III The Iron Collar

THE IRON COLLAR:: :: OR :: ::FAUSTINA AND SYOMARAA Tale of Slavery Under the RomansBy EUGENE SUETRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCHBy DANIEL DELEONNBW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY. 1909

9. by tieNBVf rOUK LABOR NEWS CO.MEMRY MORSE

INDEXTRANSLATOR' PREFACE vU.CHAPTER.I. THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE 1II. ORGIES OF FAUSTINA 19III. LOYSE AND SYLVEST 40IV. THE SLAVE'S RUSE 53V. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 63VI. IN THE ANTE-CHAMBER 73VII. SYOMARA 80VIII. COURTESAN AND GLADIATOR 81IX. BROTHER AND SISTER 96X. THE DEMENTIA OF DESPAIR 124XI. THE CIRCUS JAILOR 139XII. AT THE CIRCUS RAILING 142XIII. THE GLADIATORIAL COMBATS 152XIV. ROMAN DAME AND COURTESAN 162XV. THE WILD BEASTS' REVEL 173XVI. THE FLIGHT 1«1EPILOGUE 187514091

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.The Iron Collar; or, Faustina and Syomqra is the third ofthe series of historic novels published by Eugene Sue underthe title The Mysteries of the People; or. History of a Pro-letarian Family Across the Ages. The story deals with thefate of the two children of Guilhern, the central characterin the story that precedes it—The Brass Bell; or, The Chariotof Death.Slavery among the Eomans was an institution such asthe world had never seen before, and has never seen since.It has been a subject of vast historic research, and oftenhave novelists sought to reproduce at least some of its lead-ing features by placing the theater of their story in the daysof so-called Eoman grandeur. Bulwer Lytton tried his handat it; one of the boldest attempts in that field is Sienkiewicz's"Quo Vadis." The most favorable criticism that these effortsdeserve is that they are imperfect. It was left for the geniusof Sue to reproduce, in this story, that remarkable epoch inthe annals of man with a truth of coloring and a width ofsweep that present the era in all its vividness. The storytold in this volume is one of Sue's greatest achievements.The brilliant garb of fiction, in which history is here pre-sented, cleaves so closely to the grand historic mold that theentrancing story develops with all the majesty of a Greekdrama. The vast stores of Sue's erudition, upon which theauthor drew, coupled with the enthusiasm that he broughtto bear upon this at once instructive and entertaining seriesof historic novels, produced this story with the full conscious-

vi TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.ness, as indicated by him, in his prefatory words, of the deepsignificance of the period that he here describes, and whichculminates with the period of the following story—The SilverCross; or, The Carpenter of Nazareth.There is no better treatise on the age that ushered in Chris-tianity than this novel; nor is there extent any historic workof fiction, with its theater located in Antiquity, at all com-parable with this.DANIEL DE LEON.New York, October, 1908.

'I HE IRON COLLAR

THE AUTHOR TO HIS READERSDear Readers:—Allow me in the first place to thank you for the growing interestwhich you are pleased to accord to this work. Then a few words asto the following story, "The Iron Collar."In "The Gold Sickle; or Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen," andin "The Brass Bell; or, the Chariot of Death," it was my endeavorto paint for you, as faithfully, as historically as possible, the pictureof our Gallic family, plebeian, free, happy, and living in plenty byits own labor. I strove to make you acquainted with its manners,its customs, its labors, its laws, its religious beliefs, its character—which has been preserved down to our own days.Then came the foreign invasion, and hand in hand with it war,a war without either mercy or pity, as waged by Oaesar and theRomans; a war of iniquity, of carnage, of despoliation, of infamy,like all wars of invaders, and ending in the subjugation of our an-cient fatherland, and the death or enslavement of its children. Tothis impious war the Gauls made reply with a holy war—for holyever is war when waged by a people against its oppressors. Youhave seen with what loyal grandeur, with what sublime heroismour fathers defended their nation, their liberty, their soil, theirhearths, their families and their gods. But in spite of these prodigiesof devotion and of valor, the Roman arms were victorious; ourGallic family was, like so many others, wiped out by battle or by,voluntary death, the supreme refuge from a frightful servitude.There remained of the sons of Joel the Brenn, only Guilhern and histwo children, Sylvest and Syomara; all three were cast into slaveryand sold.The following story, "The Iron Collar," is above all intended toimpart to you a knowledge of the lot of our enslaved forefathers,and to what a degree of depravity and of ferocity had come the richand the powerful of that Roman society implanted in Gaul by theconquest—a depravity and a ferocity of which the slaves of thetown, of industry, or of the field, were the victims.

x THE AUTHOR TO HIS READERS.We have—although with regret toning them down a great deal—traced certain pictures which will give you at least an idea of thenameless horrors familiar to the men and women of that noble and

opulent race which held our fathers and mothers under the doubleyoke of conquest and slavery. This portrait, horrible as it may be,is indispensable both for the proper understanding of the times de-picted by it, and of the times succeeding it. Allow me to explain.The epoch in which the present story is laid precedes by a fewyears the Christian era, and one will be unable to understand thesudden and tremendous echo which greeted the message of Christ,that sublime paraphrase of the eternal moral verities inscribed bythe ages across the pages of the Bible, the sacred books of theIndies, and of Gaul; one will be unable to comprehend the all-mightiness of the appeal of Jesus, the poor carpenter of Nazareth,to the oppressed and the suffering, unless one is guided by the lightof the frightful excesses of the Roman aristocracy, then sovereignsof the world, which, arriving at a stage of excess previously un-known to humanity, filled up the measure of social iniquity andtorture, and thus spread the leaven for the revolt which was aboutto break forth at the word of Christ everywhere where there wereto be found oppressed and oppressors.It is our task, then, to picture this period, whose monstrous op-pression caused all at once the divine Christian aspiration of eman-cipation1 to leap from the depths of the abyss where trembled wholepopulations despoiled, enslaved, tortured by implacable masters.Accompanying this book, as with the others, you will find notesappended to the text. We strongly recommend them to your perusal,for thereby you will be enabled to see that, however strange, how-ever exorbitant may appear to you the facts we employ, we haveever kept within the bounds of the most rigorous historical reality.EUGENE SUE.Paris, 1849.1 The Christian revolution, apart the judiciary and legal proof of Itfrom Its religious character, was —Jesus was the victim of a polit-pre-eminently a social revolution teal accusation." — Jesus before"This, then," Is the true cause ol Caiaphas and Pilate, Dupln. sr.,the sentence of Jesus, and we have p. 113.

CHAPTER;.!. ;:-•/:£:•.. :y^THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE.The city of Orange—one of the richest cities of Provencalor Narbonnese Gaul, taken by the Romans more than twohundred years ago, and kept ever since—has become com-pletely a Eoman settlement in point of ostentatious luxury,as well as in point of customs and depravity. In this region,\vhich is infinitely less bleak than our own Brittany, the cli-mate is as mild as the climate of Italy. Spring and summer

seem perpetual. As in Italy, here the lemon, the orange,the pomegranate, the fig-tree and the laurel grow luxuriantamidst the colonnades of the marble temples, reared by theRomans during this long period of their masterhood overthese delightful provinces of our country.One summer night during the reign of the Emperor Oc-taviuB Augustus, and sixteen years after the dagger of Brutusvisited punishment upon Julius Caesar—one summer night,that was brilliantly lighted by the full moon, a man, no, asieve, a Gallic slave—as appeared from his closely shavenhead, a polished iron collar round his neck, and the liveryof a menial—crept out of the suburb of Orange. Being as-signed to the domestic service of his master, he was notchained, as is the practice with the agricultural slaves or inmost of the factories, on account of which these slavesare called "ironed men."11 "The less valuable slaves they were Inclined to flee, they woreassigned to field labor; and as by Inokcd by nlgbt In the erynstuia.the arduousness of their toll they Watchers stood over them day In

2 THE IRON COLLAR.AftSr-passing by'thfe-htiniense circus, where the gladiatorialcombats' are held,' and where, the cages of the wild beasts arekept/%lioT^jetef)^aiits_aiidi'iigjQrs, whose acrid odor is smelledat a distance, the slave followed at first the avenue of laureland lemon trees in full bloom that surround the sumptuousvillas of the Eomans. Presently he branched off from thesmiling road and dove into the forest. With no little riskhe cleared a rapid and deep torrent by leaping from one tothe other upon the rocks that strewed the stream; he reachedthe foot of a steep granite hill, climbed to its top, and de-scended on the opposite side into an uncultivated, wild, des-ert, treeless and barren valley that was no less rocky than thehill behind him. In the midst of the deep silence of thenight, and of the solitude, illumined by the mellow light ofthe setting moon, the Gallic slave distinguished from oppo-site, and also from other directions, the distant sound ofhurrying steps of men, at times also the clanking of thechains that they carried on their feet. He stopped and lis-tened for a moment, and then resumed his rapid march.Finally he arrived before a dark grotto. Its mouth was solow that it could not be entered without creeping close to theground. The slave stooped down and proceeded on his handsand feet. He had not long advanced in this way into thedarkness when he was challenged in the Gallic tongue by a

voice from within:"Halt! The axe is raised over thy head.""The branch of the sacred oak-tree will shelter and pro-tect me," answered the slave.dav out while at their tasks, and "Yes, by Hercules, before manynever lost sight of them. Thus months, Tronlon, yon will bethey acquired the appellation 'the swelling our Ironed troop In theIroned race.'"—Wallon. HMory of fields."—Plautus, UostelKtna (TheSlavery <n AnUquity, p. 217. Ghott). 273.

THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE. 3"The branch of the oak-tree has shrivelled," the voice re-sumed, "the blasts of the tempest have scattered its leaves.You can no longer be sheltered by its sacred shade. Who willprotect you?""The branch of the oak-tree loses its leaves during the in-clement season, but the sacred mistletoe remains ever green/'responded the slave. "The seven twigs of mistletoe will pro-tect me.""What do those seven twigs of mistletoe represent?""Seven letters.""What word do those letters compose?""LIBERTY.""Pass."And still creeping along the ground, the slare passed on.Thanks to the increasing height of the grotto, he was pres-ently enabled to proceed upon his feet—at first bent down,and finally erect. The darkness however remained unchang-ed, profound. Soon another voice addressed him from thebowels of the earth:"Halt! The knife's point is at your breast!""Seven twigs of mistletoe protect me.""At this hour," resumed the voice, "the sacred mistletoedrips tears, sweat and blood.""Those tears, the sweat and blood, will on« day changeinto a fruitful dew.""What will it fructify?""The independence of Gaul.""Who watches over Gaul, now shackled in chains?""Hesus, the almighty, and his venerable druids, who, wan-dering in the woods, hide in caverns like this, one.""Your name?"

4 THE IRON COLLAR."Brittany.""What are you?"

"A son of the mistletoe.""Pass."After having made these answers to the questions that arealways put to the "Sons of the Mistletoe" when they assem-ble in nocturnal meetings, the slave took a few more stepsand stopped. The darkness in the cavern continued profound.Although silence prevailed, still the movements of severalof the persons, all gathered at the spot, could be heard. Es-pecially audible was the clanking of the chains borne bymost of them. After a short interval, the voice of the druidwho presided over the secret gathering broke through thegloom:"Auvergne?""Present," answered a voice."Artois?""Present.""Brittany?""Present," cried the slave, after whom each one answeredto the muster roll from almost all the provinces of Gaul,represented at this gathering of slaves who were sold anddragged away from the several sections of Provencal Gaul.Silence ensued after the roll call, and the druid resumed:"Artois and Brittany introduce a new member."«Yes—yes," answered the two voices.''Has he been tried by blood and tears?""He has been tried.""Do you swear by Hesua?""We swear by Hesus!"

THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE. 5"Let him listen and answer," the druid resumed, and add-ed : "You newly arrived at this place, what do you want ?""To be a 'Son of the Mistletoe.'""For what purpose?""To secure justice—liberty—vengeance," answered theneophyte's voice."You who demand justice, liberty, vengeance," said thedruid, "are you plundered and enslaved by the stranger? Doyou toil under his whip, the chain to your feet, the collar atyour neck?""Yes.""Do your labors, that begin at dawn, end at dusk, andoften are prolonged into the night, enrich the Eoman whobought you like a head of cattle? Does he live in opulence,while you live in misery and slavery ?""Yes, I toil, the Eoman profits; I suffer, he enjoys."

"Did the fields that you cultivate, from which to-day yougather the harvest for the stranger and conqueror, once be-long to your free ancestors?""Yes.""Are the tender and pure joys of family life denied you?Is the sacrament of marriage forbidden to you? Can theEoman look upon you as an animal, separate at will the hus-band from the wife, the children from the mother, and sellthem and send them far away from one another?""Yes.""Are your gods proscribed, their ministers pursued andtracked like wild beasts, and crucified like thieves?""Yes.""Can the Eoman beat you at will, brand you in the fore-head, mutilate your limbs and torture you and yours? Can

6 THE IRON COLLAR.he condemn you to perish, in the midst of frightful agonieswhenever it suits his wicked whim?""Yes.""Are you determined to cast off the abhorred yoke ?""I am.""Do you desire that Gaul, once again free and powerful,shall be able to honor her heroes in peace, worship her gods,and insure the happiness of all her children?""I do—I do.""Are you aware that the task will be long, beset with sor-rows, strewn with trials and dangers?""I em.""Are you aware that you stake your life? I do not referto death. This is not the season to shuffle off life by an easyand voluntary death, hoping to please Hesus, and resumelife beyond, near to those whom we have loved. No! No!To die is nothing to the Gaul; what is galling to him is tolive a slave. In order now to please Hesus, you must resignyourself to such a life, to the end that you may be able,slowly and however painfully, to labor in the deliverance ofyour race. Do you resign yourself to such a fate ?""I do."•'Whatever the ills may be that you and yours may beafflicted with, do you swear by Hesus not to raise a homicidalhand against yourself or them, and patiently to wait untilthe angel of death shall call yoti to him ?""I swear by Hesus!""Do you swear that when the signal for revolt and battle isgiven from the north to the south, from the east to the west of

Gaul—do you swear to smite your Homan master, and tofisrht unto the end?"THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE. 7"I swear.""Do you swear to await in patience and resignation forthe day of terrible vengeance, and not to rise but at the voiceof the druids, to the end that no precious blood flow in vainand isolated revolts?""I swear.""Do you swear to cover with a common hatred both theEomans and the craven Gauls, traitors to their own country,who have attached themselves to our oppressors with the viewof overwhelming the brave Gallic plebs? Do you hate theseperjured beings who have deserted the cause of liberty inorder to enjoy their wealth in peace under Eoman protection,and who sue for the title of Eoman citizen?""I swear I shall hate these as inveterately as I shall theEomans, and, when the hour shall sound, cover them bothwith the same terrible vengeance.""Do you swear—and a rude trial it is for our race—touse dissimulation and ruse, the only weapons available to theslave, in order that your master may be lulled into security,and on the day of our vengeance awaken with terror?""I swear.""Do you swear to keep the nocturnal meetings of the Sonsof the Mistletoe a secret from your master? Do you swearto endure all manner of tortures sooner than reveal the causeof your to-nighfs absence, that, to-morrow, you will undoubt-edly have to pay for under the whip or in prison ?""I swear.""By Hesus! Be then admitted as one of the brave Sonsof the Mistletoe, provided those that are here present in thedark are willing to accept you as a brother, as I do."There was a unanimity in favor of admitting the new mem-

8 THE IRON COLLAR.ber. This ceremony being over, another druid's voice washeard:"You all who are present and who hear me in the darknessof this cave—far away, perhaps, is the deliverance of Gaul—and yet, perhaps, close at hand, ye Sons of the Mistletoe!I, Eonan, the son of Talyessin, who was the most revered ofall the druids of Karnak, I have happy tidings to impart toyou. Prom that corner of our Brittany, whence—may youalways remember the fact—the first cry went up for the holy

war, and where stand the sacred stones once drenched in thegenerous blood of Hena, the virgin of the Isle of Sen, theglorious Gallic virgin whose courage and beauty are sung,to this day, by the bards—""Yes—Hena was a saint! The songs of the bards havetaught us to know her," came from several voices. "Mayher name shine in everlasting splendor—the name of thedaughter of Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak I""Glory to her, the brave and sweet virgin who offered herinnocent blood as a sacrifice to Hesus!""Glory to the songs of the bards, our only consolation inservitude. They keep alive the great deeds of our fathers I"The Gallic slave could no longer repress his tears; th_eyflowed in the darkness; they flowed from a heart full of sor-row and gratitude. That Hena, so long sung about by thebards, Hena, the virgin of the Isle of Sen, whose name andmemory was at that moment extolled, was the sister of Guil-hern, the father of the slave who now wept. His name wasSylvest; his grandfather was Joel, the brenn of the tribe ofKarnak.The druid resumed his address that the acclaim of Hena'sname had interrupted:

THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE. 9"Far away, perhaps, is the day of our deliverance, and,perhaps, close at hand. I, Eonan, the son of Talyessin, amfreshly arrived from the center of Gaul. I traveled at night;during the day I concealed myself in the forests and thecaves, which, as this one, serve for the secret meeting placesof the Sons of the Mistletoe, because, as you should know,despite all obstacles and perils, the Sons of the Mistletoemeet everywhere in secret.1 Therein lies our strength—therein lies our hope. Let us have faith in the future. Thisi? the good tidings: Reassured by the apparent quiet of theprovinces since the last war, the Eomans are recalling theirlarge army back to Italy. The vanguard is on the march;it is moving towards the province that we are here in, inorder to embark at Marseilles. The passage of the armythrough the regions that it will cross is to be the signal forthe Sons of the Mistletoe to hold themselves in readiness forthe holy night of revolt and vengeance.""We are ready!" cried several voices. "May that nightsoon come!""And that night of revolt and vengeance," continued thedruid, "will give the signal for the simultaneous uprising ofail Gaul, from the north to the south, from the east to the

west. Aye, who is to give that nocturnal signal so as to bevisible to all and at the same hour? It will be the sacredluminary of Gaul! Listen—listen. This night the moonbegins to wane. In the measure tLat her orb pales, the armywill be approaching its place of embarkation. Its militaryhalts are numbered. When the moon will have waned com-pletely the Romans will be on the eve of quitting Gaul, leav-ing only a feeble garrison behind."Thierry, History of the Oauls, vol. Ill, p. 360.

