to each other, and never to be
separated; I shall follow you and continue to live yonder in your
company."

"Truly ... you will come?" said the dying youth, whom the promise seemed
to render happy; "will you come ... to-morrow?"

"To-morrow, by Hesus.... I swear to you, Armel, I shall come."

The eyes of the whole family turned to Julyan at hearing the promise,
and looked lovingly upon him. The wounded youth seemed the most pleased
of all, and with his last breath said:

"So long, then, brother Julyan ... listen attentively ... to the
stories.... And now ... farewell ... farewell ... to all of you of our
tribe," and Armel sought to suit the motion of his hands to his words.

As loving relatives and friends crowd around one of their own when he is
about to depart on a long journey, during which he will meet people of
whom they all preserve a cherished remembrance, each now pressed the
hand of Armel and gave him some tender commission for those of their
tribe whom he was about to meet again.

After Armel was dead, Joel closed the youth's eyes and had him taken to
the altar of grey stones, above which stood the copper bowl with the
seven twigs of mistletoe.

The body was then covered with oak branches taken from the altar, so
that, instead of the corpse, only a heap of verdure met the eye, with
Julyan seated close to it.

Finally, the head of the family filled the large cup up to the brim,
moistened his lips in it and said to the stranger: "May Armel's journey
be a happy one; he has ever been good and just; may he traverse under
the guidance of Teutates the marvelous regions and countries that lie
beyond the grave which none of us has yet traveled over, and which all
of us will yet see. May Armel meet again those whom we have loved, and
let him assure them that we love them still!"

The cup went around; the women and young girls expressed their good
wishes to Armel on his journey; the remains of the supper were removed;
and all gathered at the hearth, impatient to hear the promised stories
told by the stranger.



CHAPTER IV.

THE STORY OF ALBREGE.


"Is it a story that you want of me?" asked the unknown guest turning to
Joel, and seeing the eyes of all fixed upon himself.

"One story?" cried Joel. "Tell us twenty, a hundred! You must have seen
so much! so many countries! so many peoples! One story only? Ah, by the
good Ormi, you shall not be let off with only one story, friend guest!"

"Oh, no!" cried the family in chorus and with set determination. "Oh,
no! We must have more than one!"

"And yet," observed the stranger with a pensive and severe mien, "there
is more serious work in hand than to tell and listen to frivolous
stories."

"I understand not what you mean," said Joel no less taken back than his
family; all turned their eyes upon the stranger in silent amazement.

"No, you do not understand me," replied the stranger sadly.
"Nevertheless, I shall keep my promise--the thing promised is a thing
done;" and pointing to Julyan who had remained at the other end of the
hall near the oak-covered body of Armel he added: "We must see to it
that that young man has something to tell his brother when he joins him
beyond."

"Proceed, guest, proceed with your story," answered Julyan, without
raising his head from his hands; "proceed with your story; I shall not
lose a word.... Armel shall hear it just as you tell it."

"Two years ago," said the stranger, beginning his story, "while
traveling among the Gauls who inhabit the borders of the Rhine, I
happened one day to be at Strasburg. I had gone out of the town for a
walk along the river bank. Presently I saw a large crowd of people
moving in the direction of where I stood. They were following a man and
woman, both young and both handsome, who carried on a buckler, that they
held by the edges, a little baby not more than three or four months old.
The man looked restless and somber; the woman pale and calm. Both
stopped at the river's bank, at a spot where the stream runs especially
rapid. The crowd also stopped. I drew near and inquired who the man and
woman were. 'The man's name is Vindorix, the woman's Albrege; they are
man and wife,' was the answer I received. I then saw Vindorix, whose
countenance waxed more and more somber, approach his wife and say to
her:

"'This is the time.'

"'Do you wish it?' asked Albrege. 'Do you wish it?'

"'Yes,' answered the husband; 'I doubt--I want to be certain.'

"'Then, be it so,' said she.

"Thereupon, himself taking the buckler where the little child lay,
smiling and stretching out its chubby arms to him, Vindorix walked into
the river up to his waist, raised the buckler and child for a moment
over his head, and looked back a last time towards his wife, as if to
threaten her with what he was about to do. With her forehead high and a
steady countenance, Albrege remained erect at the river bank, motionless
like a statue, her arms crossed upon her bosom. When her husband now
turned to her she stretched out her right hand towards him as if to say:

"'Do it!'

"At that moment a shudder ran over the crowd. Vindorix deposited upon
the stream the buckler on which lay the child, and in that frail craft
left the infant to the mercy of the eddies."

"Oh, the wicked man!" cried Mamm' Margarid deeply moved by the story as
were the other hearers. "And his wife!... his wife ... who remained on
the bank?--"

"But what was the reason of such a barbarity, friend guest?" asked
Henory, the young wife of Guilhern embracing her two children, little
Sylvest and little Syomara, both of whom she took on her knees as if
fearing to see them exposed to a similar danger.

With a gesture the stranger put an end to the interrogatories, and
proceeded:

"The stream had barely carried away the buckler on which the child lay,
than the father raised both his trembling hands to heaven as if to
invoke the gods. He followed the course of the buckler with sullen
anxiety, leaning, despite himself, to the right when the buckler dipped
to the right, and to the left when the buckler dipped on that side. The
mother, on the contrary, her arms crossed over her bosom, followed the
buckler with firm eyes, and as tranquil as if she had nothing to fear
for her child."

"Nothing to fear!" cried Guilhern. "To see her child thus exposed to
almost certain death ... it is bound to go under...."

"That must have been an unnatural mother," cried Henory.

"And not one man in all that crowd to jump into the water and save the
child!" observed Julyan thinking of his friend. "Oh, that will surely
anger the heart of Armel, when I tell him that."

"But do not interrupt every instant!" cried Joel. "Proceed, my guest;
may Teutates, who presides over all journeys made in this world and in
the others, guard the poor little thing!"

"Twice," the stranger proceeded, "the buckler threatened to be swallowed
up by the eddies of the rapid stream. Of all present, only the mother
moved not a muscle. Presently the buckler was seen riding the waters
like an airy skiff and peacefully following the course of the stream
beyond the rapids. Immediately the crowd cried, beating their hands:

"'The boat! The boat!'

"Two men ran down the bank, pushed off a boat, and swiftly plying their
oars, quickly reached the buckler, and took it up from the water
together with the child that had fallen asleep--"

"Thanks to the gods! The child is saved!" exclaimed almost in chorus the
family of Joel, as if delivered from a painful apprehension.

Perceiving that he was about to be again interrupted by fresh questions,
the stranger hastened to resume his narrative.

"While the buckler and child were being taken from the water, its father
Vindorix, whose face was now as radiant with joy as it was somber until
then, ran to his wife, and stretching out his arms to her said:"

"'Albrege!... Albrege!... You told me the truth.... You were faithful!'"

"But repelling her husband with an imperious gesture, Albrege answered
him proudly: 'Certain of my honor, I did not fear the trial.... I felt
at ease on my child's fate. The gods could not punish an innocent woman
with the loss of her child.... But ... _a woman suspected is a woman
outraged_.... I shall keep my child. You never more shall see us, nor
him, nor me.... You have doubted your wife's honor!'"

"The child was just then brought in triumph. Its mother threw herself
upon it, like a lioness upon her whelp; pressed it closely to her heart;
so calm and peaceful as she had been until then, so violent was she now
with the caresses that she showered upon the baby, with whom she now
fled away."

"O, that was a true daughter of Gaul!" said Guilhern's wife. "A woman
suspected is a woman outraged. Those are proud words.... I like to hear
them!"

"But," asked Joel, "is that trial one of the customs of the Gauls along
the Rhine?"

"Yes," answered the stranger; "the husband who suspects his wife of
having dishonored his bed, places the baby upon a buckler and exposes it
to the current of the river. If the child remains afloat, the wife's
innocence is proved; if it sinks under the waves, the mother's crime is
considered established."

"And how was that brave wife clad, friend guest?" asked Henory. "Did she
wear a tunic like ours?"

"No," answered the stranger; "the tunics in that region are very short
and of two colors. The corsage is generally blue, the skirt red. The
latter is often embroidered with gold and silver thread."

"And their head-gear?" asked one of the young girls. "Are they white and
cut square like our own?"

"No; they are black and bell-shaped, and they are also embroidered in
gold and silver."

"And the bucklers?" queried Guilhern. "Are they like ours?"

"They are longer, and they are painted with lively colors, usually
arranged in squares. Red and white is a very common combination."

"And the marriages, how are they celebrated?" inquired another young
girl.

"And the cattle, are they as fine as ours?" an old man wanted to know.

"And have they like us brave fighting cocks?" asked a child.

The stranger was being assailed with such a shower of questions that
Joel said to the questioners:

"Enough; enough.... Let our friend regain his breath. You are screaming
around him like a flock of sea-gulls."

"Do they pay, as we do, the money they owe the dead?" asked Stumpy,
despite Joel's orders to cease questioning the stranger.

"Yes; their custom and ours is the same as here," answered the stranger;
"and they are not idolaters like a man from Asia whom I met at
Marseilles, and who claimed that, according to his religion, we
continued to live after death, but not clad in human shape, according to
him we were clad in the form of animals."

"_Her!_ ... _Her!_" cried Stumpy in great trouble. "If it were as those
idolatrous people claim, then Gigel, who departed instead of old Mark,
may be now inhabiting the body of a fish; and I would have sent him
three pieces of silver with Armel who might now be inhabiting the body
of a bird. How could a bird deliver silver pieces to a fish. _Her!_ ...
_Her!_"

"Our friend told you that that belief is idolatry, Stumpy," put in Joel
with severity; "your fear is impious."

