The Abbatial Crosier; or, Bonaik and Septimine. A Tale of a Medieval Abbess

"A chair of solid gold! Father Bonaik, what magnificence! Nothing is too costly to these kings."

"Alack, my boys, the gold cost the Frankish kings in Gaul only the trouble of picking it up, and they were not slow at it. Well, then, Clotaire II had the fancy to own a gold chair. But nobody in the workshops of the palace was able to accomplish such a task. The treasurer Bobbon knew the skill of Eloi and proposed to him to undertake the work. Eloi accepted; he went to the forge and the crucible, and out of the large quantity of gold given for one chair he fashioned two. He then took to the palace one of the two chairs and hid the other – "

"Ho! Ho!" said one of the young slaves laughing. "The good Eloi did as millers do who are sharp, artful and not very scrupulous. He drew double pay for one bag – "

"Wait, my boys, wait before you judge our venerable master. Charmed at the elegance and delicacy of the artisan's work, Clotaire II issued orders on the spot to recompense him generously. Eloi thereupon showed the second chair to Bobbon saying: 'This is what I spent the rest of your gold in so as to lose nothing of the stuff. I have acted as you would have wished.'"

"You are right, Father Bonaik, we were too quick in judging the good Eloi."

"That act of probity, so honorable in the poor artisan, was the start of his future fortune. Clotaire II wished to attach him to his court as a goldsmith. It was then that Eloi achieved his finest productions: vases of chiseled gold ornamented with rubies, pearls and diamonds; pieces of furniture of solid silver and admirable design and set off with chiseled stone; reliquaries, curtain pins, Bible cases encrusted with carbuncles… I saw the chalice of enameled gold more than a foot high that he made for the abbey of Chelles. It was a miracle in enamel and gold."

"It is enough to dazzle one to hear you tell of such beautiful works, Father Bonaik."

"Oh, children, this room could not contain the masterpieces of that one artisan, the glory of Gallic artisanship. The coins that he has struck as the minter of Clotaire II, of Dagobert and of Clovis II have admirable reliefs: they are gold thirds of a sou of a superb stamp. Eloi succeeded in all the branches of the goldsmith's art. He excelled, like the goldsmiths of Limoges, in the incrustation of enamel and the setting of precious stones; he also excelled, as did the goldsmiths of Paris, in statuaries of hammered gold and silver. He chiseled jewelry as delicately as the jewelers of Metz. The cloths of woven gold thread manufactured under his eyes and after his designs, were not less magnificent than those of Lyon. My boys, what a hard worker was Eloi. Ever at his forge from earliest dawn, ever with his leathern apron on his loins, and the file, the hammer or the burin in his hand. He often did not leave his workshop until a late hour in the night, and had ever at his side his favorite apprentice, a Saxon named Thil. I knew that Thil. He was then an old man, and he also was a great artist. They should be models for you."

"Eloi was not a slave, and as he enjoyed the fruit of his labor he must have become very rich, Father Bonaik?"

"Yes, my boys, very rich. Dagobert, upon succeeding to the throne of his father Clotaire II, kept Eloi as his goldsmith. But the good Eloi, mindful of his hard condition as an artisan, and of the cruel fate of the slaves who had often been his fellow-workmen, when he became rich spent all his income in ransoming slaves. He used in that way to emancipate twenty, thirty and even fifty on one day. He often went to Rouen and bought whole cargoes of slaves of both sexes taken from all countries to that town, celebrated for its market of human flesh. Among those unfortunate people were Romans, Gauls, English, and even Moors, but above all Saxons. If it happened that the good Eloi did not have money enough to purchase the slaves, he used to distribute among them all the money he had in order to relieve their misery. 'How often,' Thil, his favorite apprentice said to me, 'his purse being exhausted, I saw my master sell his cloak, his belt and even his shoes.' But you must know, my boys, that that mantle, that belt, those shoes were embroidered with gold and often enriched with pearls. The good Eloi, who ornamented the robes of others, also took pleasure in ornamenting his own. In his younger years he was magnificently dressed."

"It was the least he could do to deck himself out well – he who decked others so well. It is not as with us who work on gold and silver, and never have but rags."