10 THE IRON COLLAR."On that night," cried Sylvest in his impatient ardor, "allGaul will rise.""No—not on that night," answered the druid. "Althoughthe winds are generally favorable at this season, a contrarybreeze may spring up and retard the enemy's departure.""And if the uprising followed too closely upon the heelsof the embarkation of the Eomans," put in a voice, "a lightskiff might hasten to the galleys out at sea and convey tothem the order to return.""That is correct," replied the druid. "The troops mustbe afforded sufficient time to leave the shores of Gaul far be-hind them. The revolt must not break out until the secondnight of the new moon. Oh! oppressed Gauls," added theinspired druid, "Oh, you all, from all the sections of ourland who groan under the yoke of slavery—meseems I seeyou on the eve of that solemn moment! Your eyes areturned heavenward, all looking but for one thing—the arrivalof the signal. It appears—the golden crescent on the azuresky! I then hear but one sound from one end of Gaul tothe other—the sound of snapping shackles! I hear but onecry—Liberty!""Vengeance and liberty!" repeated the Sons of the Mis-tletoe, shaking the irons on their limbs."All insurrection that has no chief to head it is withoutorder, is barren and fatal," the druid proceeded to say. "Ifthe hour of deliverance strikes—will you be ready ?""We are ready," answered a field slave. "When the nightof deliverance shall have arrived, the slaves of every isolatedestate will forthwith kill their guards and the Eomans—""Always sparing the women and children," interrupted the

THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE. IIdruid. "Women and children are not foes, we hold themsacred—""There are women who deserve death," broke in anothervoice; "they surpass the men in ferocity.""That is true!" chimed in other voices. "How manygrand Roman dames are there not who vie with the seigneursin monstrous debaucheries and cruelty towards their slaves!""Would you, perchance, spare Faustina?" came againfrom that Son of the Mistletoe who had first reminded hisassociates of the ferocity of certain women. "Would youspare Faustina of Orange, that noble dame who traces hernobility back to Juno, one of the pagan divinities?"At the mention of Faustina's name, whom Sylvest exe1-crated, a murmur of horror and even terror went up fromthe Sons of the Mistletoe, several of whom cried:"No! No mercy for her, nor for those who are like her!Death shall be their portion also! The death that they haveinflicted upon so many of their slaves!""Faustina and the other women of her stamp are mon-sters of debauchery and ferocity," explained the druid. "Theirinfamous and bloodthirsty passions are nameless in the lan-guage of mankind. Let the blood that they have shed fallupon their heads. I spoke of the wives and children of theBomans who are your masters. Although they may often bemerciless towards you, and their cupidity may crush youunder heavy burdens, still they are weak and defenceless be-ings—spare them—take pity upon them—""Such women—yes— we shall spare them," rejoined thefield slave. "But our Roman masters and watchers, themwe shall mercilessly slay! With them out of the way, we, theslaves on isolated farms, will seize the arms in the houses,

12 THE IRON COLLAR.the provisions and the wagons; we will choose a leader; andwe will seize and fortify ourselves in the burg—""In that burg," broke in a slave who was employed partlyin field and partly in factory work, "the artisan slaves, whowill at the same signal have rid themselves of the Eomans,will likewise have seized the arms and chosen a leader. Theywill receive their brothers of the field, and jointly with themwill fortify the burg, and then wait to hear from the neigh-boring town.""In the town," said Sylvest, who was a town slave, "thedomestic and artisan slaves, jointly with those who are hiredout to the factories, will also have meted out justice to the

Eomans at the same signal. The feeble garrison will bewiped out. They will quickly organize themselves into com-panies with their chiefs, and a general chief over all; theywill seize the military posts, close the gates of the city andthen wait for the orders from the supreme council of theSons of the Mistletoe.""Nor will you have long to wait for such orders" said thedruid. "The supreme council will assemble at the same signalin the forest of Chartres, in the heart of Gaul. Its instruc-tions will be issued in all directions. We shall find strengthin the unity of our action. Mass uprisings will be organizedin order to put us in condition to sustain a supreme strugglewith Eome, in case the empire should seek to invade us anew.With all of us this time united against the enemy, victorywill not be doubtful—Gaul will resume her freedom, and thatgreat da'y will have finally arrived when she will be againable to honor her heroes in peace, worship her gods, and in-sure the happiness of all her children."

THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE. 13"There is hope for Gaul!" the Sons of the Mistletoe criedin chorus."Oh! If that night were only to-morrow 1" exclaimed oneof them."My sons," resumed the druid, "no impatience. You havebeen warned. Near at hand may the deliverance of Gaul be,and, perhaps, far away. The Roman army, now on the marchto return to Italy, may halt and may decide to remain whereit is—and may thus prolong the occupation of the countryfor a long time! For thirty years, the best and most generousblood of Gaul has flowed in frightful struggles. To-day, ex-hausted, disarmed and fettered, our country can not thinkof attacking this veteran and disciplined Roman army in theopen. We would be crushed. Should the stranger's troopsdeceive our expectations and remain in the country, we shallhave to adjourn our project. So, then, patience—patience,my sons—patience aud calmness and resignation! Let ourfaith in the justice of our cause be the inexhaustible sourceof our strength. Let us ever be mindful of the streams oftheir own blood that our fathers have shed! Let the memoryof their martyrdom and their heroism console.and steel ourcourage.""Yes, let that memory console and steel our courage,"sounded from an inspired bard, one of whom, ever before theclose of the sessions of the Sons of the Mistletoe, sang some

national anthem that warmed the hearts of us poor slaves.and the refrain of which, repeated by us in a low voice dur-ing our heavy toils, seemed to lighten them. "Yes," re-peated the bard, "may that memory steel our courage andkeep alive our pride, slaves though we be, and render usprouder than kings. Listen, listen to the inspired song of

14 THE IRON COLLAR.one of the greatest heroes of Gaul, the Chief of the HundredValleys, the hero whom Caesar, be his name ever cursed, putto death!"At the name of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys a thrillof patriotic pride ran through the Sons of the Mistletoe, andS"lvest doubly shared the emotion. He remembered that inhis infancy, before the battle of Vannes, Vercingetorix, theChief of the Hundred Valleys, was the guest of Joel, thebrenn of the tribe of Karnak, his own grandfather.The bard struck up the song:"How many Gallic warriors have diedFrom the battle of Vannes to the siege of Alais!Aye—During these four yearsHow many are the warriors who died for liberty?A hundred thousand?—Is that too high a figure?No!—Three hundred, four hundred thousand?No, that figure is not yet too high!No, it is not enough!Count the leaves that have fallenFrom our sacred oaks all these years,—You will not yet have numbered the warriorsWhose bones bleach on their father's fields!"And all these warriors,The names of whose chieftains were:Luctere—Camalogene, the ancient defender of Paris,—Corres—Cavarill—Epidorix—Comm, of Artois—Virdumar—Versagillatim—Ambiorix—All these warriors, at what warrior's voiceDid they rise for the independenceOf their mother country?All rose at the voice of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys,He who,From the battle of Vannes to the siege of AlaisHeld the field for four years,And twice defeated Caesar himself—One more effort—one effort supreme,—And Gaul is delivered!

THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE. 15"But no!There were cowardly GaulsTo whom the call did not appeal,—No—to the rough and bloody strife of deliveranceThey preferred repose and wealthUnder the stranger's yoke.They left the brave Gallic plebs in the lurch,j.iiey betrayed it!Their magistrates opened their towns to the Komans;Their military chiefs left their troopsDisorganized and leaderless,—Inspired them with mistrust, discouraged them,And those troops scattered in all directions."And yet those valiant troops are waited for.—Who?—Where?—Who awaits them?—The Chief of the Hundred Valleys.Where?—In the city of Alais,In the heart of the Cevennes.^There he locks himself up with the fragments of his army,And the wives and children of his soldiers.Caesar besieges him in person;The Romans are ten against one.Provisions fail, —The scythe of famine cuts down the feeblest.—Yet from day to day, from hour to hour,Help is expected from the traitors.Our defenders say:"They must soon come!'—'They must soon come!'No, you need not expect them!"No, you need not expect them!—No, they never arrived!And yet one last effort would have delivered Gaul.The cowards drew back.Seeing that, the Chief of the Hundred ValleysThen shows himself even greater of heartThan in courage.He can flee alone—Escape is prepared;—But he knows it is he, the soul of the holy war,That Caesar's hate pursues.He knows that Alais, unable to resist,Must soon fall into the hands of the Romans;—

He knows that the RomansMake the women and children prisoners.