"It must be so," said Julyan sadly. "What would I become who am to
proceed to-morrow to meet Armel by oath and out of friendship, were I to
find him turned into a bird while I may be turned into a stag of the
woods or an ox of the fields?"

"Fear not, young man," said the stranger to Julyan, "the religion of
Hesus is the only true religion; it teaches us that after death we are
reclad in younger and handsomer bodies."

"I pin my hopes on that!" said Stumpy.



CHAPTER V.

THE STORY OF SYOMARA.


The storm of questions had spent itself and the thirst for fresh stories
returned among the assembled family of Joel, whose head remarked with
wonderment: "What a thing traveling is? How much one learns; but we must
not lag behind our guest. Story for story. Proud Gallic woman for proud
Gallic woman. Friend guest, ask Mamm' Margarid to tell you the beautiful
story and deed of one of her own female ancestors, which happened about
a hundred and thirty years ago when our fathers went as far as Asia to
found a new Gaul, because you must know that few are the countries on
earth that their soles have not trod upon."

"After your wife's story," answered the stranger, "and seeing that you
wish to speak of our own ancestors, I shall also speak of them ... and
by Ritha Gaür!... never would the time be fitter. While we are here
telling stories, you do not seem to know what is going on elsewhere in
the land; you do not know that perhaps at this very moment--"

"Why do you interrupt yourself?" asked Joel wondering at the suddenness
with which his guest broke off in the middle of the sentence. "What is
going on while we are here telling stories? What better can we do at the
corner of our hearth during an autumn evening?"

Instead of answering Joel, the stranger respectfully said to Mamm'
Margarid:

"I shall listen to the story of Joel's wife."

"It is a very short and simple story," answered Margarid plying her
distaff. "The story is as simple as the action of my ancestral
grandmother. Her name was Syomara."

"And in honor of her," said Guilhern breaking in upon his mother and
proudly pointing the stranger to an eight year old child of surprising
beauty, "in honor of our ancestral grandmother Syomara, who was as
beautiful as she was brave, I have given her name to this little girl of
mine."

"This is indeed a most charming child," remarked the stranger struck by
the lovely face of little Syomara. "I am sure she will have her
grandmother's valor in the same degree that she is endowed with her
beauty."

Henory, the child's mother blushed with joy at these words and said
smiling to Mamm' Margarid:

"I dare not blame Guilhern for having interrupted you; it brought on the
pretty compliment."

"The compliment is as sweet to me as to you, my daughter," answered
Mamm' Margarid; saying which she began her story:

"My grandmother's name was Syomara; she was the daughter of Ronan. Her
father had taken her into lower Languedoc whither his traffic called
him. The Gauls of the neighborhood were just preparing for the
expedition to the East. Their chief, Oriegon by name, saw my
grandmother, was fascinated by her beauty, won her love and married her.
Syomara departed with her husband on the expedition to the East. At
first they triumphed. Afterwards, the Romans, who were ever jealous of
the Gallic possessions, attacked our fathers. In one of the battles,
Syomara, who, led thereto both by duty and love, accompanied Oriegon,
her husband, to battle in a war-chariot, was separated from her husband
during the fray, taken prisoner, and placed under the guard of a Roman
officer, who was a miser and a libertine. The Roman, who was captivated
by the beauty of Syomara, attempted to seduce her; but she repelled his
advances with contempt. He then surprised his captive during her sleep
and outraged her--"

"Listen, Joel!" cried the stranger indignantly. "Listen to that!... A
Roman subjects an ancestor of your wife to such indignity!"

"Listen to the end of the story, friend guest," said Joel; "you will see
that Syomara is the peer of the Gallic woman of the Rhine."

"The one and the other," Margarid proceeded, "showed themselves true to
the maxim that there are three kinds of chastity among the women of
Gaul: The first, when a father says in the presence of his daughter that
he grants her hand to him whom she loves; the second, when for the first
time she enters her husband's bed; and the third, when she appears the
next morning before other men. The Roman had outraged Syomara, his
prisoner. His passion being satisfied, he offered her freedom upon
payment of a ransom. She accepted the offer and induced the Roman to
send her servant, a prisoner like herself, to the camp of the Gauls and
tell Oriegon or, in his absence, any of his friends, to bring the ransom
to an appointed place. The servant departed to the camp of the Gauls.
The miserly Roman, wishing himself to receive the ransom and not share
it with anyone else, led Syomara alone to the appointed place. The
friends of Oriegon were there with the gold for the ransom. While the
Roman was counting the gold, Syomara addressed the Gauls in their own
tongue and ordered them to kill the infamous man. Her orders were
executed on the spot. Syomara then cut off his head, placed it in a fold
of her dress and returned to the camp of her people. Oriegon, who had
himself been also taken prisoner and managed to escape, arrived in camp
at the same time as his wife. At the sight of her husband, Syomara
dropped the head of the Roman at his feet and addressed Oriegon saying:
'That is the head of a man who outraged me.... There is none but you who
can say that he possessed me.'"

At the close of her narrative, Mamm' Margarid continued to spin in
silence.

"Did I not tell you, friend," said Joel, "that Syomara, Margarid's
grandmother, was the peer of your Gallic woman of the Rhine?"

"And must not the noble name bring good luck to my daughter!" added
Guilhern tenderly kissing the blonde head of the child.

"That powerful and chaste story is worthy of the lips that told it,"
said the stranger. "It also proves that the Romans, our implacable
enemies, have not changed. Avaricious and debauched were they once--and
are to-day. And seeing that we are speaking of the avaricious and
debauched Romans and that you love stories," he added with a bitter
smile, "you must know that I have been in Rome ... and that I saw ...
Julius Cæsar ... the most famous of the Roman generals, as also the most
avaricious and the most debauched man of all Italy. I would not venture
to speak of his infamous acts of libertinage before women and young
girls."

"Oh! Did you see that famous Julius Cæsar? What kind of a looking man is
he?" asked Joel with great inquisitiveness.

The stranger looked at the brenn as if greatly surprised at the
question, and answered with an effort to suppress his anger:

"Cæsar is nearing old age; he is tall of stature; his face is lean and
long; his complexion pale; his eyes black; his head bald. Seeing the man
combines in his person all the vices of the worst women of the Romans,
he is possessed, like them, of extraordinary personal vanity.
Accordingly, in order to conceal his baldness, he ever carries a chaplet
of gold leaves on his head. Is your inquisitiveness satisfied, Joel?
Would you want more details about Cæsar's infirmities? That he is
subject to epileptic fits?... That--"

But the stranger did not finish his sentence. Letting his eyes wander
over the assembled family of the brenn, he cried with towering rage:

"By the anger of Hesus! Can it be that all of you--as many as you are
here capable of seizing the sabre and the sword but insatiable after
idle stories--can it be you do not know that a Roman army, after having
invaded under the command of Cæsar one-half of our provinces, has taken
winter quarters in the country of Orleans, of Touraine and of Anjou?"

"Yes, yes; we have heard about it," calmly said Joel. "People from
Anjou, who came here to buy beef and pork, told us about it."

"And it is with such unconcern that you speak of the Roman invasion of
Gaul?" cried the traveler.

"Never have the Breton Gauls been invaded by strangers," proudly
answered the brenn of the tribe of Karnak. "We shall remain spotless of
the taint. We are independent of the Gauls of Piotou, of Touraine, of
Orleans and of the other sections of the land, just as they are
independent of us. They have not asked for our help. We are not so
constituted as to offer ourselves to their chiefs and to fight under
them. Let everyone guard his own honor and his own province. The Romans
are in Touraine ... but it is a long way from Touraine to here."

"So that if the pirates of the North were to kill your son Albinik the
sailor and his brave wife Meroë, it would no wise concern you because
the murder was committed far from here?"

"You are joking. My son is my son.... The Gauls of provinces other than
mine are not my sons!"

"Are they not, like yourself, the sons of the same god, as the druid
religion teaches you? If that is so, are not all the Gauls your
brothers? And does not the subjugation, does not the blood of a brother
cry for vengeance? Are you unconcerned because the enemy is not at the
very gates of your own homestead? On that principle, the hand, even when
it knows that the foot is gangrened, could say to itself: 'As to me, I
am well, and the foot is far from the hand--I need not worry over the
disease.' And the gangrene, not being stopped, rises from the foot to
the other members, until the whole body perishes."

"Unless the healthy hand take an axe," said the brenn, "and cut off the
foot from which the evil proceeds."

"And what becomes of the body that is thus mutilated, Joel?" put in
Mamm' Margarid who all the while had been listening in silence. "When
the best regions of the country shall have been invaded by the stranger,
what will then become of the rest of Gaul? Thus mutilated and
dismembered, how will she defend herself against her enemies?"

"The worthy spouse of my host speaks wisely," said the traveler
respectfully to Mamm' Margarid; "like all Gallic matrons she holds her
place at the public council as well as at her hearth."

"You speak truly," rejoined Joel, "Margarid has a brave heart and a wise
head. Often her opinion is better than mine.... I gladly say so.... But
this time I am right. Whatever may happen to the rest of Gaul, never
will the Romans set foot in our old Britanny. There are her rocks, her
marshes, her woods, her sand banks--above all her Bretons to defend
her."

At these words of her husband Mamm' Margarid shook her head
disapprovingly; all the men of the family, however, loudly applauded
their brenn's words.



CHAPTER VI.

THE STORY OF GAUL.


When the noisy and martial ardor, evoked by the boastful words of the
brenn of the tribe of Karnak had subsided, the traveler was seen sitting
in somber silence. He looked up and said:

"Very well, one more and last story, but let this one fall upon the
hearts of you all like burning brass, seeing that the wise words of this
household's matron have proved futile."