"My poor boys, we are slaves, while Eloi had the fortune of being free; but he utilized his freedom for the benefit of his fellows. He had around him several servants who adored him. I knew some of them, among others, Bauderic, Tituen, Buchin, Andre, Martin and John. So you see old Bonaik has a good memory. But how can one fail to remember anything connected with Eloi!"

"Do you know, master, that it is an honor to us poor goldsmith slaves, to number such a man in our profession?"

"A great honor, my boys! Certes, we should be proud of it. Imagine that the reputation of the good Eloi for charity was such that his name was known all over Gaul, and even in other countries. Strangers considered it an honor to call upon the goldsmith who was at once so great an artist and so good a man. If anyone asked in Paris where he lived, the first passer-by would answer: 'Do you want to know where the good Eloi lives? Go where you will find the largest number of poor people gathered together. He lives there.'"

"Oh, the good Eloi," said one of the lads with eyes moist with tears. "Oh, the good Eloi, so well named!"

"Yes, my friends, he was as active in charity as at his trade. In the evening, at his meal hour, he would send out his servants in different directions to gather people who suffered hunger, and also travelers in distress. They were taken to him and he fed them. Filling the office of a servant when they came, he helped some to unload their packs, sprinkled warm water on the hands of others, poured out wine into their cups, broke their bread, carved their meat and distributed it – all himself. After having thus served all with sweet pleasure, he would sit down himself, and only then did he himself share in the meal that he offered these poor people. That was his way of practicing charity."

"And how did the good Eloi look, Father Bonaik? Was he tall or short?"

"He was tall and of a florid complexion. In his younger days, his apprentice Thil said to me, his black hair was naturally curly. His hand, though hardened by the hammer, was white and well-shaped; there was something angelic in his expression; yet his straightforward eyes were full of keenness."

"That is just the way I would picture him to myself, dressed in the magnificent robes that he used to sell in order to ransom slaves."

"When he grew in years, the good Eloi renounced splendor altogether. He wore only a robe of coarse wool, with a cord for belt… When about forty he was appointed bishop of Noyon at his own request."

"He? Did so great an artist aspire after a bishopric?"

"Yes, my lads… Grieved at the sight of so many covetous and wicked prelates, who devoured the substance of his well-beloved poor, the good Eloi applied to the King for the bishopric of Noyon, saying to himself that at least that bishopric would be ruled by the sweet morality of Jesus. And he put that morality into practice up to the last day of his life, without thereby renouncing his art. He founded several monasteries, where he set up large gold and silversmiths' shops under the direction of the apprentices whom he raised in the abbey of Solignac and elsewhere in Limousin. It was thither, my lads, that I was taken as a slave at sixteen after having undergone many trials. But I was born in Brittany … in that Brittany that is still free to this day, and that I never expect to see again, although this abbey lies not far from the cradle of my family," and the old man, who during the whole of his narrative had kept steadily at work at the abbatial crosier that he was chiseling, dropped on his knee the hand that held the burin. He remained silent and pensive for a few seconds. Then, waking up with a start, he proceeded addressing the young slaves under him, who wondered at his silence: "My lads, I have allowed myself to be carried away despite myself by recollections that are at once sweet and painful to my mind… Where did I leave off?"

"You were telling us, Father Bonaik, that you were taken as a slave at the age of sixteen to the abbey of Solignac in Limousin."

"Yes; well, it was there that I first saw the great artist. Once every year he left Noyon to visit the abbey. He had inducted his apprentice Thil abbot of the place, and the abbot directed the goldsmith's workshop. The good Eloi was quite old then; but he loved to come to the workshop to oversee and direct the work. He often took the file or the burin from our hands to show us how to use it, and in such a paternal manner did he act that all our hearts went out to him. Oh! those were good days… The slaves were not allowed to leave the territory of the monastery, but they felt as happy there as one can under bondage. At every visit that he paid the place, Eloi inquired after them to ascertain whether they were kindly treated. After his death, however, everything changed."

The old goldsmith had reached this epoch in his narrative when the door of the workshop opened and two personages stepped in.

CHAPTER II.