16 THE IRON COLLAR.At night he despatches one of his officers to Caesar.Two hours later the officer returns."Behold the sunRising at noon over the ramparts of Alais.—What means that scaffold, covered with purple cloth,That rises between the camp of the RomansAnd the walls of the besieged Gallic city?Who is that pale man,Bald of head, hollow of eyes, and with cruel smile,Who is seated on that scaffold?Yes—Who is seated on that scaffold,Upon an ivory arm-chair,The only one seated among the generals,Who stand around him?—The bald and pale man is Caesar!"And that warrior on horseback,Who rides out aloneThrough one of the gates of the city of Alaia,Who is he?—His long sword hangs from his side,In one hand he holds a javeline;Martial and bold is his stature,In his cuirass of steel that glistens in the raysOf the rising sun.Proud yet sad is his manly countenanceUnder the visor of his silver casque,Surmounted by a gilded cock with wings half spread,The emblem of Gaul. Flows on the breezeThe red embroidered housing that half covers his black horse,-His black and spirited horse, foaming and neighing.Aye, who is that dauntless warrior?—That dauntless warrior is the Chief of the Hundred Valleys."Whither does he ride so swiftly?—What is his errand?Behold him speeding his black courser with his spurs,His black courser that bounds up to the foot of the tribunalWhere the bald and pale Caesar is seated.—Arrived at the place, the Chief of the Hundred ValleysAddresses him in these words:'Caesar, my death will not allay your hatred;—

You wish to have me alive; here I am, Caesar.You have sworn to my envoy that you

THE SONS OF THE MISTLETOE.Would spare the inhabitants of the city of AlaisIf I surrendered myself a prisoner;—I am your prisoner.'Saying this, the Chief of the Hundred ValleysLeaps down from his horse;His glittering casque, his heavy javeline, his strong sword,He throws them all far from him.Bareheaded he stretches out his hands—His hands so brave—To the chains of the lictors of Caesar,Who, from the height of his seatHeaps insult upon his disarmed and vanquished foe,And sends him to Rome.1"Four years have since elapsed;—A long triumphal march wends its wayIn Rome towards the Capitol.—Caesar, clad in the imperial purple,Crowned with laurel, intoxicated with pride,Rides erect in a chariot of gold,Drawn by eight white horses.—Who is that livid slave, wan, barely covered in rags,Loaded with chains, and led by the lictors,The axe in their hands?—He still walks with a firm stepBefore the triumphal chariot of Caesar.Aye—•Who is that slave?That slave—is the Chief of the Hundred Valleys.On that day Caesar dragged him from the prison cellWhere he was left to pine away his life for four years.The most glorious trophy of the conqueror of the worldIs the Gallic captive.l'he triumphal march halts. Caesar makes a sign.A man kneels down.A head rolls on the ground under the axe of a lictor—What head is that that has just fallen?It is the head of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys.—The blood that flows is the bloodOf the greatest hero of Gaul—A slave like ourselves."Two more years roll by after the execution.

The gods are just. Who is that man1Thlg scene Is described minute- Hundred Valleys), by Caesar, Dely even to the details of costume Bella Qallico.of Vercingetorix (toe Chief of the18 THE IRON COLLAR.Clad in the imperial purple, and whose breastIs beaten by a score of daggers?Aye,—who is that man, whom his slayers greetWith—'Die, tyrant!'—'Die, traitor to the republic!'—'Die, traitor to liberty!'That man, smitten at last by a free man's hand(May your name be ever glorified, Brutus!),That man, who, during his long lifeHas been the blood-drinking scourge of the liberty of the world,—He is Caesar. It is the murderer ofThe Chief of the Hundred Valleys.It is Caesar, the cowardly slayerOf a captive in chains."Yes, the gods are just.Flow, flow, thou blood of the captive!Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest!Hasten, you mower, hasten, it is ripe!»net your scythe, whet it--Whet your scythe!"And the Sons of the Mistletoe, carried away by the refrainof the song, repeated in chorus while keeping ominous timewith the clank of their chains:"Oh, flow, flow, thou blood of the captive!Drop, drop thou dew of gore!"Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harrest!Hasten, you mower, hasten, it is ripe!Whet your scythe, whet it—Whet your scythe!"Thereupon the assembled Sons of the Mistletoe left thecavern by its several issues, and hastened back to the fields,the burg, and the city.

CHAPTER II.ORGIES OP FAUSTINA.When the moon went down, the night became pitchy dark.Sylvest again crossed the desert and rock-strewn valley, re-climbed the granite hill, re-crossed the mountain torrent, re-entered the thick forest and finally arrived again on the roadto Orange. However, he did not turn his steps to the city,

where his master lived. He followed a narrow footpath thatbranched off to the right of the road, walked a long time, andpresently arrived near a high brick wall, which enclosed avast park attached to the villa of Faustina, the grand Romandame whose name had been mentioned with horror at themeeting of the Sons of the Mistletoe. Sylvest stopped andlooked about for a moment, then he dove into a clump ofbrushwood, and reappeared with a long pole that he had hidthere, and that was furnished with cross sticks so as to servefor a ladder. He placed the pole against the wall, and beinghimself young, agile and robust, quickly climbed it, trans-ferred the improvised ladder to the other side of the wall,and descended into the park.The darkness of the night was rendered so dense by thethick foliage of the tall trees that the way was difficult tofind. The slave was, however, familiar with the place andsoon reached the border of a canal ornamented with marblebalustrades. Nearby rose a temple constructed in the shapeof a rotunda and girdled by a stately and open colonnade that

20 THE IRON COLLAR.formed a circular portico and connected with the canal bymeans of a wide marble staircase, the lowest steps of whichdipped into the water.Sylvest now hurried forward, stopping ever and anon tolisten, entered the colonnade and called out several times ina low voice:"Loyse—Loyse I"The slave received no answer. He was surprised at thesilence. Having been delayed at the meeting of the Sons ofthe Mistletoe, he believed surely that Loyse would have ar-rived long before him at their trysting place. The slavegroped his way forward, towards the staircase that ran intothe canal, thinking that perhaps Loyse awaited him on thesteps. Vain hope. Suddenly he saw the waters reflecting abright light at a distance, while at the same time a gust ofwind brought to him, mingled with the odor of the orangeand lemon trees, the confused sound of lyres and flutes ac-companied by songs.Sylvest concluded that on this warm summer night Faus-tina was boating on the canal with her singer and musicianslaves. Noticing that the music as well as the reflection ofthe lights on the water drew nearer and nearer, he expectedto see the Roman dame's boat pass by the staircase of thetemple, and prudently withdrew back into the shade, all thetime surprised and feeling no little uneasiness at the absenco

of Loyse, whom, however, he did not yet lose the hope ofseeing and for whose approaching steps he listened in the di-rection of the garden. Suddenly Sylvest saw through the dark-ness and from the side whence he looked for Loyse to come,the light of several lanterns, and heard the voices and stepsof the men who carried them. Seized with affright—because,

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 21and he now frankly admits the fact, he feared death, andknew that if found in the Roman dame's park he could bekilled on the spot—the slave was perplexed what to do. Toreturn towards the staircase of the canal was to expose him-self to being lighted by the torches of the boat that was aboutto glide by the steps of the temple; to remain under the col-onnade was to run the risk of being discovered by the menwho were coming from the garden and who perhaps intendedto enter the edifice. Still, Sylvest had time to climb up oneof the pillars, swing himself over the edge of the capital andreach the back of a wide circular cornice that wound itselfaround the dome of the rotunda. Arrived at the entablature,Sylvest laid himself down flat upon his face. The men whocarried the lanterns passed on the outside of the temple andwalked on.Sylvest now breathed freely. Nevertheless, fearing that themen might return, he dared not yet to descend from his hid-ing place. It was fortunate that he did not. The boat drewnear and stopped at the marble steps. There could no longerbe any doubt. Faustina would enter into the rotunda, andprobably leave her slaves to wait outside. Sylvest remainedbehind the cornice, where he presently observed that the en-tablature upon which he cowered was pierced with severalopenings intended to allow a passage to the fresh air without.Thus he was enabled to peer into the rotunda itself from theheight of his perch. For a few minutes all was dark. Soon,however, he heard the door that faced the canal thrown open,and he could see a black Ethiopian of gigantic stature, wear-ing a scarlet cap and clad in a short blouse of orange colortrimmed with silver, enter the temple with a torch in hishand. The Ethiopian slave also wore a broad silver collar

22 THE IRON COLLAR.around his neck, while rings of the same metal encircled theankles of his bare and muscular limbs.The Ethiopian lighted several candelabra ranged around a

statue that represented the god Priapus. The inside of therotunda was now fully and brightly lighted, while the cavityof the entablature under the upper cupola where Sylvest wasensconced was thrown into the shade. Within the inside pil-lars of white marble, fluted and gilt like the capitals, frescopaintings were discovered of such obscenity that Sylvestblushed at their sight. The floor of the temple was com-pletely covered by a thick mattress of purple ticking and alarge number of cushions that lay strewn about in disorder.Between two of the pillars, and facing each other, were ivorybuffets of exquisite workmanship and inlaid with tortoiseshell. On their porphyry tops stood large vases of chasedgold, cups ornamented with precious stones, and others ofeven greater value—murhe cups, imported from the Orientat a fabulous cost, which consist of a sort of odoriferous andpolished paste that glitters in all the colors of the rainbow.1In basins filled with snow little flagons of Sagonte wine stooddipped to the neck. Large dishes of perfume stood upontripods, placed around the statue of Priapus. The Ethiopianlighted them and immediately a balsamic odor of almost in-toxicating pungency rose from the gold tripods and invadedthe cupola.These preparations being ended, the gigantic Ethiopiandisappeared by the door through which he had entered, andreturned shortly. He now carried in his arms, as a sleepingchild is held, a woman enveloped in a long veil. A numberof young female slaves, all of exceptional beauty and clad in1Desobry, The Romqni in the Auguitian Age,

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 23black, followed the Negro. They were the female slave at-tendants of the grand Eoman dame, the rich and noble Faus-tina; they were her chamber assistants, her fanners, her hair-dressers, tiers of her sandals, carriers of her casket, singers,musicians, and many others.1Prom the moment the retinue of female slaves steppedinto the temple they busied themselves with arranging andsmoothing the cushions in order that their mistress, whomthe Ethiopian carried in his arms, be laid down as softly aspossible. Those among the female slaves who played theflute or the lyre on the way to the temple, still held theirmusical instruments in their hands. Among the slaves were alsotwo beautiful manumitted Greeks of about sixteen or eighteenyears of age. Like all the men of their race who adopt thisservile occupation, the two Greek musicians were distinguish-

able by their lascivious gait and their brazen faces, by theirshort and frizzled hair, and also by their costume, which wasboth rich and effeminate. They carried wide peacock fansintended to cool the air in the immediate neighborhood oftheir mistress.After the cushions were carefully arranged, the Ethiopianlaid the noble Faustina upon them with as much precautionas if he feared to break her. The two young Greeks thendeposited their fans upon the floor, knelt down near theirmistress, and gently removed the veil that enveloped her.Sylvest had often heard Faustina spoken of, the nobledame being, as so many other distinguished Eoman women,"The number of slaves attached takers of Jewels, the ladles In wait-to the service of a grand Roman Ing, the fan-bearers, the sandal-dame was Immense; see the com- tiers, the songstresses, the rockers,edles of Plautus: the casket-bearers, the message-"In serving supper to him. she runners, the bearers of answers."—brought out her whole household of Plautus. Trinummtii (The Manslave girls, the perfumers, the care- with Threepence), vol. IX, p. 45.