All looked with surprise at the stranger, who with somber and severe
mien began his story with these words:

"Once upon a time, as far back as two or three thousand years, there
lived a family here in Gaul. Whence did it come, to fill the vast
solitudes that to-day are so populous? It doubtlessly came from the
heart of Asia, that ancient cradle of the human races, now, however,
hidden in the night of antiquity. That family ever preserved a type
peculiar to itself, and found with no other people of the world. Loyal,
hospitable, generous, vivacious, gay, inclined to humor, loving to tell,
above all, to hear stories, intrepid in battle, daring death more
heroically than any other nation, because its religion taught it what
death was--such were that family's virtues. Giddy-headed, vagabond,
presumptuous, inconsistent, curious after novelty, and greedier yet of
seeing than of conquering unknown countries, as easily uniting as
falling apart, too proud and too fickle to adjust its opinions to those
of its neighbors, or if consenting thereto, incapable of long marching
in concert with them, although common and vital interests be at
stake--such are that family's vices. In point of its virtues and in
point of its vices, thus has it always been since the remotest
centuries; thus is it to-day; thus will it be to-morrow."

"Oh, oh! If I am not much mistaken," broke in the brenn smiling, "all of
us, Gauls though we may be, must have some cousin red with that family."

"Yes," said the stranger, "to its own misfortune--and to the joy of its
enemies--such has been and such is to-day the character of our own
people!"

"But at least admit, despite such a character, the dear Gallic people
has made its way well through the world. Few are the countries where the
inquisitive vagabond, as you call it, did not promenade his shoes, with
his nose in the air, his sword at his side--"

"You are right. Such is its spirit of adventure: always marching ahead
towards the unknown, rather than to stop and build. Thus, to-day,
one-third of Gaul is in the hands of the Romans, while some centuries
ago the Gallic race occupied through its headlong conquests, besides
Gaul, England, Ireland, upper Italy, the banks of the Danube, and the
countries along the sea border as far east and north as Denmark. Nor yet
was that enough. It looked as if our race was to spread itself over the
whole world. The Gauls of the Danube went into Macedonia, into Thrace,
into Thessaly. Others of them crossed the Bosphorus and the Hellespont,
reached Asia Minor, founded New Gaul, and thus became the arbiters of
all the kingdoms of the East."

"So far, meseems," rejoined the brenn, "we have nothing to regret over
our character that you so severely judge."

"And what is left of those senseless battles, undertaken by the pride of
the kings who then reigned over the Gauls?" the stranger proceeded
looking around. "Have not the distant conquests slipped from us? Have
not our implacable and ever more powerful enemies, the Romans, raised
all the peoples against us? Have we not been compelled to abandon those
useless possessions--Asia, Greece, Germany, Italy? That is the net
result of so much heroism and so much blood! That is the pass to which
we have been brought by the ambition of the kings, who usurped the power
of the druids!"

"To that I have nothing to say. You are right. There was no need of
promenading so far away only to soil the soles of our shoes with the
blood and the dust of foreign lands. But if I am not mistaken, it was at
about that time that the sons of the brave Ritha Gaür, who had a blouse
made for himself of the beards of the kings whom he shaved, seeing in
these the butchers of the people and not its shepherds, overthrew the
royalty."

"Yes, thanks to the gods, an epoch of real grandeur, of peace and of
prosperity succeeded the barren and bloody conquests of the kings.
Disembarassed of its useless possessions, reduced to rational
limits--its natural frontiers--the Rhine, the Alps, the Pyrenees and the
Ocean--the republic of the Gauls became the queen and envy of the world.
Its fertile soil, cultivated as we so well know how, produced everything
in abundance; the rivers were covered with merchant vessels; gold,
silver and copper mines increased its wealth every day; large cities
rose everywhere. The druids, spreading light in all directions, preached
union to the provinces, and set the example by convoking once a year in
the center of Gaul solemn assemblies, at which the general interests of
the country were considered. Each tribe, each canton, each town, elected
its own magistrates; each province was a republic which, according to
the druid plan, merged into the great Republic of the Gauls, and thus
constituted one powerful body through the union of all."

"The fathers of our grandfathers saw those happy days, friend guest."

"And their sons saw only ruins and misfortune! What has happened? The
accursed stock of dethroned kings joins the stock of their former and no
less accursed clients or seigneurs, and all of them, irritated at having
been deposed of their authority, hope for restoration from the public
misfortunes, and exploit with infamous perfidy our innate pride and lack
of discipline, which, under the powerful influence of the druids, were
being steadily corrected. The rivalries between province and province,
long allayed, re-awakened; jealousies and hatreds sprang up anew;
everywhere the structure of union began to crumble. For all this the
kings do not re-ascend the throne. Many of their descendants are even
judicially executed. But they have unchained internal feud. Civil war
flares up. The more powerful provinces seek to subjugate the weaker.
Thus, towards the end of the last century, the Marseillians, the
descendants of the exiled Greeks to whom Gaul generously assigned the
territory on which they built their town, sought to assume the rôle of
sovereignty. The province rose against the town; finding herself in
danger, Marseilles called the Romans to her aid. They came, not to
sustain Marseilles in her contemplated iniquity, but to themselves take
possession of the region, a purpose that they succeeded in, despite the
prodigies of valor with which they were opposed. Established in
Provence, the Romans built the town of Aix, and thus founded their first
colony on our soil--"

"Oh, a curse upon the Marseillians!" cried Joel. "It was thanks to those
sons of Greeks that the Romans gained a foothold in Gaul!"

"By what right can we curse the people of Marseilles? Must not also
those provinces be cursed which, since the decline of the republic, thus
allowed one of their sisters to be overpowered and subjugated? But
retribution was swift. Encouraged by the indifference of the Gauls, the
Romans took possession of Auvergne, and later of the Dauphine, and a
little later also of Languedoc and Vivarais despite the heroic defence
of their peoples, who, besides being divided among themselves, were left
to their own resources. Thus the Romans became masters of almost all
southern Gaul; they govern it by their proconsuls and reduce its people
to slavery. Do the other provinces at last take alarm at these ominous
invasions of Rome that push ever forward and threaten the very heart of
Gaul? No! No! Relying upon their own courage, they say as you, Joel, did
shortly ago: 'The South lies far away from the North, the East lies far
away from the West.' This notwithstanding, our race, which is heedless
and presumptuous enough to fail to prepare in advance, and when it is
still time, against foreign domination, always has the belated courage
of rebelling when the yoke is actually placed upon its neck. The
provinces that have been subjugated by the Romans, break out in resolute
rebellion; these are smothered in their own blood. Our disasters follow
swiftly upon one another. The Burgundians, incited thereto by the
descendants of the old kings, take up arms against the Frank-Compté and
invoke the aid of the Romans. The Frank-Compté, unable to make head
against such an alliance, requests reinforcements from the Germans of
the other side of the Rhine. Thus these barbarians of the North are
taught the road to Gaul, and after bloody battles with the very people
who invited them, remain masters of both Burgundy and Frank-Compté. Last
year, the Swiss, encouraged by the example of the Germans, make an
irruption into the Gallic provinces that had been conquered by the
Romans. Thereupon, Julius Cæsar is appointed proconsul; he hastens from
Italy; owerthrows the Swiss in their mountains; drives the Germans out
of Burgundy and Frank-Compté; takes possession of these provinces, now
exhausted by their long struggles with the barbarians; and to the yoke
of these now succeeds that of the Romans. It was a change of masters.
And finally, at the beginning of this year a portion of Gaul shakes off
its lethargy and scents the dangers that threatens the still independent
provinces. Brave patriots, wanting neither Romans nor Germans for their
masters--Galba among the Gauls of Belgium, Boddig-nat among the Gauls of
Flanders--induce the people to rise in mass against Cæsar. The Gauls of
Vermandois and those of Artois also rise in rebellion. Together they all
march against the Romans! Oh, it was a great and terrible battle, that
battle of the Sambre!" cried the unknown traveler with exaltation. "The
Gallic army awaited Cæsar on the left bank of the river. Three times did
the Roman army cross, and three times was it compelled to recross it,
fighting up to their waists in the blood-reddened waters. The Roman is
overthrown, the oldest legions are shattered. Cæsar alights from his
horse, swings his sword, rallies his last cohorts of veterans, that
already were yielding ground, and at their head charges upon our army.
Despite Cæsar's courage the battle was lost to him, when we saw a fresh
body arrive to his aid."

"You say 'We saw'?" asked Joel. "Were you at that terrible battle?"

But the unknown visitor proceeded without answering: "Exhausted,
decimated by a seven hours' fight, we still held out against the fresh
troops ... we fought to the bitter end ... we fought unto death.... And
do you know," added the stranger with an expression of profound grief,
"do you know, you who remained peacefully at home, while your brothers
were dying for the liberty of Gaul, which is also yours,--do you know
how many survived of the sixty thousand men in the Gallic army--in that
battle of the Sambre?... _Not five hundred!_"

"Not five hundred!" cried Joel as if questioning the figures.

"I say so because I am one of the survivors," answered the stranger
proudly.

"Then the two fresh scars on your face--"

"I received them at the battle of the Sambre--"



CHAPTER VII.

"WAR! WAR! WAR!"


A furious barking of dogs in the yard and a distinct noise of hard
rapping at the gate of the palisade interrupted the stranger's
narrative. Still laboring under the painful impression of the traveler's
words, the family of the brenn for a moment imagined their homestead was
being attacked. The women rose precipitately, the little ones rushed to
their mothers' arms, the men ran for their arms that hung from the
walls. But the dogs soon ceased barking, although the rapping at the
gate continued unabated. Joel said to his family:

"Although they are still rapping, the dogs do not bark. They must know
who is at the gate."

