"What devastation! What bloodshed!"
"Those were horrible times, but by the faith of a Vagre, we rendered them frightful to many a conqueror himself. Well, agreeable to the request of Loysik, we drew near the confines of Burgundy and arrived in the vicinity of Marcigny early in autumn. In that happily located region the fall of the year is as mild as summer. The sun was going down, we had been on the march almost all day; the region, once so thickly populated and teeming with wealth, now lay fallow and deserted. Some more slaves joined us, others, however, fled into Marcigny, and threw the place into alarm. We expected the return of Loysik at every moment. As a matter of precaution we camped on a woody hill whence we could observe the city, lying at a goodly distance away, and hardly protected by its crumbling walls. Towards evening we saw our brother proceeding out of the town. He hastened to us, having been notified of our arrival by the fleeing slaves. It seems to me I see him now climbing the hill; he walked hurriedly; his face beamed with happiness. After answering to the affectionate greetings of our delighted troop who surrounded him, all being eager to express to him their delight at his return, Loysik made a sign that he wished to speak. He stepped upon a mound under the overspreading branches of a chestnut tree. We gathered in a semi-circle before him; many of the women who joined us in running the Vagrery sat down at his feet on the grass. Odille and the bishopess were foremost among these. On that day Loysik wore a robe of coarse white wool; a ray of the westering sun that penetrated through the foliage above his head seemed to surround with a golden aureole his serious and sweet face, on both sides of which, parting from his slightly bald head, fell his long blonde hair of the same color as his slight beard. I know not for what reason, but as I then looked at Loysik, the young man of Nazareth occurred to me, as he preached to the vagabond crowd that ever surrounded him. Profound silence reigned among our troop. Loysik held an address to us which I shortly after transcribed in full, together with all that happened on the occasion, upon a parchment lest I should forget it."
Taking a scroll from his pocket Ronan the Vagre proceeded:
"Here it is—I shall read it textually to you:
" 'My friends, my brothers, all of you who hear me, I return to your midst with good tidings. Until now, you have, by means of frightful acts of reprisal, returned evil with evil to the Franks, the abbots and bishops. These wicked folks so willed it—violence invites violence, oppression invites revolt, iniquity invites vengeance. The threatening words of Jesus have been verified—They that take the sword, shall perish by the sword; Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, for ye bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders; but ye yourselves will not move them with one of your fingers; Woe unto you that are rich, for ye have received your consolation. To the poor who lacked the necessaries of life you gave the goods that you took from the conquering plunderers, or from the modern princes of the Church. Struck with terror, many a hard-hearted seigneur and prelate felt forced to relax his severity. You have administered justice; but, alas, an adventurous, merciless justice. It could not be otherwise. In these days of tyranny and civil war, of slavery and revolt, of atrocious misery and criminal opulence, people are hurled from the paths of morality. The innate sense of justice and injustice, of good and evil is beclouded in the popular mind. Some, besotted with terror, undergo unheard-of ills with abject and degrading resignation; others, a prey to headlong vertigo, mix actions of greatest nobility with deeds that are most reprehensible. Your vengeance fatedly begets incalculable misfortunes. No doubt there is now many a seigneur, who, merciless until recently, does now conduct himself with less cruelty towards his slaves, as a consequence of the terror with which you inspire him. But the next day? You will then be far away, and the butchers then resume their murderous propensities. You set the homes of the conquerors on fire; but those buildings are speedily raised again, and it is our brothers, the slaves, who are forced to rebuild them. You distribute among the poor a part of the tribute that you levy upon the seigneurs and the prelates; but after a few days of abundance, misery weighs anew upon the unhappy population, and, by contrast, it is more painful than before. The coffers that you rifle must all be refilled by our brothers, the slaves, by dint of fresh and crushing labors. What floods of tears! What floods of blood are shed! How many ruins mark your tracks, how many irreparable disasters!'
"A voice cried out from the crowd: 'Have not our conquerors shed the blood of our race in torrents? Let the world perish, together with the iniquity that racks us! Death to the oppressors! Death to the seigneurs and the priests!'
"My brother then proceeded:
" 'Perish iniquity! Aye, perish slavery! Aye, perish misery and ignorance! Like you, I hold the barbarian conquest in horror; like you, I hold subjection in horror; like you, I hold in horror the false priests of Jesus, who keep their fellowmen in bondage; like you, I hold in horror the degradation of our country. But in order to overcome barbarism, ignorance, misery and slavery, they must be combated with civilization, with intelligence, with virtue, with labor, with the awakened Gallic patriotism that lies torpid at the bottom of so many hearts!'
" 'Hermit, our friend,' the interrupter cried again, 'how else can we fight our enemies than arms in hand? Are we not "Wand'ring Men," "Wolves," "Wolves' Heads"?'
" 'What is it that has turned you into Vagres, ye men of all conditions? What is it that drove you to revolt? Is it not spoliation and misery, and a determination to be free rather than submit to slavery? If you were to be told: "Renounce your wandering lives, and your labor will supply you amply with the necessaries of life, and your courage will guarantee your safety and tranquility. You who regret having lost the joys of the hearth and of family life or who desire to partake of them—yours can be those pure delights, while you others who prefer austere seclusion can be free to indulge your bent, and you can live happy and peacefully;"—if you were to be promised that, would you not prefer it to your present life?'