34 . THE IRON COLLAR.celebrated for her beauty, her opulence and her monstrousdebaucheries.1 But never until now had Sylvest seen theredoubted woman. He contemplated her with a mixture ofhorror, hatred and curiosity.Of middle size and frail, and not over thirty years of age,Faustina would have been of rare beauty if unspeakable ex-cesses had not at her early age wilted and worn her delicateand regular features. Her thick black hair shone through thegolden network that crowned her pale and arched forehead.Her black eyes, surrounded with deep dark circles, seemedfor a moment dazed by the brilliancy of the lights. At thefirst slight contraction of the dame's eyelids, two of the fe-male slaves guessed her thoughts and hastened to unroll aveil which they held spread between the light of the cande-labra and the pupils of their mistress' eyes.Faustina wore two tunics of Tyrean silk, one long andwhite, trimmed ^n gold, the other much shorter, of a lightgreen color and trimmed in silver. Her corsage consistedmerely of a network of gold like that of her hair, throughwhich peeped her bosom and her shoulders, bare as her slen-der wax-colored arms. A necklace of large Oriental pearlsand rubies wound several times around her flexible and ratherlong neck. Her little ears were almost drawn out of shapeunder the weight of heavy diamond, emerald and carbuncle

pendants, that nearly touched her shoulders.2 Her silkstockings were pink, and her gold sandals, that were fastenedto her feet with green silk ribbons, disappeared almost whollyunder the precious stones that they were loaded with.*For the morality of certain 'De&obry, The Romant *n thegrand Roman dames, see the works Augustian Age.of Juvenal, Martial, and others;particularly The Golden Asa, byApulelus.

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 25The grand dame who lay so softly nestled amid cushions,made a sign to the two Greeks. They forthwith drew nearer,knelt down on either side of her, one on her right the otheron her left, and began gently to fan her, while the giganticNegro, likewise on his knees, but at his mistress' head, heldhimself in readiness to rearrange the slightest disorder on hercouch.In a languishing voice Faustina was heard to say: "I amthirsty."Immediately several of her women precipitated themselvesupon the ivory buffets. One placed a murhe cup on a jaspertray, another took a silver vessel, while a third brought oneof the large silver basins filled with snow into which the littleflagons of Sagonte wine were inserted. Faustina indicatedwith a faint gesture that she wished to drink of the winecooled in the ice. One of the female slaves stretched outthe murhe cup, which another immediately filled. In herhurry to tender the beverage to her mistress, the young fe-male slave tripped over one of the cushions, the cup wasslightly spilled, and a few drops of the icy liquor fell uponFaustina's feet. The dame frowned, and while taking thecup with one of her white slender hands that was covered•with precious stones, with the other she directed the slave'sattention to the spot left by the wine upon her footgear. Shethen slowly emptied the cup without taking her black andpiercing eyes from the young slave, who began to trembleand grow pale.The grand dame had hardly finished drinking when sev-eral hands reached out contending for the privilege of re-ceiving the cup back. Faustina then half rose amidst hercushions, leaned upon one elbow, and, while the two Greeks

at THE IRON COLLAR.renewed their fanning, a smile instinct with cruelty played

upon her lips as she fondled the pendants on the ears of thetwo youths. The smile exposed two rows of small white teethbetween her ruddy lips. Presently she said to the slave whobad clumsily spilt the drops of wine:"Philenie, down on your knees!"The frightened slave obeyed."Draw nearer," said Faustina; "still nearer—nearer still,within my reach."Philenie obeyed the orders."I feel very warm!" remarked the Eoman dame while theyoung female slave, a prey to increasing terror, approachedher mistress upon her knees and now almost touched her.When Faustina said that she felt warm the two young Greeksplayed their fans with redoubled vigor, while the slave whocarried Faustina's handkerchief rummaged in her perfumedhand-basket and passed to one of her companions a squarebit of richly embroidered linen with which the latter hastenedgently and respectfully to dry the forehead of her mistress.Philenie, guilty of clumsiness, awaited her fate on her knees,shaking with fear.•Faustina contemplated her for a moment with savage sat-isfaction, and then said:"The pin-cushion!"At these words the young slave stretched her suppliantarms to her mistress; but the latter, without even seemingto notice the imploring gesture, said to the gigantic Ethio-pian:"Erebus, bare her bosom—hold her firmly—hold herwrists."The Negro followed the directions of the dame, who there-

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 27upon took a singular and horrible instrument of torturefrom the hands of one of her women. The instrument con-sisted of a little flexible steel shaft, tipped with a small roundgold plate and a cushion of red silk. Fastened by the headin the cushion and well apart from one another were numerousneedles, whose sharp points protruded outward.1The Negro seized Philenie. Herself pale as a ghost, thewretched girl attempted no resistance. Her bosom was bru-tally bared, and amidst the lugubrious silence of all the otherslaves—they knew too well what punishment followed theslightest sign of sympathy—Faustina, leaning with one elbowon one of the pillows and with her cheek resting on her lefthand, took the pin-cushion with her right, imparted a slight

vibration to the flexible rod, and struck with its head thebreast of Philenie, who was firmly held in the arms of theEthiopian, on his knees behind the victim. At the sharppain inflicted by the pin-cushion, the poor girl uttered ascream and her white breast was dyed with little beads ofblood that rose to the surface of the skin.At the sight of the blood, at the scream of the victim,Faustina's black eyes, that until then seemed dead, suddenlyre-lighted. The female monster's smile became frightful;she straightened herself up in her seat, and said with a sortof ferocious affection:"Cry—my sweet treasure! Cry, my dove, do cry!"While saying these words Faustina redoubled the strokesof the pin-cushion until the slave's bosom was wholly em-purpled with a light spray of blood.Philenie succeeded in smothering the cries that the painforced to her throat; she feared that, by yielding to her1 Desobry.

aft THE IRON COLLAR.agony, she would excite still more the barbarity of her mis-tress, whose -features rapidly assumed a strange, unnaturalappearance. Suddenly the Eoman dame hurled the pin-cushion from her, half shut her eyes, threw herself down uponthe cushions, and, while her victim, almost fainting withpain, dropped into the arms of her companions, said languid-iy:"I am thirsty."Just as her slaves again hastened to meet their mistress'swishes, the thrilling sound of two little cymbals was heardwithout, from the side of the canal."The Thessalian sorceress! The sorceress! So soon ?" saidFaustina after once more emptying the _cup. "By all theFates and sisters of this old witch, I did not expect her quiteso soon." And turning to Erebus: "Let her in immediately,and order the barge that brought her to wait at the steps ofthe temple."The Thessalian sorceress was brought in by the Ethiope.Her complexion was coppery, her long tangled grey hair thatescaped from her black cape, half hid her hideous face. Ared leather belt, on which magical signs were traced in whiteand from which hung a little pouch, fastened her sable robearound her waist. The Thessalian held a little twig of hazelin her hand.At the sight of the sorceress all the slaves looked disturbed

and even frightened. But Faustina, impassive as a marblestatue whose paleness she shared, remained leaning on herelbow and addressed the Thessalian who stopped at the door:"Approach—approach—come beside me, osprey of hell!""You sent for me," said the sorceress stepping forward;"what do you wish?"

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. apSylvest was struck by the witch's voice and accent: the•wcman was old, yet her voice was sweet and youthful."I believe in your magic science as little as I do in th«power of the gods, at whom I laugh," replied Faustina. "Andyet I would like to consult you. I am to-day in one of myweak days.""Life does not believe in death—the sun does not believe indarkness," answered the old hag shrugging her shoulders;"and for all that the dark night comes—and for all that theblack grave arrives.—What do you want of me, nobleFaustina ? What is your pleasure ? I am at your orders.""You have heard of the famous gladiator, Mont-Liban,have you not?""Ha! Ha!" said the sorceress laughing strangely. "Hencjain! Always that Hercules of iron arms and a tiger'sheart!""What do you mean?""Do you see, noble Faustina, out of every ten noble dames•who resort to my magical charms, nine always begin as youhave done—they mention as the object of their amorous dreamsthe famous gladiator Mont-Liban."1"I love him!" exclaimed Faustina audaciously before herslaves, and as she said the words the Roman dame frownedominously, her nostrils were inflated and her whole frameseemed to thrill. "I desire to know whether he loves."The Thessalian raised her head, and fixedly looking at thegrand dame as if to fathom her thoughts, answered:"Faustina, you ask me what you know—all Orange isaware—and you also—that at the last combat in the circus,every time Mont-Liban held his adversary under his foot,1Desobry.