Saying this, the brenn stepped out. Several of his kinsmen, the stranger
included, followed him out of prudence. The yard gate was opened and two
voices were heard outside the palisades crying:

"It is we, friends, ... Albinik and Mikael."

Indeed the two sons of the brenn were distinguished by the light of the
torches, and behind them their horses, panting for breath and white with
foam. After tenderly embracing his sons, especially the mariner, who was
absent over a year on his sea journeys, Joel entered the house with
them, where they were received with joy and not a little surprise by
their mother and other relatives.

Albinik the mariner and Mikael the armorer were, like their father and
their brother, men of large and robust stature. Over their clothes they
carried a caped cloak of heavy woolen fabric streaming with the rain.
Upon entering the house, and even before embracing their mother, the new
arrivals stepped to the altar and approached their lips to the seven
small twigs of mistletoe that stood dipped in the copper bowl on the
large stone. They there noticed a lifeless body covered with oak
branches, near which Julyan still sat.

"Good evening, Julyan," said Mikael. "Who is dead?"

"It is Armel; I killed him this evening in a sword contest," answered
Julyan; "but as we have both pledged brotherhood to each other, I shall
join him to-morrow beyond. If you wish it I shall mention you to him."

"Yes, yes. Julyan; I loved Armel and expected to find him alive. In the
bag on my horse I have a little harpoon head of iron that I forged for
him; I shall place it to-morrow on the pyre of you two--"

"And you must tell Armel," added the mariner smiling, "that he went away
too soon; his friends Albinik and Meroë would have told him their last
experience at sea."

"It is Armel and myself," replied Julyan with a smile, "who will later
have pretty stories to tell you. Your sea trips will be like nothing to
the travels that await us in those marvelous worlds that none has seen
and all will see."

After Margarid's two sons had answered the tender inquiries of their
mother and family, the brenn said to the unknown traveler:

"Friend, these are my two sons."

"May it please heaven that the suddenness of their arrival may not be
caused by some evil event," answered the traveler.

"I say so, too, my children," rejoined Joel. "What has happened that you
come at so late an hour and in such hurry? Happy be your return,
Albinik, but I did not expect it so soon. But where is the gentle
Meroë?"

"I left her at Vannes, father. This is what has happened. I returned
from Spain by the gulf of Gascony on the way to England. The bad weather
forced us to put in at Vannes. But by Teutates, who presides over all
journeys by land and sea, here on earth and beyond, I did not
expect--no, I did not expect to see what I saw in that town. I,
therefore, left my vessel in port in charge of my sailors with my wife
as their chief, I took a horse and galloped to Auray. There I gave the
news to Mikael, and we hastened hither to forewarn you, father."

"And what is it you saw at Vannes?"

"What did I see? All the inhabitants, in revolt, full of indignation and
rage, like the brave Bretons that they are!"

"And what is the reason of it all, children?" asked Mamm' Margarid
without leaving her distaff.

"Four Roman officers, without any other escort than four soldiers and as
calmly insolent as if they were in some enslaved country, came in
yesterday and commanded the magistrates of the town to issue orders to
all the neighboring tribes to send to Vannes ten thousand bags of
wheat--"

"And what else?" asked Joel laughing and shrugging his shoulders.

"Five thousand bags of oats."

"And what else?"

"Five hundred barrels of hydromel."

"Of course," said the brenn laughing louder, "they must also drink--and
what else?"

"A thousand heads of beef."

"And, of course, the fattest--What else?"

"Five thousand sheep."

"That's right. One soon gets tired of beef only. Is that all, my boy?"

"They also demanded three hundred horses to furnish new equipages to the
Roman cavalry, besides two hundred wagons of forage."

"And why not? The poor horses must be fed," continued Joel sneeringly.
"But there must be some more orders. If they begin to issue orders, why
stop at all?"

"The provisions were to be taken in wagons as far as Poitou and
Touraine."

"And what is the wide maw that is to swallow up those bags of wheat,
those muttons, those heads of beef and those barrels of hydromel?"

"Above all," added the traveler, "who is to pay for all those
provisions?"

"Pay for them!" replied Albinik. "Why, nobody. It is a forced impost."

"Ha! Ha!" laughed Joel.

"And the wide maw that is to gulp up the provisions is none other than
the Roman army, which is wintering in Touraine and Anjou."

A shudder of rage mixed with disdain ran through the family of the
brenn. "Well, Joel," the unknown traveler remarked, "do you still think
that it is a long way from Touraine to Britanny? The distance does not
seem to me long, seeing that the officers of Cæsar come calmly and
without escort, empty-pursed and swinging high their canes, to provision
their army here."

Joel no longer laughed; he dropped his head and remained silent.

"Our guest is right," put in Albinik; "these Romans came empty-pursed
and swinging high their canes. One of them even raised his cane over old
Ronan, the oldest magistrate of Vannes, who, like you, father, objected
strongly to the Roman exaction."

"And yet, children, what else can we do but laugh at these demands. To
levy these provisionings upon us and the neighboring tribes of Vannes;
to force us to carry the requisitions to Touraine and Anjou with our
oxen and horses which the Romans will surely keep also, and all that at
the very season of the late sowing and of our autumn labors; to ruin
next year's harvest;--why, that is to reduce us to living upon the grass
that would have fed the cattle that they rob us of!"

"Yes," said Mikael the armorer; "they want to take away our wheat and
our cattle, and leave the grass to us. By the iron of the lance that I
was forging this very morning, it shall be the Romans who, under our
blows, will bite the grass on our fields!"

"Vannes is now preparing to defend herself if attacked," added the
mariner. "They have begun to throw up trenches in the neighborhood of
the port. All our sailors are to be armed, and if the Roman galleys
attack us by sea, never will the sea crows have had a like feast of
corpses upon our beach."

"While crossing to-night the other tribes," resumed Mikael, "we spread
the news and sounded the alarm. The magistrates of Vannes have also sent
out messengers in all direction ordering that fires be lighted from hill
to hill, and thereby give immediate notice of the imminent danger from
one end of Britanny to the other."

Without once dropping her distaff, Mamm' Margarid had listened to the
report given by her sons. When they stopped speaking she calmly said:

"As to those Roman officers, my sons, were they not sent back to their
army--after a thorough caning?"

"No, mother; they were lodged in jail at Vannes, all except two of their
soldiers whom the magistrates charged to declare to the Roman general
that no provisions whatever were to be furnished him, and that his
officers were to be as hostages."

"It would have been better to give the officers a thorough caning and
drive them in disgrace out of the town," replied Mamm' Margarid. "That
is the way thieves are treated, and these Romans tried to rob us."

"You are right, Margarid," said Joel; "they came to rob us--to starve
us! to carry away our harvests and our cattle!" And Joel, now in a
towering rage, added: "By the vengeance of Hesus! To think of their
taking our fine turn-out of six young oxen with skins slick as wolves!
Our four yokes of black bulls that have such a beautiful white star in
the center of their foreheads!"

"And our beautiful white heifers with yellow heads!" said Mamm' Margarid
shrugging her shoulders and never quitting her distaff, "our sheep whose
fleece is so nice and thick.... Come, a good caning for these Romans!"

"And the powerful horses of the stock of your magnificent stallion
Tom-Bras," put in the traveler. "They will, after all, have to draw your
harvest to Touraine, and will then serve to replace the worn-out horses
of the Roman cavalry.... True, to them, the labor will not be excessive
... because you will now probably discover that it is not far from
Touraine to Britanny."

"Well may you mock, friend," said Joel. "You were right, and I confess
myself to have been wrong. Oh! If only the provinces of Gaul had from
the start confederated themselves against the first assault of the
Romans! If united they had put forth but one-half the efforts that they
put forth separately--we would not now be exposed to the insolent
demands and to the threats of these heathens! Well may you mock!"

"No, Joel, I will mock no longer," gravely answered the traveler. "The
danger is near; the hostile camp lies only a twelve day's march from
here; the refusal of the magistrates of Vannes and the imprisonment of
the Roman officers--all that means speedy war--a merciless war, as only
the Romans know how to wage! If we are vanquished it means to us death
on the battle field, or slavery far away! The slave merchants follow the
tracks of the Roman army; they are greedy after prey. Whatever survives,
whether whole or wounded--men, young women, girls, children--all are
sold at auction like cattle for the benefit of the vanquisher, and are
forthwith consigned by the thousands to Italy or to Southern Gaul where
the Romans are settled! Arrived at their destination, the male slaves of
robust frame are often forced to fight ferocious animals in the circus
for the amusement of their masters; the young women and girls, even the
children are subjected to monstrous debaucheries. Such is war with the
Romans if vanquished!" cried the stranger. "Will you allow yourselves to
be vanquished? Will you submit to such disgrace? Will you deliver to
them your wives, your sisters, your daughters and children, ye Gauls of
Britanny?"

Hardly had the traveler uttered these words when the whole family of
Joel--men, women, young girls, children--all down to the dwarfy Stumpy,
rose to their feet and with their eyes shooting fire, their cheeks
inflamed, cried tumultuously, waving their arms:

"War! War! War!"

Joel's large battle mastiff, fired by these cries, rose on his hind legs
and laid his fore-paws on the breast of his master, who, while caressing
his enormous head said:

"Yes, old Deber-Trud, like our tribe you will hunt the Romans.... The
quarry shall be for you.... Your jaws shall be red with blood!... Wow!
Wow, Deber-Trud! At the Romans! At the Romans!"

Hearing the well-known war-cry, the mastiff responded with furious
barks, displaying fangs as redoubtable as a lion's. Hearing Deber-Trud,
the outside watch-dogs, as well as those locked up in the kennels,
answered him. Frightful was the war-cry raised by the pack.

"A good omen, friend Joel," observed the traveler. "Your dogs bark death
to the enemy."