THE INTENDANT RICARIK

One of the persons who entered Father Bonaik's workshop was Ricarik, the intendant of the abbey, a Frank of a low and vulgar appearance; the other was Septimine, the slave of the abbey of St. Saturnine, whose freedom, together with her father's and mother's, Berthoald had a few days previous sued for and obtained at the hands of Charles Martel. Since her departure from the abbey of St. Saturnine, the poor child had become hardly recognizable. Her charming face had thinned and was pale – so much had she suffered and wept. She followed the intendant silent and confused.

"Our holy dame, Abbess Meroflede, sends you this slave," said Ricarik to the old goldsmith, pointing at Septimine, who, ashamed at finding herself among the young apprentices, did not dare to raise her eyes. "Meroflede bought her yesterday from the Jew Mordecai… You are to teach her to polish jewelry; our holy abbess wishes to keep her near her for that work. Within a month at the latest, she must be versed in her work; if not, both she and you shall be punished."

At these words Septimine trembled and took courage to raise her eyes to the old man, who stepped forward and said to her kindly: "Do not be afraid, my child; with a little good will on your part, we shall be able to teach you how to polish jewelry and meet the wishes of our holy abbess. You shall work there, near me."

For the first time in several days did the features of the young girl express sentiments other than those of fear and sadness. She timidly raised her eyes to Bonaik, and, struck by the kindness of his face, answered him in an accent of profound gratitude: "Oh! Thank you, good father! Thank you for being kind to me!"

While the apprentices were exchanging in a low voice their views on the looks of their new shopmate, Ricarik, who carried a little casket under his arm, said to the old man: "I bring you here the gold and silver with which to fashion the belt that you know of, and also the Greek vase. Our dame Meroflede is anxious to have the two articles."

"Ricarik, I told you before that the stuff that you brought me in bits and in gold and silver sous is not enough. It is all in that iron trunk whose key you hold. Moreover, in order to make one of those beautiful belts, similar to those that I saw manufactured in the workshops that the illustrious Eloi established, about twenty pearls and as many other precious stones will be needed."

"I have in this purse and this casket all the gold, silver and precious stones that you will need," saying which, Ricarik emptied out the contents of a purse upon the old goldsmith's work-bench, and took out of the casket a sufficient number of gold sous, several twisted lumps also of gold, that looked as if they had been forcibly wrenched from some article that they had served as ornament to, and finally a gold reliquary studded with precious stones. "Have you now enough gold and stones?"

"I think so; these stones are superb; the reliquary is ornamented with matchless rubies."

"This reliquary was presented to our holy abbess; it contains a thumb of St. Loup, of the great St. Loup, and two teeth from his jaw."

"Ricarik, after I shall have detached the rubies and melted the gold of the reliquary, what am I then to do with the thumb and teeth?"

"The thumb and teeth?"

"The bones of the blessed St. Loup that are inside."

"Do with them what you like … keep them as relics to prolong your old age."

"I would then live at least two hundred years."

"What are you examining with so much attention?"

"I am examining the silver sous that you have just brought in. Some of them do not seem sound."

"Some colonist must have cheated me… This is the day they pay their rents and imposts. When these people pay in money you would think they were having their teeth extracted. It is unfortunately too late now to discover the cheats who paid with false sous. But you shall come along with me so that you may examine the pieces that are now to be paid in. Woe to the thief who should then try to pass false coin upon me! His skin will boil for it!"

"I shall do as you order… We shall lock these precious metals and stones in the iron chest, if you please, until I have time to start to work on them."

While the Frank was examining the contents of the chest, the old goldsmith approached his young apprentices and said to them in a low voice: "Now, lads, so far I have always taken your side against our masters, palliating or hiding your faults, to spare you the punishments that you sometimes did deserve."

"That is so, Father Bonaik."

"In return, I demand of you that you treat that poor girl that stands trembling there, as if she were your own sister. I am to go out with the intendant, and shall be away, perhaps, for an hour. Promise me that you will be decorous and reserved in your talk before her."

"Fear not, Father Bonaik; we shall say nothing that a nun may not hear."

"That is not enough; certain nuns can hear everything; promise me you will say nothing that you would not say before your own mothers."