30 THE IRON COLLAR.and before plunging his weapon into the defeated gladiator'sthroat, he turned vith a savage smile and looked at a certain

place in the gilded gallery, waved a salute with his sword—and then slew his prostrate adversary.""And who occupied that place?""The seat was occupied by a new courtesan, newly arrivedfrom Italy—handsome enough to make Venus jealous—blonde, black-eyed and pink as a rose. A nymph by her shape—twenty-five or twenty-six years at the most—a ravishingwoman, and such a celebrity for beauty that she is knowneverywhere as the Beautiful Gaul."In the measure that the sorceress spoke Sylvest felt hisheart ache; and a cold sweat inundated his forehead. Hehad heard before of a Gallic courtesan recently arrived inOrange, but had never heard any details concerning her.Learning, however, from the Thessalian that the courtesancame from Italy, that she was twenty-five or twenty-six yearsof age, was blonde of hair and black of eyes, his memoryflew back to his sister Syomara, long ago and when still aninfant sold after the battle of Vannes to the patrician Try-malcion, who was on his way to Italy. Syomara would nowbe twenty-five or twenty-six years of age; her hair was blondeand her eyes were black. A horrible suspicion shot throughSylvest's mind. He sought to catch the witch's words withincreased anxiety.Faustina, on the other hand, thrown into ever1 deepergloom and malevolence in the measure that the old witchdilated on the rare beauty of the Gallic courtesan, listenedwithout interrupting the Thessalian, and the latter continuedamidst the profound silence of the slaves:"The Beautiful Gaul! Oh! Oh ! I know all about her—

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 31thanks to my magic charms," added the Thessalian with amysterious air. "It was a happy day to me when I learnedof her arrival," and breaking out into a singular peal oflaughter, that caused the Eoman dame to shudder, the horridlooking witch cried: "Ha! Ha! Ha! Beautiful Gaul!Adored belle! You will yet meet your night—on a night assilent and dark as the tomb, you will see that the black henhas hatched serpents' eggs!"Sylvest could not understand the meaning of these mysticwords, but the cruel expression of the witch's face terrifiedhim."Express yourself more clearly," said Faustina; "whatdo those mysterious words portend?"The sorceress shook her head and resumed:

"The hour has not yet arrived to tell you more. But whatI can now impart to you is that the Beautiful Gaul's nameis Syomara. She was re-sold at the time of the distributionof the inheritance of the rich seigneur Trymalcion, who leftbehind him such monuments of opulence and of imperial de-bauchery in Italy."Sylvest's last trace of doubt was wiped out—the Galliccourtesan was his own sister, his sister Syomara, whom hehad not seen for over eighteen years.1Faustina listened to the witch in somber silence and ob-served :"Accordingly Mont-Liban loves the courtesan ? Is he lovedby her?""You have said it, noble dame.""Listen—You pretend that your art is powerful. Could1See "The Brass Bell," which Immediately precedes this volumeIn tbe

32 THE IRON COLLAR.you instantly break the charm that attaches that man to thevile creature?""No; I can not do that. But I could predict to you wheth-er the charm will ever be broken—and whether soon, or late.""Then speak!" cried Faustina, who looked at that momentpaler and more malevolent than ever. "If your art is not afraud—tell me the future instantly—Speak!""And do you imagine that the future unveils itself to oureyes without any propitiatory ceremony?""Perform the ceremony. Be quick about it!""I need three things.""Which?""A thread of your hair.""Here it is," said Faustina, pulling out a thread of herblack hair through the gold net-work that adorned her head."Next I need a little ball of wax. It is to represent theheart of Syomara, the Beautiful Gaul. I shall shape the waxinto a heart, and pierce it with a gold needle.""Erebus," Faustina called to the gigantic Ethiopian, "takea piece of wax from yonder candle," and turning to thewitch, "what next?"The Thessalian spoke in a low voice at tke ear of theEoman dame."Must she be young—and handsome?""Yes, young and handsome," answered the magician witha smile that caused Sylvest to shudder. "I love youth—and

beauty.""Take your pick," replied Faustina with a wafture of herhand at the young female slaves who stood silent and motion-less around their mistress.The sorceress approached the group, carefully examined

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 33"the palms of the hands of several of the young girls, who,not daring to disclose their alarm in the presence of Faus-tina, furtively exchanged uneasy looks among themselves.The old hag at last made her selection. It was a charminggirl of fifteen. Her nut-brown complexion, her blue-blackhair told that her home was in southern Gaul. The Thes-salian took her by the hand and led her, trembling from headto foot, before the Eoman dame."This one will suit.""Take her!" answered Faustina, who was steeped in herown thoughts, and deigned not even to look at the younggirl, whose eyes, moist with tears, seemed humbly to imploremercy."A cup full of wine!" demanded the sorceress.The Ethiopian went to one of the ivory buffets for a cup,and filled it up.Faustina grew more and more somber. She passed herhand twice over her forehead, and harshly addressing the twoGreeks, who, their attention being drawn to the scene thatwas enacting before them, had neglected their duties as fan-ners, said:"Air!—more air! I am suffocating! No negligence—or Ishall have your shoulders gashed with the whip!"The two manumitted slaves did not allow the threat to berepeated. They played their fans with renewed activity.The Ethiopian having brought from the buffet a cup fullof wine, the sorceress drew a little flagon from her pouch,emptied its contents into the gold cup and presented it tothe slave whom she had chosen."Drink 1"

34 THE IRON COLLAR.Undoubtedly struck by a gloomy suspicion, the unhappygirl hesitated.Irritated at her slave's hesitation, Faustina cried to theslave in a threatening voice:"By Pluto! Will you drink?"

The young girl became ghostly pale, resigned herself,raised her eyes heavenward, approached the cup to her lipswith a hand that shook so violently that Sylvest heard thesound of the metal striking against the teeth of the ill-starred child. She drank, returned the cup to the Ethiopian,and dropped her head rith the dejection of one who renounceslife."Now," said the sorceress, "give me your two hands."The young Gallic girl obeyed mechanically. The sorceresstook from her pouch a bit of chalk and whitened with it thetips of the slave's fingers.This operation was barely over when the young girl becamelivid; her lips grew bluish; her eyes seemed to sink withintheir orbits; a chill ran over her limbs; feeling them giveway under her, she leaned against one of the tripods fromwhich the smoke of incense was still rising; she carried herhands to her head and then to her heart as if in a dream.With her chin resting on her hand, the Roman dame fol-lowed attentively the witch's movements."Why did you whiten her fingers with chalk?""For her to write upon the red carpet."A sepulchral silence reigned in the temple.All eyes were fixed upon the young Gallic slave.After she staggered and supported herself against thetripod, the girl seemed at first seized with a vertigo, mum-bled a few words, sank to the floor, rolled over the carpet

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 35and speedily writhed with horrible convulsions. In her agonyher hands alternately relaxed and contracted in pain, theybeat upon the heavy carpet that covered the floor, and thusleft upon it a series of white marks made by her fingers."Do you see? Do you see?" cried the magician to theRoman dame, who contemplated the contortions of her dyingslave with curiosity. "Do you see the white lines that herconvulsing fingers trace upon the carpet? Do you see whatshe writes? That is my conjuring book. It is there that Ishall in a moment be able to read whether the charm thatbinds Mont-Liban to Syomara will soon be broken or not."Little by little the convulsions of the young Gallicslave decreased in violence; presently she shook only feebly.After a few last shudders she expiredj and her whole bodystiffened with astonishing quickness."Eemove the corpse," said the sorceress. "I must nowread the decree of fate."

The gigantic Ethiopian raised the inanimate body of theGallic girl, walked towards the door that opened on thecanal, and disappeared.From his place of concealment Sylvest heard the splashof a body falling into deep water; a moment later he saw theEthiopian step back into the temple.Faustina pushed her cushions aside, rose and stepped closeto the sorceress, who, bent down over the carpet, seemed tobe intently engaged in deciphering the lines traced by thedying girl.Faustina also bent down, and followed the movements ofthe Thessalian with somber looks. The witch had piercedwith a gold needle the lump of wax that symbolized the heartof Syomara, the grand dame's rival, and had then threaded

36 THE IRON COLLAR.the needle with Faustina's hair; she then mumbled someconfused words and pricked here and there the white linestraced by the dying slave.From time to time Faustina questioned the sorceress withanxiety:"What do you read?""Nothing good, so far—""Chimera! Your magic is a fraud!" cried the Eomandame rising and looking disdainfully down at the witch. "Itis all idle play!""And yet here is a more favorable sign," proceeded the oldhag talking to herself, and without being in the least trou-bled by the words of Faustina. "Yes—yes—comparing thisline with that other one that is almost blotted out—it is good—very good!""Have you any hope?" asked Faustina, and she bent downagain near the witch."Nevertheless," resumed the latter raising her head, "hereis Syomara's heart turning three times around. Bad—a badomen!""I am a fool to listen to you!" cried Faustina rising inanger. "Begone! Leave this place—osprey of hell!—birdof ill omen! Strong is my desire to make you pay dear foryour impudence and imposition!""By Venus!" the magician suddenly exclaimed withoutseeming to have heard Faustina's imprecations. "I neverhave seen so plain a prediction, one that is so certain. Theselast three signs say so clearly.—Yes, the charm that bindsthe gladiator Mont-Liban and the Gallic girl Syomara will

be broken—Mont-Liban will prefer the noble Faustina toall other women. Aye, and that is not yet all. The whole

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 37future unrolls itself before my eyes. Aye, I see ye, furiesof hell—I see your hair of vipers. Brandish, brandish yourtorches! They throw light upon my eyes! I see—I see!"proceeded the Thessalian, who, now a prey to heighteningdelirium, threw her arms wildly about and whirled aroundon her toes.During this performance Sylvest observed somethingstrange. As the long and wide sleeves of the witch partedfor a moment, it looked to him as if the arms of the horridold hag of coppery and shriveled face were round and whitelike a young girl's.The witch continued in ever increasing agitation:"Furies! Brandish your torches! I see—I see the Gallicgirl Syomara! She falls into the power of the noble Faus-tina! Aye, Faustina holds her! Is she about to burn theflesh of her rival?—crush her bones?—tear out her palpitat-ing heart?—devour her?—Furies! Brandish your torches!Brandish them well! Let them light the future to me! Thewhole future! Furies! Furies! Assist me to see—assistme! But the lurid light is now extinguished," proceededthe witch in a faint voice; "I see nothing more—nothing—nothing. The darkness—of the grave—only that—nothingmore!"And the horrid old hag, livid, bathed in perspiration, pant-ing for breath, exhausted and her eyes shut, leaned againstone of the pillars while Faustina, unable to repress the sav-age joy that the prophecy filled her with, frantically seizedthe Thessalian by the hand in order to recall her to conscious-ness and cried:"Yours shall be ten thousand gold sous if your predictionis verified! Do you hear ? Ten thousand gold sous for you!"