"Yes, yes; death to the enemy!" cried the brenn. "Thanks be to the gods,
in our Breton Gaul, on the day of peril, the watch-dog becomes a
war-dog! the draw-horse becomes a war-horse! the ox of the field a
war-ox! the harvest carts chariots of war! the laborer a warrior! even
our peaceful and fruitful earth turns to war and devours the stranger!
at every step he finds a grave in our fathomless marshes, and his
vessels vanish in the whirlpools of our bays which are more terrible in
their calm than in the tempest of their fury!"

"Joel," now said Julyan, who had left the body of his friend, "I
promised Armel to meet him to-morrow yonder--Such a death would be
pleasant to me.... To die fighting the Romans is a duty.... What shall I
do?"

"Ask to-morrow one of the druids of Karnak."

"And our sister Hena," said Albinik the mariner to his mother. "It is
nearly a year I have not seen her.... She is surely still the pearl of
the Isle of Sen? My wife Meroë charged me to remember her to Hena."

"You will see her to-morrow," answered Mamm' Margarid; and laying down
her distaff she arose. It was the signal for the family to retire. Mamm'
Margarid looked around and said:

"Let us retire, my children; it is late; to-morrow at break of day we
must begin our war preparations;" and turning to the traveler:

"May the gods grant you a good rest and pleasant dreams!"



CHAPTER VIII.

FAREWELL!


Agreeable to his promise, Joel pushed off his boat early the next
morning, accompanied by his son Albinik the mariner, and took the
unknown traveler to the island of Kellor, seeing he did not dare to land
at the sacred precincts of the Isle of Sen. The brenn's guest said a few
words in a low voice to the ewagh who mounts perpetual guard in the
island's house. He seemed to be struck with respect and answered that
Talyessin, the oldest of the living druids, who then was at the Isle of
Sen together with his wife Auria, expected a traveler since the previous
evening.

Before leaving Joel, the stranger said to his host: "I hope neither you
nor your family will forget your resolution of yesterday. This day a
call to arms will resound from one end of Breton Gaul to the other."

"You may rest assured that I and the rest of my tribe will be the first
to respond to the call."

"I believe you. The issue now is whether Gaul shall fall into slavery or
shall rise again to the height of her one-time power and glory."

"But should I not, at this moment when I am to leave you, know the name
of the brave man who sat at my hearth? The name of the wise man who
speaks with so much soundness and loves his country so warmly?"

"Joel, my name shall be 'Soldier' so long as Gaul is not free; and if we
ever meet again, I shall call myself 'Your Friend,' seeing that I am
that."

Saying these words the unknown traveler stepped into the ewagh's boat
that was to take him from Kellor to the Isle of Sen. Before the boat,
which was under charge of the ewagh, put off, Joel asked the latter
whether he would be permitted to wait at the house for his daughter
Hena, who was to come on that day to visit the family. The ewagh
informed him that his daughter would not start for the shore until
evening. Sorry at not being able to take Hena with him, the brenn
re-entered his boat and returned alone with Albinik.

Towards noon, Julyan went to consult the druids of the forest of Karnak
upon whether he should take the immediate and voluntary death which
would be a pleasure to him, seeing he was to rejoin Armel, or seek death
in battle against the Romans. The druids answered him that having sworn
to Armel upon his brotherhood faith to die with him, he should be
faithful to his promise, and that the ewaghs would bring the body of
Armel with the usual ceremonies in order to place it upon the pyre where
Julyan would find his place at moon-rise. Happy at being able so soon to
join his friend, Julyan was about to leave Karnak, when he saw the
stranger, who had been the guest of Joel and who now returned from the
Isle of Sen, approaching through the forest in the company of Talyessin.
The latter said a few words to the other druids, who forthwith
surrounded the traveler with great eagerness and marks of respect. The
younger ones of the druids received him as a brother, the elder ones as
a son.

Recognizing Julyan, the traveler said to him:

"As you are to return to the brenn of the tribe, wait a little; I shall
give you a letter for him."

Julyan yielded to the wish of the stranger, who withdrew accompanied by
Talyessin and other druids. He returned shortly and handed to Julyan a
little scroll of yellow tanned skin, saying:

"This is for Joel.... This evening, Julyan, when the moon rises we shall
see each other again.... Hesus loves those who, like you, are brave and
faithful in their friendship."

Upon arriving at the brenn's house, Julyan learned that the former was
on the field gathering in the wheat. He went after him and delivered to
Joel the writing sent by the stranger. It said:

"Friend Joel, in the name of Gaul now in danger, this is what the druids
expect of you: Command all the members of your family who are at work on
the fields to cry out to those of the tribe working not far from them:
The mistletoe and the new year! _Let every man, woman and child, all
without exception, meet this evening in the forest of Karnak at the rise
of the moon._ Let those of the tribe who will have heard these words in
turn repeat them aloud to those of the other tribes who may also be at
work on the fields, so that the call being repeated from mouth to mouth,
from one to another, from village to village, from town to town, from
Vannes to Auray, notify all the tribes to convene this evening at the
forest of Karnak."

Joel did as ordered by the stranger in the name of the druids of Karnak.
The call was carried from mouth to mouth, from the nearest to the most
distant tribes; all were notified to meet that evening in the forest of
Karnak when the moon rose.

While some of the brenn's family were hurriedly gathering in the wheat
harvest that still remained heaped on the fields, in order to deposit a
portion of it in cellars that the laborers were digging on dry ground,
the women, the girls and even the children, all working under the
direction of Margarid, were as busily engaged disposing of salted meats
into baskets, flour into bags, hydromel and wine into pouches; others
were filling coffers with lint and balsam for wounds; others were
adjusting broad and strong tent cloths over the chariots. In all wars
considered dangerous, the tribes threatened by the enemy, instead of
waiting for, usually went out to meet him. The houses were abandoned;
the field oxen were hitched to the war-chariots, all of which contained
the women, the children, the clothes and the provisions of the
combatants. The horses, ridden by the full grown men of the tribe,
constituted the cavalry. The young men, being more agile, went on foot
as an armed escort. The grain was hidden away; the cattle, let loose,
pastured where they pleased and returned instinctively every evening to
their usual stables. Generally, the wolves and bears devoured a part.
The fields remained untended and scarcity followed. Often the combatants
who went to war in defence of their country, encouraged by the presence
of their wives and children, and having nothing to expect from the enemy
but disgrace, slavery or death, drove back the invader beyond their
frontiers, and returned home to repair the disasters of the fields.

Knowing that his daughter was due at the house, Joel returned home
towards sun-down. He also expected to be able to take a hand in the
preparations for the war.

Hena, the virgin of the Isle of Sen, soon arrived. When her father,
mother and other relatives saw her enter it seemed to them never before
had she been so beautiful. Never before did her father feel so proud of
his daughter. The long black tunic that she wore was held around her
waist by a brass belt, from which, on one side, hung a little gold
sickle, and on the other a crescent in the shape of the waning moon.
Hena had dressed herself with special care in honor of the celebration
of her birthday. A necklace and gold bracelets inlaid with garnets
ornamented her arms and neck, whiter than the driven snow. When she took
off her caped cloak it was noticed that she wore, as ever at religious
ceremonies, a crown of green oak leaves on her blonde hair, plaited in
braids over her chaste and mild forehead. The blue of the sea, when
lying calmly under a clear sky, was not purer than the blue of Hena's
eyes.

The brenn stretched out his arms to his daughter. She ran into them
joyously and offered him her forehead, as she also did her mother. The
children of the family loved Hena dearly and contested with each other
the privilege of being the first to kiss her hands--sought with greed by
all the little innocent mouths. Even old Deber-Trud gamboled and barked
with joy at the arrival of his young mistress.

Albinik the mariner was the first to whom Hena offered her forehead to
kiss after her father and mother; she had not seen her brother for a
long time. Next came the turn of Guilhern and Mikael and then the swarm
of children, whom, stooping to them, Hena, sought to hold all together
in one embrace. The young priestess then tenderly greeted Henory, her
brother Guilhern's wife, and expressed her regret at not seeing
Albinik's wife Meroë. Nor were the other relatives forgotten; all, down
to Stumpy, otherwise everyone's butt, had a kind word from her.

The general exchange of greetings being over, and happy at finding
herself among her own, in the house where she was born eighteen years
before, Hena sat down at her mother's feet on the same stool that she
used to occupy when a child. When she saw her child seated at her feet,
Mamm' Margarid called the maid's attention to the disorder that reigned
in the house due to the preparations for war, and she said sadly:

"We should have celebrated this day of your birth with joy and
tranquility, dear child! Instead, you now find confusion and alarm in
our house that soon will be deserted.... War threatens."

"Mother is right," answered Hena sighing; "Great is the anger of Hesus."

"And what say you, dear child, you who are a saint," inquired Joel, "a
saint of the Isle of Sen? What must we do to appease the wrath of the
All-Powerful?"

"My father and mother honor me too much by calling me a saint," answered
the young virgin. "Like the druids, myself and my female companions have
meditated all night under the shadows of the sacred oak-trees at the
hour of moon rise. We search for the simplest and divinest principles,
and seek to spread them among our fellow-beings. We adore the
All-Powerful in His works, from the mighty oak that is sacred to Him,
down to the humble moss that grows on the rocks of our isle; from the
stars, whose eternal course we study, down to the insect that is born
and dies in one day; from the sourceless sea, down to the streamlet of
water that glides under the grass. We search for the cure of diseases
that cause pain, and we glorify those among our fathers and mothers who
have shed lustre upon Gaul. By the knowledge of the auguries and the
study of the past, we seek to foresee the future to the end of
enlightening those who are less clear-sighted than ourselves. Finally,
like the druids, we teach childhood, we inspire the child with an ardent
love of our common and beloved fatherland--so threatened to-day by the
wrath of Hesus, a wrath that comes down upon them because they have
forgotten that _they are all the children of the same God_, and that a
brother must resent the wound inflicted upon his brother."

