"Good brother Loysik," said Ronan, "this charter guarantees our rights; thanks to you for having obtained it; but did we not have our swords to defend ourselves?"

"Oh, always that old leaven of Vagrery! The swords, always the swords!

Thus the best of things turn to evil through abuse and hot-headedness!

Yes, the sword, resistance, revolt carried to the point of martyrdom whenever your rights are violated by force! But why shed blood, why fight when one's right is recognized and guaranteed? Moreover, who tells you that you would again prevail if again put to it? Who tells you that the Bishop of Chalon, or his successor, would not, in case you refused to recognize his spiritual jurisdiction, call some Burgundian seigneur to his aid? You would know how to die, but why die if one can live free and peaceful? This charter binds the bishop and his successors to respect the rights of the monks of the monastery and of the inhabitants of this valley. It is an additional guaranty. Should it ever be trampled under foot, then the hour will have sounded for heroic measures. Until then, my friends, spend your days in the tranquility that this charter insures to you."

"You are right, Loysik," replied Ronan, "that old leaven of Vagrery is ever fermenting in our heads. But is not this submission to the spiritual jurisdiction of the bishop, a submission that the charter consecrates, is it not a humiliation?"

"Did he not before now exercise more or less spiritual authority over us? Formally to recognize his spiritual authority is a matter of but slight importance; to deny it would be to expose ourselves to interminable troubles. And all to what purpose? Is not the inviolability of our goods and our property acknowledged?"

"That is so, brother."

"This charter, that, thanks to the firmness with which you resisted his iniquitous claims, instead of cowardly resigning yourselves to usurpations--this charter bears in itself the germ of the progressive enfranchis.e.m.e.nt of Gaul."

"How it that, Loysik?"

"Sooner or later, what we have done in the Valley of Charolles will be repeated in other provinces; the old Gallic blood will not forever remain torpid; some day, waking up at last to their own numbers and power, our sons will in their turn say to the seigneurs and bishops: 'Recognize our rights and we will recognize the powers that you have arrogated to yourselves; if not, war--war to the bitter end--war to the death--war to the point of extermination!"

"And yet, Loysik," cried Ronan, "what a shame, what an iniquity to recognize that accursed power, born of a b.l.o.o.d.y and confiscatory conquest! To recognize the right of theft, of brigandage and of murder!

The oppression of the Gallic race by the bishops and the race of Franks!"

"Brother, as much as yourself do I deplore these misfortunes. But what is to be done? Alas, the conquest and its accomplice the Church weigh down upon Gaul for over a century, and they have cast deep roots. Our descendants will be compelled to reckon with a power that years have fortified; they can not choose but recognize that power, while at the same time wresting from it, by force if necessary, a portion of the rights that our fathers were deprived of by the conquest. But what does it matter, my friends! The first step being taken others will certainly follow; and with each such step, marking its track with its own blood, our race will draw steadily nearer and nearer to ultimate deliverance.

Aye, the brilliant day will finally dawn, the day that Victoria foretold, the brilliant day when Gaul, trampling under foot both the crown of the Frankish Kings and the tiara of the Popes of Rome, will re-arise proud, radiant and free. Have faith in the future!"

The news of Loysik's return flew from mouth to mouth, and spontaneously brought all the inhabitants of the Valley to the monastery. The day was celebrated with cordial joy. It gave new earnest of many years of quiet, prosperity and freedom to the monks of the monastery and to the colonists of the Valley of Charolles.

I, Ronan, the son of Karadeucq, finished writing the above narrative two years after the death of Queen Brunhild, towards the end of the calends of October of the year 615. Clotaire II continues to reign over Gaul as the sole ruler, as his great-grandfather Clovis and his grandfather Clotaire I before him. The murderer of Brunhild's grandchildren does not belie with his subsequent conduct the sinister character with which he started his reign. Nevertheless both the royal and the episcopal charter regarding the colony and the community of Charolles have been respected down to this date. My brother Loysik, my good old little Odille, the Bishopess and my friend the Master of the Hounds continue to defy age with their good health.

I hereby entrust my son's son with the mission of carrying this narrative to the descendants of Kervan, my father's brother, both of whom were the sons of Jocelyn. Brittany still remains the only province of Gaul that preserves its independence. It has repelled the Frankish troops of Clotaire II as it repelled the attacks of his ancestors.

My grandson will, I hope, arrive without encountering any mishap at the cradle of our family, situated near the sacred stones of Karnak. I hope he may successfully accomplish the pious pilgrimage, the same as I did more than fifty years ago.

I wish to enter upon this leaf a matter of importance to our family, divided as it now is in two branches, one inhabiting Burgundy, the other Brittany. In these days of civil wars and general disorder, the peace and freedom that we now enjoy may at any time be violently a.s.sailed. Our descendants will know how to die rather than relapse into slavery. But should it happen that unforeseen causes prevent a heroic resolution, if our family should again be brought under the yoke of servitude and its members carried away captive, it will be well, as a matter of precaution against unhappy days, alas! always possible, that the members of our family should carry some sign of recognition indelibly marked upon an arm with the point of a needle reddened in the fire and dipped in the juice of the privet berry. The smart is but slight, and the tender skin of a child receives and forever keeps the indelible mark. The Gallic words _Brenn_ and _Karnak_, words that recall the glorious past of our ancestors, are henceforth to be traced on the right arm of all the children that may succeed us, and so forward from generation to generation. Who knows but it may happen that members of our family, now divided into two branches, may, in the course of the ages cross one another's path? In that sign they will find the means of recognizing each other, and render each other mutual a.s.sistance.

And now, Oh, our children, leaving the branding needle that I have used upon my own grandchild as the symbol to accompany this narrative and be joined to Hena's gold sickle, Guilhern's little bra.s.s bell, Sylvest's iron collar, Genevieve's silver cross, Schanvoch's casque's lark and Loysik's poniard's hilt, I fervently hope that this narrative may, as all the preceding ones left by our ancestors, keep alive in your b.r.e.a.s.t.s the flame of an ardent love for your country and for your family. And may, Oh, my children! the moral conveyed by the adventures of my life, and of the lives of my father Karadeucq and my brother Loysik never be lost upon you. Gather from them instruction, example, hope and courage.

THE END.