38 THE IRON COLLAR."What prediction ?" asked the hag, seeming to awake froma dream and pushing her grey hair back from her forehead."What prediction are you speaking about? What have Ipredicted?""You predicted that Mont-Liban would prefer me to allother women!" cried Faustina in a voice that joy seemed tochoke. "You predicted that Syomara would fall into my

hands—that I would have her in my power—absolutely!""When the spirit withdraws from my body," answered thewitch now wholly herself again, "I know and remember noth-ing. If I made a prediction—my prediction will be verified.""And then you will be rewarded with ten thousand sous!Oh! I feel it in my soul. The prediction will be verified.My heart, now burning with love and vengeance tells me so!The gladiator for lover! My rival for victim! Love andblood! Evoe—Furies! Evoe—Priapus! Evoe—Bacchus!Wine, wine! Come ye all! Let one same round unite us:you, my African Hercules—you, my Greek Adonises—you,my nymphs of Lesbos! Wine for all—for all, wine!—flowers—perfumes—song—every intoxication—every one! Andmay the dawn find us exhausted but not yet satisfied !'nSaying this, the noble Eoman dame furiously tore the goldnet-works from her head and her breast. Her black hair,that she now shook as a lioness does her mane, fell over herbare shoulders and bosom, and encircled her pale face, nowradiant with a ghastly beauty. She emptied a large goldgobltt at a gulp, and thereby gave the signal for the orgy.Immediately the cups flew from hand to hand, while thelyres, flutes and cymbals struck up their wild, weird notes.1 According to Juvenal, the Bo- bauchery fatigued but not Bails-man empress Measallna returned to fled—laamita Hris, nondum tatiata,ber palace after a night of de- rtcettit.—(Jurenal, VI. 138.)

ORGIES OF FAUSTINA. 39The manumitted Greeks and the slaves, carried away by thefumes of wine and by both the example of and the terrorthat their infamous mistress inspired them with, startedjointly with her and the Ethiopian, and to the meter of las-civious f.ongs accompanied by music, a giddy dance that islumamable—monstrous.Sylvest was seized with horror and dizziness. At the riskof being discovered and killed, he quitted his place of con-cealment, glided down the nearest pillar, and, pursued by thedeafening uproar of the infernal orgy, fled from the ac-cursed temple into the garden.11 We have hardly dared indicate SI nlhll est, servls Incurritur ab-hete the monstrous state of deprav- stuleris spemIty to which* the grand Roman Servorum, venlet conductus aquar-dames had sunk, the emulators of jus. jjic si£X*8fft "^t£ WvEft Quaerltur. et desunt homines, morathat author closes the description nulla Per 1Psamof a nameless orgy with the fol- Quomlnus Imposlto clunem submlt-

lowlng verses : tat Asello !""Tune prurigo morae Impatlens, —Juvenal Satires IV.tune flamlna simplexEt toto parlter repartlbus clamor See also, on this subject, Mar-ab antro tlal, vol. I, p. 17, epigram on theJam fas est, admltte vlros! dorml- new Taslphae, p. 18, epigram ontat adulter! Bassa the Lesbian, and p. 379, toIlia Jubet sumpto Juvenem proper- Cella and her comely slave. Alsoare cucullo, Apulelus, The Golden As*.

CHAPTEK III.LOYSE AND SYLVEST.Distracted, almost bereft of his senses and neglectful of allprudence, Sylvest fled through the garden anxious only toleave the infernal temple far behind him. Thus running atrandom, a voice that was dear to his heart struck upon hisears and recalled him to himself."Sylvest!" cried the voice in the dark. "Sylvest!"It was the voice of Loyse, his wife—his beloved wife—hiswife by virtue of their secret vows, taken in the name of thegods of their fathers. The slave has no wife in his master'seye.Although dawn could not be far distant, the night was stillsable. The slave groped his way in the direction whenceLoyse's voice had proceeded, and fell into her arms, unable,at first, to utter a word.Frightened at Sylvest's prostration, .Loyse supported herhusband, and with no little difficulty guided his steps to anarbor of rose bushes and lemon trees in full bloom. The twoslaves threw themselves upon a bench of moss raised at thefoot of a marble statue."Sylvest," said his wife with increased uneasiness, "col-lect yourself. What ails you ? Speak to me, I pray you!"The slave recovered slowly, and passionately pressing hiswife to his heart answered:"Oh ! I revive—I revive! Beside you I breathe a pure

LOYSE AND SYLVEST. 41air. The air of that accursed temple is poisoned. It crazedme!""What is that you say!" cried Loyse affrighted. "Yousurely were not inside of the temple?""I was waiting for you near the canal, our ordinary tryst-ing place. I saw people approaching from a distance with

lanterns in their hands. In order that they might not dis-cover me, I climbed up one of the pillars of the temple. Hid-den behind the cornice I witnessed monstrous mysteries. Myhead swam—I ran away, and I still wonder whether I havenot been the sport of some horrible dream!""No, it was no dream," replied the young woman with ashudder. "It is as you said. Monstrous mysteries are en-acted in that temple where my mistress Faustina never goesbut on the day that the pagans consecrate to Venus. Thatwas day before yesterday. So I thought the neighborhood ofthe temple would be free to-night. Mindful of our appoint-ment, I was surprised and frightened when, from the spin-ning-room where we work, I saw the light of torches in theboat rowed on the canal towards the temple."Being delayed, myself, I looked to find you, my beloved,ahead of me.""Yes, I came later than I meant to," answered the youngwoman with marked embarrassment and an accent of sad-ness that struck Sylvest."Loyse, what has happened?" he inquired. "Your voiceis sad—you sigh—your hand trembles—you have some reve-lation to make to me.""No—no—my Sylvest, I have no revelation to make. Iti-j always difficult for me, as you know, to leave the spinning-

42 THE IRON COLLAR.room. This evening I had to wait a long time—longer thanusual, for a favorable opportunity—""Truly? Nothing went amiss?""No, I assure you—""Loyse, my love, it seems to me you are not answering mewith your wonted frankness—something troubles you—""Because I still shudder at the thought of the danger thatyou have been running. What a misfortune, had you beenfound hiding in the temple I""Oh, Loyse—I tell you—it was like a frightful dream! Thetorture—the death—the witch—and then—my sister. Mer-ciful gods! My own sister the rival of that monster! Mysister a courtesan! Oh! I assure you, it is enough to makeone crazy!""Your sister the rival of Faustina! Your sister a cour-tesan ? But for more than eighteen years you have not knownwhether she was dead or alive!""She is alive; she lives in Orange since a short time ago.She" is known by the name of the Beautiful Gaul. Notlater than this morning did my master inform me that he

was smitten with her.""Your master? The seigneur Diavolus?""Yes—you may judge of my feelings now that I knowthat the courtesan in question is my own sister. Should Ibless the day when I shall meet again the companion of mychildhood—that sister whom I have so often wept! Youknow, Loyse, that sister whom, as a presage of honor, mymother Henory named after our ancestress Syomara, theproud and chaste Gallic matron! Or shall I curse the dayon which I learned of my sister's infamy—a courtesan! Oh!shame and sorrow to me! Oh! shame and disgrace to her!"