"The stranger who was our guest and whom this morning I took to the Isle
of Sen," replied the brenn, "spoke to us as you do, dear daughter."

"My father and mother may listen as sacred words to the words of the
Chief of the Hundred Valleys. Hesus and love for Gaul inspire him. He is
brave among the bravest."

"He! Is he the Chief of the Hundred Valleys?" exclaimed Joel. "He
refused to give me his name! Do you know it, daughter? Do you know which
is his native province?"

"He was impatiently waited for yesterday evening at the Isle of Sen by
the venerable Talyessin. As to his name, all that I am free to say to my
father and mother is that the day on which our country should be
subjugated will also be the day when the Chief of the Hundred Valleys
will see the last drop of his blood flow from his veins. May the wrath
of Hesus spare us that disastrous day!"

"Oh, my daughter, if Hesus is angry, how are we to appease him?"

"By obeying the law. He has said--_all men are the children of one
God_. By offering to him human sacrifices.... May those that are to be
offered to-night calm his wrath."

"The sacrifices of to-night?" asked the brenn; "which are they?"

"Do not my father and mother know that to-night, when the moon rises,
there will be three human sacrifices at the stones of the forest of
Karnak?"

"We know," answered Joel, "that all the tribes have been convened to
appear this evening at the forest of Karnak. But who are the people that
are to be sacrificed and will be pleasing to Hesus, dear daughter?"

"First of all Daoulas the murderer: he killed Houarne without a fight
and in his sleep. The druids have sentenced him to die this evening. The
blood of a cowardly murderer is an expiation agreeable to Hesus."

"And the second sacrifice?"

"Our relative Julyan wishes, out of friendship, to rejoin Armel, whom he
loyally killed in a contest. This evening, glorified by the chant of the
bards, he will go, agreeable to his vow, and join Armel in the unknown
worlds. The blood of a brave man, voluntarily offered to Hesus, is
agreeable to him."

"And the third sacrifice, dear child?" asked Mamm' Margarid; "Who is
it?"

Hena did not answer. She dropped her blonde and charming head upon the
knees of Margarid, remained a while in a revery, kissed her mother's
hands and said to her with a sweet smile that brought back old
remembrances:

"How often did not little Hena, when still a child, fall asleep of an
evening on your knees, mother, while you spun at your distaff, and when
all of you now present, except Albinik, were gathered at the hearth,
narrating the virile virtues of our mothers and our fathers of old!"

"It is true, dear daughter," answered Margarid caressingly passing her
hand over the blonde hair of her child; "it is true. And here among us
we all loved you so much for your good heart and your infantine grace,
that when we saw you had fallen asleep on my knees, we all spoke in a
low voice not to awake you."

Stumpy, who was among the crowd of relatives, put in:

"But who is that third human sacrifice, that is to appease Hesus and
deliver us from war? Who, Hena, is the third to be sacrificed this
evening?"

"I shall tell you, Stumpy, when I shall have had a little time to
meditate upon the past," answered the young maid dreamily, without
leaving her mother's knees; and passing her hand over her forehead as if
to refreshen her memory, she looked around, pointed to the stone where
stood the copper bowl with the seven twigs of mistletoe and proceeded
saying:

"When I was twelve, do my father and mother remember how happy I was at
having been selected by the female druids of the Isle of Sen to receive
in a veil of linen, whitened in the dew of night, the mistletoe which
the druids cut with a gold sickle at the moment when the moon shed its
clearest light? Do my father and mother remember how, bringing home the
mistletoe to sanctify our home, I was taken hither by the ewaghs in a
chariot decked with flowers and greens while the bards sang the glory of
Hesus? What tender embraces did not my whole family lavish upon me at my
return! What a feast it was in our tribe!"

"Dear, dear daughter," said Margarid pressing Hena's head against her
maternal breast, "if the female druids chose you to receive the sacred
mistletoe in a linen veil, it was because your soul was as pure as the
veil."

"It was because little Hena was the bravest of all her companions, she
almost perished in the attempt to save Janed, the daughter of Wor, who,
as she was gathering shells on the rocks along the shore of Glen'-Hek,
fell into the water and was being carried away by the waves," said
Mikael the armorer, tenderly contemplating his sister.

"It was because, beyond all others, little Hena was sweet, patient and
kind to the children; it was because, when only twelve, she instructed
them like at matron at the cottage of the female druids of the Isle of
Sen," said Guilhern in his turn.

The daughter of Joel blushed with modesty at the words of her mother and
brothers; but Stumpy insisted:

"But who is that third human sacrifice that is to appease Hesus and
deliver us from war? Who is it, Hena, who is it to be sacrificed this
evening?"

"I shall tell you, Stumpy," answered the young maid rising; "I shall
tell you after I have once more looked at the dear little chamber where
I used to sleep when, having grown unto maidenhood, I came here from the
Isle of Sen to attend our family feasts." And stepping towards the door
of the chamber, she stopped for a moment at the threshold and said:

"What sweet nights have I spent there after retiring for the evening,
regretful of leaving you! With what impatience did I not rise in the
morning to meet you again!"

Taking two steps into the little chamber, while her family felt ever
more astonished at hearing Hena, still so young, thus dwell upon the
past, the young maid proceeded, taking up several articles that lay upon
a little table:

"This is the sea-shell necklace that I entertained myself making in the
evening sitting beside my mother.... These are the little dried twigs
that resemble trees, and that I gathered from our rocks.... This is the
net which I used when the tide was going out to catch little fishes
with; how the sport used to amuse me!... There are the rolls of white
skin on which, every time I came here, I recorded my joy at meeting my
relatives and again seeing the house of my birth.... I find everything
in its place. I am glad of having gathered these young girl's
treasures."

Stumpy, however, whom these mementoes did not seem to affect, again
repeated in his sour and impatient voice:

"But who is to be the third human sacrifice that is to appease Hesus
and deliver us from war? Who, Hena, is to be sacrificed this evening?"

"I shall let you know, Stumpy," answered Hena smiling. "I shall let you
know after I shall have distributed my little treasures among you
all,--you among them, Stumpy."

Saying this, the daughter of the brenn motioned to her relatives to
enter the chamber, and in the midst of the silent astonishment of all
she gave a souvenir to each. Each, even of the little ones who loved her
so much and also Stumpy received something. In order to make her gifts
reach around, she loosened the sea-shell necklace and split up the dry
twigs, saying in her sweet voice to each:

"Keep this, I pray you, out of friendship for Hena, your relative and
friend."

Joel, his wife and his three children, to all of whom Hena had not yet
given aught, looked at one another all the more astonished at what she
did, seeing that towards the end tears appeared in her eyes although the
young maid gave no other token of sadness. When all the others were
supplied, Hena took from her neck the garnet necklace that she wore and
said to Margarid while kissing her hand:

"Hena prays her mother to keep this out of love for her."

She then took the little rolls of white skin that had been prepared for
writing on, handed them to Joel and kissing his hand said:

"Hena prays her father to keep this roll out of love for her; he will
there find her most cherished thoughts."

Detaching thereupon from her arm her two garnet bracelets, Hena said to
the wife of her brother Guilhern, the laborer:

"Hena prays her sister Henory to wear this bracelet out of love for
her."

And giving the other bracelet to her brother the mariner she said:

"Your wife, Meroë, whom I love as much for her courage as for her noble
heart, is to keep this bracelet as a souvenir from me."

Hena then took from her copper belt the little gold sickle and crescent
that hung from it. She tendered the former to Guilhern the laborer, the
second to Albinik the mariner, and taking a ring from her finger she
gave it to Mikael the armorer, saying to the three:

"I wish my brothers to preserve these keepsakes out of love for their
sister Hena."

All those present remained astonished and holding in their hands the
gifts that the virgin of the Isle of Sen had delivered to them. They all
remained standing and so speechless with astonishment that none could
utter a word, but looked uneasily at one another as if threatened by
some unknown disaster. Hena finally turned to Stumpy:

"Stumpy," said she, "I shall now let you know who is to be the third
sacrifice of this evening;" and taking the hands of Joel and Margarid
she gently led them back into the large hall, whither all the others
followed. Arrived there, Hena addressed her parents and assembled
relatives:

"My father and mother know that the blood of a cowardly murderer is an
expiatory offering to Hesus, and that it might appease him--"

"Yes--you told us so, dear daughter."

"They also know that the blood of a brave man who dies in pledge of
friendship is a valorous offering to Hesus, and that it might appease
him."

"Yes--you told us so, dear daughter."

"Finally, my father and mother know that the most acceptable of all
offerings to Hesus and most likely to appease him is the innocent blood
of a virgin, happy and proud at the thought of offering her blood to
Hesus, and of doing so voluntarily--voluntarily--in the hope that that
all-powerful god may deliver our beloved fatherland, this dear and
sacred fatherland of our fathers, from foreign oppression!... Thus the
innocent blood of a virgin will flow this evening to appease the wrath
of Hesus."

"And her name?" asked Stumpy, "the name of that virgin who is to deliver
us from war!"

Hena looked towards her father and mother with tenderness and serenity
and said:

"The virgin who is to die is one of the nine female druids of the Isle
of Sen. Her name is Hena. She is the daughter of Margarid and Joel, the
brenn of the tribe of Karnak!"

Deep silence fell upon the family of Joel. None, not one present,
expected to see Hena travel so soon yonder. None, not one present,
neither her father, nor her mother, nor her brothers, nor any of her
other relatives, was prepared for the farewells of the sudden journey.