"We promise you, Father Bonaik."

This whispered conversation took place at the other end of the workshop, while Ricarik was taking an inventory of the contents of the iron chest. The old man then returned to Septimine and said to her also in a low voice: "My child, I shall leave you for a little while; but I have recommended those lads to treat you as a sister. Be at ease. You will hear nothing to hurt your ears."

Septimine had hardly thanked the old jeweler with a look of gratitude, when the intendant closed the chest and said: "Have you heard any news of that runaway Eleuthere?"

The old goldsmith made a sign to the young slaves, all of whom had raised their heads at the name of Eleuthere; but catching Father Bonaik's eyes, all resumed work without answering a word to the intendant's question, and without even seeming to hear him.

"His disappearance must be a matter of surprise to you, is it not?" asked Ricarik, letting his penetrating eye wander over the apprentices.

"He must have found a way to escape," said the lad who believed he had recognized Eleuthere in the cloister. "He long went with the idea of escaping from the monastery."

"Yes, yes," answered two other apprentices; "Eleuthere told us he would run away from the monastery."

"And why did you not post me, you dogs?" cried the intendant. "You are his accomplices."

The lads remained quiet with their eyes down. The Frank proceeded:

"Oh! You kept the secret! Your backs will ring for it under the whip!"

"Ricarik," replied the old goldsmith, "these lads chatter like jays, and have no more brains than fledgling birds. Eleuthere often said as so many others have: 'Oh, how I would like to roam over the fields, instead of being bound to the workshop from morning till evening!' That is what these lads call secrets. Pardon them. Then, you should remember that our holy dame Meroflede is impatient for her belt and vase. But if you have my apprentices whipped, they will spend more time rubbing their sores than plying the hammer and the file, and our work will make but slow progress. It would cause a great delay."

"Very well, then; they shall be punished later. All of you will have to work hard, not by day only, but also by night. By day you will work upon gold and silver. By night you shall furbish iron. There is a double task for you."

"What do you mean?"

"There will be a stack of arms brought here this evening – axes, swords, and lances that I have bought at Nantes."

"Arms!" cried the old man in astonishment. "Arms! Do the Arabs still threaten the heart of Gaul?"

"Old man, the arms will be brought to you this evening. See to it that the lances have good points, that the swords are well sharpened, the axes trenchant. Never you mind the rest. But this is the hour when the colonists must bring their money taxes. Follow me, in order to ascertain whether the thieves try to pass false coin upon me. Come, Father Bonaik!"

CHAPTER III.

THE ABBESS MEROFLEDE

Upon leaving the workshop, the intendant Ricarik, followed by the old goldsmith, proceeded to a vast shed located outside of the abbey. Almost all the slaves and colonists who had ground-rent to pay to the monastery were gathered at the place. There were four days in the year set aside for the payment of major rents. At these periods, the products of the land that was cultivated, and with so much labor, by the Gauls, flowed in a strong and steady stream into the abbey. Thus abundance and leisure reigned within the holy precincts of this, the same as of all the other monasteries, while the enslaved populations, barely sheltered in thatched hovels, lived in perpetual and atrocious misery, borne down by all manner of exactions. Few sights could be imagined, more lively and yet so sad, than those presented at the payment of the ground-rent. The peasants, barely clad, whether slaves outright or only colonists, whose leanness told of their trials, arrived carrying on their shoulders or pushing in carts provisions and products of all sorts. To the tumultuous noise of the crowd was added the bleating of sheep and calves, the grunting of pigs, the lowing of cattle, the cackling of poultry – animals that the rent payers had to bring alive. Some of the men bent under the weight of large baskets filled with eggs, cheese, butter and honeycombs; others rolled barrels of wine that were taken to the abbey's gate on a sort of sled; yonder, wagons were unloaded of their heavy bags of wheat, of barley, of spelt, of oats or of mustard grain; here, hay and straw were being heaped up in high piles; further away, kindling wood or building material, such as beams, planks, boards, vine poles, stakes; forester slaves brought in bucks, wild boars and venison to be smoked; colonists led by the leash hunting dogs that they had to train, or carried in cages falcons and sparrow-hawks that they had taken from their nests for falconry; others, taxed in a certain quantity of iron and lead, necessary articles in the construction of the buildings of the abbey, carried these metals, while others brought rolls of cloth and of linen, bales of wool or of hemp for spinning, large pieces of woven serge, packages of cured hides, ready for use. There were also tenants whose rent consisted in certain quantities of wax, of oil, of soap and even resinous torches; baskets, osier, twisted rope, hatchets, hoes, spades and other agricultural implements. Finally, others had to pay with articles of furniture, and household utensils.