The children joined their little hands and said weeping:

"What!... Leave us so soon?... Our Hena?... Why do you journey away?"

The father and mother looked at each other and sighed.

Margarid said to Hena: "Joel and Margarid believed that they would have
to wait for their dear daughter in those unknown worlds, where we
continue to live and where we meet again those whom we have loved
here.... But it is to be otherwise. It is Hena who will precede us."

"And perhaps," said the brenn, "our sweet and dear daughter will not
long have to wait for us--"

"May her blood, innocent and pure as a lamb's, appease the wrath of
Hesus!" added Margarid; "May we soon be able to follow our dear daughter
and inform her that Gaul is delivered from the stranger."

"And the remembrance of the valiant sacrifice of our daughter shall be
kept alive in our race," said the father; "so long as the descendants of
Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak, shall live they will be proud to
number among their ancestors Hena, the virgin of the Isle of Sen."

The young maid made no answer. Her eyes wandered with sweet avidity from
one relative to the other as, at the moment of undertaking a journey,
the departing one takes a last look at the beloved beings from whom he
is to be separated for a while.

Pointing through the open door at the moon that, now at her fullest, was
seen across the evening mist rising large-orbed and ruddy like a burning
disk, Stumpy cried:

"Hena!... Hena! The moon is rising above the horizon...."

"You are right, Stumpy; this is the hour," she said, unwillingly taking
her eyes from the faces of her beloved family. An instant later she
added:

"Let my father and mother and all the members of my family accompany me
to the sacred stones of the forest of Karnak.... The hour of the
sacrifice has come."

Walking between Joel and Margarid, and followed by all the members of
the tribe, Hena walked serenely to the forest of Karnak.



CHAPTER IX.

THE FOREST OF KARNAK.


The call for assembling that was issued to the tribes at noon, had run
from mouth to mouth, from village to village, from town to town. It was
heard all over Breton Gaul. Towards evening the tribes proceeded en
masse--men, women and children--to the forest of Karnak, the same as
Joel and his family.

The moon, at her fullest on that night, shone radiant amid the stars in
the firmament. After having marched through the dark and the lighted
spots of the forest, the assembling multitude finally arrived at the
shores of the sea. The sacred stones of Karnak rose there in nine long
avenues. They are sacred stones! They are the gigantic pillars of a
temple that has the sky for its vault.

In the measure that the tribes drew nearer to the place, their solemnity
deepened.

At the extremity of the avenue, the three stones of the sacrificial
altar were ranged in a semi-circle, close to the shore. Behind the mass
of people rose the deep and brooding forest, before them extended the
boundless sea, above them spread the starry firmament.

The tribes did not step beyond the last avenue of Karnak. They left a
wide space between themselves and the altar. The large crowd remained
silent.

At the feet of the sacrificial stones rose three pyres.

The center one, the largest of the three, was ornamented with long white
veils striped with purple; it was also ornamented with ash, oak and
birch-tree branches, arranged in mystical order.

The pyre to the right was somewhat less high, but was also ornamented
with green branches besides sheafs of wheat. On it lay the body of
Armel, who had been killed in loyal combat. It was almost hidden under
green and fruit-bearing boughs.

The left pyre was surmounted with a hollow bunch of twisted osiers
bearing the resemblance of a human body of gigantic stature.

The sound of cymbals and harps was presently heard from the distance.

The male and female druids, together with the virgins of the Isle of Sen
were approaching the sacrificial place.

At the head of the procession marched the bards, dressed in long white
tunics that were held around their waists by brass belts; their temples
were wreathed in oak leaves; they sang while playing upon their harps:
"God, Gaul and her heroes."

They were followed by the ewaghs charged with the sacrifices, and
carrying torches and axes; they led in their midst and in chains
Daoulas, the murderer who was to be executed.

Behind these marched the druids themselves, clad in their purple-striped
white robes, and their temples also wreathed in oak leaves. In their
midst was Julyan, happy and proud; Julyan who was glad to leave this
world in order to rejoin his friend Armel, and journey in his company
over the unknown worlds.

Finally came the married female druids, clad in white tunics with gold
belts, and the nine virgins of the Isle of Sen, clad in their black
tunics, their belts of brass, their arms bare, their green chaplets and
their gold harps. Hena walked at the head of the latter. Her eyes looked
for her father, her mother and her relatives--Joel, Margarid and their
family had been placed in the front rank of the crowd--they soon
recognized their daughter; their hearts went out to her.

The druids ranked themselves beside the sacrificial stones. The bards
ceased chanting. One of the ewaghs than said to the crowd, that all who
wished to be remembered to people whom they had loved and who were no
longer here, could deposit their letters and offering on the pyres.

A large number of relatives and friends of those who had long been
traveling yonder, thereupon piously approached the pyres, and deposited
letters, flowers and other souvenirs that were to re-appear in the other
worlds, the same as the souls of the bodies that were about to dissolve
in brilliant flames, were to re-appear in a new body.

Nobody, however, not one single person, deposited aught on the pyre of
the murderer. As proud and joyful as Julyan was, Daoulas was crestfallen
and frightened. Julyan had everything to hope for from the continuance
of a life that had been uniformly pure and just. The murderer had
everything to fear from the continuance of a life that was stained with
crime. After all the offerings for the departed ones were deposited on
the pyres, a profound silence followed.

The ewaghs led Daoulas in chains to the osier effigy. Despite the
pitiful cries of the condemned man, he was pinioned and placed at the
foot of the pyre, and the ewaghs remained near him, axes in hand.

Talyessin, the oldest of all the druids, an old man with long white
beard, made a sign to one of the bards, who thereupon struck his
three-stringed harp and intonated the following chant, after pointing to
the murderer:

"This man is of the tribe of Morlech. He killed Houarne of the same
tribe. Did he kill him, like a brave man face to face with equal
weapons? No, Daoulas killed Houarne like a coward. At the noon hour,
Houarne was asleep under a tree. Daoulas approached him on tiptoe, axe
in hand and killed his victim with one blow. Little Erick of the same
tribe, who happened to be in a near-by tree picking fruit, saw the
murder and him who committed it. On the evening of the same day the
ewaghs seized Daoulas in his tribe. Brought before the druids of Karnak
and confronted by Erick, he confessed his crime. Whereupon the oldest of
the druids said:

"'In the name of Hesus, _He who is because he is_, in the name of
Teutates, who presides over journeys in this world and in the others,
hear: The expiatory blood of the murderer is agreeable to Hesus.... You
are about to be born again in other worlds. Your new life will be
terrible, because you were cruel and cowardly.... You will die to be
re-born in still greater wretchedness forever and ever through all
eternity.... Become, on the contrary, from the moment that you are
re-born, brave and good, despite the sufferings that you will endure and
you will then die happy, to be re-born yonder, thus forever and ever,
through all eternity!!!'"

The bard then addressed himself to the murderer, who emitted fearful
cries of terror.

Thus spoke the venerable druid: "Daoulas, you are about to die ... and
to meet your victim.... _He is waiting for you, he is waiting for you!_"

When the bard pronounced these words, a shudder went through the
assembled crowd. The fearful thought of meeting in the next world alive
him who was killed in this made them all tremble.

The bard proceeded, turning towards the pyre:

"Daoulas, you are about to die! It is a glorious thing to see the face
of a brave and just person at the moment when he or she voluntarily
quits this world for some sacred cause. They love, at the moment of
their departure to see the tender looks of farewell of their parents and
friends. Cowards like yourself, Daoulas, are unworthy of taking a last
look at the just. Hence, Daoulas, you will die and burn hidden in that
envelop of osier, the effigy of a man, as you have become since the
commission of the murder."

And the bard cried:

"In the name of Hesus! In the name of Teutates! Glory, glory to the
brave! Shame, shame on the coward!"

All the bards struck upon their harps and their cymbals, and cried in
chorus:

"Glory, glory to the brave! Shame, shame on the coward!"

An ewagh then took up a sacred knife, cut off the murderer's life and
cast his body inside of the huge osier effigy of a man. The pyre was set
on fire. The harps and cymbals struck up in chorus, and all the tribes
repeated aloud the last words of the bard:

"Shame on the coward!"

Soon the murderer's pyre was a raging mass of flame, within which was
seen for a moment the effigy of a man like a giant on fire. The flames
lighted the tops of the oaks of the forest, the colossal stones of
Karnak, and even the vast expanse of the sea, while the moon inundated
the space with its divine light. A few minutes later there was nothing
left but a heap of ashes where the pyre of Daoulas had stood.

Julyan was then seen ascending with radiant mien the pyre where lay the
body of Armel, his friend--his pledged brother. Julyan had on his
holiday clothes: a blouse of fine material striped white and blue, held
around his waist by an embroidered leather belt, from which hung his
knife. His caped cloak of brown wool was held by a brooch over his left
shoulder. An oak crown decked his manly head. He held in his hand a
nosegay of vervain. He looked serene and bold. Hardly had he ascended
the pyre, when again the harps and cymbals struck up, and the bard
chanted:

"Who is this? He is a brave man! It is Julyan the laborer; Julyan of the
family of Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak! He fears the gods, and
all love him. He is good, he is industrious, he is brave. He killed
Armel not in hate but in a contest, in loyal combat, buckler on arm,
sword in hand, like a true Breton Gaul, who loves to display his bravery
and does not fear death. Armel having departed, Julyan, who had pledged
brotherhood to him, wishes to depart also and join his friend. Glory to
Julyan, faithful to the teachings of the druids. He knows that the
creatures of the All-Powerful never die, and his pure and noble blood
Julyan now offers up to Hesus. Glory, hope and happiness to Julyan! He
has been good, just and brave. He will be re-born still happier, still
juster, still braver, and ever onward, from world to world, Julyan will
be re-born, his soul being ever re-incarnated in a new body the same as
the body that here puts on new clothes."

"Oh, Gauls! Ye proud souls, to whom death does not exist! Come, come!
Remove your eyes from this earth; rise to the sublimity of heaven. See,
see at your feet the abyss of space, dotted by these myriads of mortals
as are all of us, and whom Teutates guides incessantly from the world
that they have lived in towards the world that they are next to inhabit.
Oh, what unknown worlds and marvelous we shall journey through, with our
friends and our relatives that have preceded us, and with those whom we
shall precede!"

"No, we are not mortals! Our infinite lives are numbered by myriads and
myriads of centuries, just as are numbered by myriads of myriads the
stars in the firmament--mysterious worlds, ever different, ever new,
that we are successively to inhabit."

"Let those fear death who, faithful to the false gods of the Greeks, the
Romans and the Jews, believe that man lives only once, and that after
that, stripped of his body, the happy or unhappy soul remains eternally
in the same hell or the same paradise! Aye! They are bound to fear death
who believe that when man quits this life he finds _immobility in
eternity_."

"We Gauls have the right knowledge of God. We hold the secret of death.
_Man is immortal both in body and soul._ Our destiny from world to world
is to see and learn, to the end that at each of these journeys, if we
have led wicked and impure lives, we may purify ourselves and become
better--still better if we have been just and good; and that thus, from
new birth to new birth man rises incessantly towards perfection as
endless as his life!"

"Happy, therefore, are the brave who voluntarily leave this world for
other regions where they will ever see new and marvelous sights in the
company of those whom they have loved! Happy, therefore, happy the brave
Julyan! He is about to meet again with his friend, and with him see and
know _what none of us has yet seen or known, and what all of us shall
see and know_! Happy Julyan! Glory, glory to Julyan!"

And all the bards and all the druids, the female druids and the virgins
of the Isle of Sen repeated in chorus to the sound of the harps and the
cymbals:

"Happy, Happy Julyan! Glory to Julyan!"

And all the tribes, feeling the thrill of curiosity of death and certain
that they all would eventually become acquainted with the marvels of the
other worlds, repeated with their thousands of voices:

"Happy Julyan! Happy Julyan!"

Standing erect upon his pyre, his face radiant, and at his feet the body
of Armel, Julyan raised his inspired eyes towards the brilliant moon,
opened his blouse, drew his long knife, held up the nosegay of vervain
to heaven with his left hand, and with his right firmly plunged his
knife into his breast, uttering as he did so in a strong voice:

"Happy--happy am I. I am to join Armel!"

The pyre was immediately lighted. Julyan, raised for a last, time his
nosegay of vervain to heaven, and then vanished in the midst of the
blinding flames, while the chants of the bards and the clang of harp and
cymbals resounded far and wide.

In their impatience to see and know the mysteries of the other world, a
large number of men and women of the tribes rushed towards Julyan's pyre
for the purpose of departing with him and of offering to Hesus an
immense hecatomb with their bodies. But Talyessin, the eldest of the
druids, ordered the ewaghs to restrain and hold these faithful people
back. He cried out to them:

"Enough blood has flown without that which is still to flow. But the
hour has come when the blood of Gaul should flow only for freedom. The
blood that is shed for liberty is also an agreeable offering to the
All-Powerful."

It was not without great effort that the ewaghs prevented the threatened
rush of voluntary human sacrifices. The pyre of Julyan and Armel burned
until the flames had nothing more to feed upon.

Again profound silence fell upon the crowd. Hena, the virgin of the Isle
of Sen, had ascended the third pyre.

Joel and Margarid, their three sons, Guilhern, Albinik and Mikael,
Guilhern's wife and little children all of whom so dearly loved Hena,
all her relatives and all the members of her tribe held one another in a
close embrace, and said to one another:

"There is Hena.... There is our Hena!"

As the virgin of the Isle of Sen stood upon the pyre that was ornamented
with white veils, greens and flowers, the crowds of the tribes cried in
one voice: "How beautiful she is!... How holy!"

Joel writes it now down in all sincerity. His daughter Hena was indeed
very beautiful as she stood erect on the pyre, lighted by the mellow
light of the moon and resplendent in her black tunic, her blonde hair
and her green chaplet, while her arms, whiter than ivory, embraced her
gold harp!

The bards ordered silence.

The virgin of the Isle of Sen sang in a voice as pure as her own soul:

"The daughter of Joel and Margarid comes to offer gladly her life as a
sacrifice to Hesus!

"Oh, All-Powerful! From the stranger deliver the soil of our father!

"Gauls of Britanny, you have the lance and the sword!

"The daughter of Joel and Margarid has but her blood. She offers it
voluntarily to Hesus!

"Oh, Almighty God! Render invincible the Gallic lance and sword! Oh,
Hesus, take my blood, it is yours ... save our sacred fatherland!"

The eldest of the female druids stood all this while on the pyre behind
Hena with the sacred knife in her hand. When Hena's chant was ended, the
knife glistened in the air and struck the virgin of the Isle of Sen.

Her mother and her brothers, all the members of her tribe and her father
Joel saw Hena fall upon her knees, cross her arms, turn her celestial
face towards the moon, and cry with a still sonorous voice:

"Hesus ... Hesus ... by the blood that flows.... Mercy for Gaul!"

"Gauls, by this blood that flows, victory to our arms!"

Thus the sacrifice of Hena was consummated amidst the religious
admiration of the tribes. All repeated the last words of the brave
virgin:

"Hesus, mercy for Gaul!... Gauls, victory to our arms!"

Several young men, being fired with enthusiasm by the heroic example and
beauty of Hena sought to kill themselves upon her pyre in order to be
re-born with her. The ewaghs held them back. The flames soon enveloped
the pyre and Hena vanished in their dazzling splendor. A few minutes
later there was nothing left of the virgin and her pyre but a heap of
ashes. A high wind sat in from the sea and dispersed the atoms. The
virgin of the Isle of Sen, brilliant and pure as the flame that consumed
her, had vanished into space to be re-born and to await beyond for the
arrival of those whom she had loved.

The cymbals and harps resounded anew, and the chief of the bards struck
up the chant:

"To arms, ye Gauls, to arms!

"The innocent blood of a virgin flowed for your sakes, and shall not
yours flow for the fatherland! To arms! The Romans are here. Strike,
Gauls, strike at their heads! Strike hard! See the enemy's blood flow
like a stream! It rises up to your knees! Courage! Strike hard! Gauls,
strike the Romans! Still harder! Harder still! You see the enemy's
blood extend like a lake! It rises up to your chests! Courage! Strike
still harder, Gauls! Strike the Romans! Strike harder still! You will
rest to-morrow.... To-morrow Gaul will be free! Let, to-day, from the
Loire to the ocean, but one cry resound--'To arms!'"

As if carried away by the breath of war, all the tribes dispersed,
running to their arms. The moon had gone down; dark night set in. But
from all parts of the woods, from the bottoms of the valleys, from the
tops of the hills where the signal fires were burning, a thousand voices
echoed and re-echoed the chant of the bards:

"To arms! Strike, Gauls! Strike hard at the Romans! To arms!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The above truthful account of all that happened at our poor home on the
birthday of my glorious Hena, a day that also saw her heroic
sacrifice--that account has been written by me, Joel, the brenn of the
tribe of Karnak, at the last moon of October of the first year that
Julius Cæsar came to invade Gaul. I wrote it upon the rolls of white
skin that my glorious daughter Hena gave me as a keepsake, and my eldest
son, Guilhern has attached to them the keepsake he received from
her--the mystic gold sickle of the virgin druid priestess. Let the two
ever remain together.

After me, my eldest son Guilhern shall carefully preserve both the
writing and the emblem, and after Guilhern, the sons of his sons are
charged to transmit them from generation to generation, to the end that
our family may for all time preserve green the memory of Hena, the
virgin of the Isle of Sen.


(The End.)


       *       *       *       *       *


THE INFANT'S SKULL; OR THE END OF THE WORLD.

By EUGENE SUE.

_Translated from the original French_ By DANIEL DE LEON.

This is one of that series of thrilling stories by Eugene Sue in which
historic personages and events are so artistically grouped that, without
the fiction losing by the otherwise solid facts and without the solid
facts suffering by the fiction, both are enhanced and combinedly act as
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       *       *       *       *       *

THE PILGRIM'S SHELL

OR

FERGAN THE QUARRYMAN

By Eugene Sue.

Translated by Daniel De Leon.

283 pp., on fine book paper, cloth 75 cents.

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Eugene Sue wrote a romance which seems to have disappeared in a curious
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       *       *       *       *       *

Woman Under Socialism

By August Bebel

Translated from the Original German of the Thirty-third Edition by
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The complete emancipation of woman, and her complete equality with man
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    WOMAN IN THE PAST.
      Before Christianity.
      Under Christianity.
    WOMAN IN THE PRESENT.
      Sexual Instinct, Wedlock, Checks and Obstructions to Marriage.
      Further Checks and Obstructions to Marriage, Numerical Proportion of
        the Sexes, Its Causes and Effects.
      Prostitution a Necessary Institution of the Capitalist World.
      Woman's Position as a Breadwinner. Her Intellectual Faculties,
        Darwinism and the Condition of Society.
      Woman's Civic and Political Status.
      The State and Society.
      The Socialization of Society.
    WOMAN IN THE FUTURE.
    INTERNATIONALITY.
    POPULATION AND OVER-POPULATION.

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       *       *       *       *       *

The Paris Commune

By Karl Marx, with the elaborate introduction of Frederick Engels. It
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"After Whit-Sunday, 1871, there can be neither peace nor truce possible
between the Workingmen of France and the appropriators of their produce.
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