Ricarik sat down at one of the corners of the shed near a table to receive the money tax of the colonists who were in arrears, while several turning-box sisters of the convent, dressed in their long black robes and white veils, went from group to group with a parchment scroll on which they entered the rent in kind. The old goldsmith stood behind Ricarik and examined one after another the sous and the silver and copper deniers that were being paid in. He approved them all. The venerable old man feared to expose the poor people to bad treatment if he rejected any coin, seeing the intendant was merciless. The colonists who were unable to pay on that day made a considerable group, and anxiously awaited their names to be called. Many of them were accompanied by their wives and children. Those who had the money to pay having acquitted themselves, Ricarik called in a loud voice: "Sebastian!" The colonist advanced all in a tremble with his wife and two children at his side, all of them as miserably dressed as himself.

"Not only have you not paid your rent of twenty-six sous," said the intendant, "but last week you refused to cart to the abbey the woolen and linen goods that the abbess sent to Rennes. A bad payer, a detestable servant."

"Alack, seigneur! If I have not paid my rent it is because shortly before harvest time the storm destroyed my ripe wheat. I might still have saved something if I could have attended to the crop immediately, but the slaves who work the field with me were requisitioned away five out of seven days in order to work at the enclosures of the new park of the abbey and in draining one of the ponds. Left alone, I could not take in the remnants of the harvest; then came the heavy rains; the wheat rotted on the ground and the whole harvest was lost. All I had left was one field of spelt; it had not been badly treated by the storm; but the field is contiguous to the forest of the abbey, and the deer ravaged the crops as they did the year before."

Ricarik shrugged his shoulders and proceeded: "You owe besides, six cart-loads of hay; you did not fetch them in, yet the meadows that you cultivate are excellent. With the surplus of six cart-loads you could easily get money and fulfill your engagements."

"Alack, seigneur! I never get to see the first cut of those meadows. The herds of the abbey come to pasture on my lands from early spring. If I set slaves to keep them off, a fight breaks out between my slaves and those of the abbey; one day mine are beaten, the next mine beat the others. But however it be, I am deprived of the help of their arms. Besides, seigneur, almost every day has its special duties; one day we have to prune the vines of the abbey, another we have to plow, harrow and plant its fields; yet another, we have its crops to cart away; another day it is the fences that have to be repaired. We have lately also had ditches to dig when the abbess feared that the convent was to be attacked by some bands of marauders. At that time we also had to mount guard… If out of three nights one is compelled to spend two on his feet, and then to work from early dawn, strength fails and the work is neglected."

"What about the cartage that you refused?"

"No, seigneur, I did not refuse to make the cartage. But one of my horses was foundered with too heavy a load and too long a stretch for the abbey. It was not possible to execute your orders for the last cartage."

"If you have only one foundered horse, how do you expect to cultivate your fields? How will you pay your back rent and the rent of next year?"

"Alack, seigneur! I am in a cruel fix. I have brought with me my wife and children. Here they are. They join me in beseeching you to remit what I owe. Perhaps in the future I shall not meet so many disasters one after another."

At a sign from the unhappy Gaul, his wife and children threw themselves at the feet of the intendant and with tears in their eyes implored him to remit the debt. Ricarik answered the colonist: "You have done wisely in bringing your wife and children with you; you have saved me the trouble of sending for them. I know of a certain Jew of Nantes called Mordecai, who loans money on bodily security. He will advance at least ten gold sous on your wife and two children, both of whom are old enough to work. You will be able to invest the money in the purchase of a horse to replace the one that was foundered. Later, after you shall have reimbursed the Jew his loan, he will return you your wife and children."