LOYSE 'AND SYLVEST. 43"Alack! torn as a child from her parents, sold, as you toldme, to an infamous man—beautiful and a slave! In slavery,beauty is a badge of shame—it means subservience to a mas-ter's debaucheries—death is the only gate of escape!""Hold, Loyse! You know not what horrid thought cameti me during this night of horrors! When I saw those un-happy girls, slaves like myself, beautiful, like you—young,like my Loyse—""Beautiful as I!" broke in the young woman in a strangeaccent and suppressing a sigh. "Beautiful as I !"—"No," proceeded Sylvest without at first noticing the ex-pression in Loyse's voice; "no, not as beautiful as you, Loyse!Their's is not, like yours, that celestial beauty that is freefrom all soilure! So, then, to-night, seeing them so youngand yet so thoroughly debased by slavery and the terror ofpunishment, I said to myself: If, instead of, by the blessingof the gods, having been always far removed from the in-famous eyes of her mistress and of Faustina's enfranchisedslaves, Loyse had ever come within their sight, then I mighthave beheld her also, this very night, in the midst of theseorgies—and she—"But shuddering at the recollections of the night and atthe fear that they conjured up in his mind, the slave sud-denly held in. Moreover, the feeble approaches of dawnpeeped through the arbor; he pressed his wife in his armsand proceeded:"Let us cast these frightful thoughts from us, my Loyse!Day is about to break—there are only a few moments left tous—no sad thoughts shall trouble them. Let us speak ofyourself, and of that hope at once so bitter and so sweet—amother! You a mother! Oh! Why should slavery force

44 THE IRON COLLAR.me to pronounce with sorrow and even apprehension a wordthat the gods have blessed—the word 'mother' 1""My dearly beloved husband!" rejoined Loyse tearfullyand as if impatient to shorten the conversation, "you saidto yourself, day is about to break—it is a long distance fromhere to Orange. You must leave the park before you areseen. The field slaves will soon be led out to their work,and their keepers might run across you. Go, I beg you—adieu—adieu!""Loyse, one minute more! Wait at least till the first lightof morning permit me to behold your cherished face! Helas!It is so long since I have enjoyed that happiness! It is atnight, only at night that it is possible for me to come toyou!"Sylvest tenderly threw his arms around his wife, seatednext to him on the bench of verdure. In his devotion theslave dropped upon his knees, took his wife's hands in hisown and kissed them with an ecstasy that caused him for amoment to forget the trials and sorrows of slavery. Therising sun was tinting the trees with a ruddy hue. In themorning's freshness the lemon trees emitted a sweeter andmore aromatic odor. Thousands of birds began twitteringamidst the foliage, saluting the orb of day. It soon waslight enough for Sylvest to observe that his wife turned herhead aside and hid her face in one of her hands, and by theconvulsion of her bosom he perceived that she wept andsought to suppress her sobs."You weep!" he cried; "you turn your face from me?Loyse, in the name of our mutual love, tell me, what ails mywife? Tell me!""My friend, I conjure you!" she answered, seeking to

LOYSE AND SYLVEST. 4Swithdraw her face from her husband, all the more now thatit was growing rapidly light. "Eeturn to your master—de-part—depart instantly, if you love me!""Depart before having seen your face? Depart withouta kiss, a single farewell kiss?""Yes," she answered amid sobs. "Yes, depart—go awaywithout looking at me—you must—I want you to—I begyou!""Depart without looking at you?" Sylvest answered inwonderment.

As his wife quickly drew her other hand from that of herhusband and completely hid her face, and, unable any longerto control her feelings, gave a loose to her long repressedsobs, Sylvest rose to his feet alarmed, and despite the wo-man's resistance removed her hands from her face. Thesight that met Sylvest's eyes made him start; he took severalsteps back, and emitted a loud cry that seemed to tear hisheart to pieces—it was a cry of intense pain.The last time that Sylvest had seen Loyse her skin waswhite as a lily; her blue eyes of the color of the sky wereveiled in long eye-lashes; the woman's charming featureswere of exquisite purity, and when she smiled the sad andresigned smile of the slave, her cherry lips assumed an ex-pression of celestial sweetness.Yes; such was Loyse. Now, behold how Sylvest saw herby the light of this morning's rising sun. One of the woman'seyes seemed extinguished, the other, with lashes singed, lookedout between discolored eye-lids. The skin of the face seemedburned and cracked as if it had been exposed over a flamingbrasier. Her lips were bloated and gashed as if they hadbeen dipped into some boiling hot liquid. And yet, despite

4fl THE IRON COLLAR.its hideous frightfulness, the poor face was still, perhaps nowmore than ever, expressive of ineffable gentleness.Sylvest's first impulse was to weep in silence all the tearsthat welled up from his heart, while he contemplated hiswife who said to him mournfully:"I am very ugly, am I not?"Sylvest, however, believing that his wife had been torturedand disfigured into her present shape by Faustina, whom heknew to be capable of all manner of crimes, bounded backwith a roar, and shaking his fist in the direction of thetemple of infamous orgies cried:"Faustina, I shall throttle you! Aye, I will, even if Ihave to be burned over a slow fire for it. I shall tear outyour entrails.""Sylvest, you are mistaken; it is not she!""Who, then, is it that has thus mutilated and disfiguredyou?""Myself—""You, Loyse! You—No—no—You are trying to calmmy anger!""It was myself, I assure you! I swear to you, my Syl-vest! I swear in the name of the child that I now carryunder my heart."

What was there to be done before such an oath? To be-lieve—to believe without understanding the painful mystery."Listen, Sylvest," resumed Loyse; "all of us, the weavingand spinning slaves in the factory, being consigned to thebuildings that are at a considerable distance from the palaceof Faustina, never saw either her or her manumitted slaveswho are as vicious as herself. I know not what unlucky

LOYSE AND SYLVEST. 4JTchance took the favorite slave of our mistress, a black Ethio-pian, this morning to the weaving and spinning room—""I saw the man this very night.""He crossed the yard at the moment when I happened tobe stretching in the sun some of the linen that we wove. Hestopped before me, and looked at me fixedly. The first wordsthat he uttered were an insult. I wept. He laughed at mytears, and said to the woman who superintends our labors:'Take that slave to the palace.' The superintendent an-swered that she would obey. The K"egro added that if Ishould refuse to go to my mistress willingly, I would betaken to her by force.""Aye, the day of vengeance must come, and it will beterrible—terrible will be that day of vengeance!""Sylvest, as you know, I am not, like most of my unhappycompanions, a slave's daughter, and corrupted from my veryinfancy. I was fifteen years old when I was made a prisonerb]( the Eomans at the siege of Paris where the aged Camal-ogene commanded the Gallic forces. My family perished atthe battle after a heroic defense, and I was sold to a slave-merchant. I was then brought to this country and wasbought by the intendant of Faustina's factory. I have pre-served the pride of my race which I took in with my mother'smilk. But for the thought of the child that I carry I wouldthis morning, like a true Gallic woman and following theexample of our grandmothers, have escaped inevitable dis-grace by death. I would have felt sure that I would continueto live honored in your memory and praised by your worthymother Henory whom I would meet and travel with in theworlds beyond. But I am to be a mother. For several monthsI have carried the fruit of our love under my heart. Whether

$ THE IRON COLLAR.it was feebleness or reason, for its sake I did not wish to die.I was therefore constrained to parry off the disgrace that I

was threatened with. Therefore, this very evening, beforecoming to meet you—that was the cause of my delay— I wentinto the dyeing room—I armed myself with courage, mySylvest, and-did so by keeping both you and our child stead-ily in my mind, together with the alternative of the disgracethat awaited me. I poured a corrosive liquid into a vase—and I quickly plunged my face into it." The Gallic womanclosed her distressful narrative with a gesture of pride: "Nowtell me, is your wife worthy of your mother ?""Oh, Loyse!" cried Sylvest, dropping at the feet of thebrave creature and looking up to her in adoration; "You arenow far more than beautiful in my eyes—you are a saint!—a saint like Hena, the daughter of Joel, the gentle and sweetvirgin of the Isle of Sen! You are a saint even as her an-cestress Syomara!"1"Sylvest!" suddenly exclaimed Loyse in a hushed voice,rising precipitately and listening with terror; "keep silent—I hear steps—and the sound of chains. Oh, unhappy me!You will be discovered in the park! We have quite forgot-ten that it is broad daylight. Oh!" and Loyse looked intent-ly through the foliage of the arbor."Is it your mistress that you see?""No—she must have returned to the palace by the canal.""Whom, then, do you see?""The slaves—they are being led out to the field. You arelost!"The arbor of rose bushes and lemon trees was not thickJSee "The Gold Sickle", the Initial volume of Sue's great work.

LOYSE AND SYLVEST•. 49enough to conceal the couple. Hardly had the young womanuttered the last words when she and Sylvest were descriedin the arbor by three men armed with long whips; behindthem tramped a chain-gang of slaves, clad in rags and theirheads shaved smooth. Some carried implements of agricul-ture, others dragged wagons behind them.At the sight of Sylvest and his wife the three keepers rantowards them, the gang of slaves stopped, and the couple inthe arbor was surrounded by their discoverers."What are you doing here?" said one of them raising hiswhip over Loyse, while the other two threw themselves uponSylvest, who, being unarmed, neither would nor could offerany resistance."I am a slave of the factory," answered Loyse, while Syl-vest trembled for his wife.

"You lie!" said the keeper to Loyse with a look of dis-gust, so repulsive had her face become. "I often go to thefactory, and if there was any such looking monster as youamong the slaves who work there, I would surely have noticedit.""Bead my name on my collar," replied Sylvest's wife point-ing to the metal band around her neck.The keeper read aloud in the Roman tongue:" 'Loyse is the slave of Faustina, Patrician.'""You are Loyse!" exclaimed the keeper; "you whose beautyI noticed only day before yesterday as I went by the factory':Answer, villain, who disfigured you in that way? Is thiswitchery, or some knavery? Did you do that yourself inimitation of the gallows-birds who mutilate themselves inorder to spite their master by reducing their own price? Willyou finish your fine handiwork by rushing, as some even

SO THE IRON COLLAR.worse hell-rakes do, into the midst of the combats of wildanimals to have yourself torn to pieces by them1 and in thatway injure our mistress by destroying her property? Oho!you wicked thing! See how you destroyed your face! Youhave injured our mistress by fully three-fourths of yourprice! No one would want such a monster as you, unless itbo as a bogey for his children! Well! Well! You have hadthe audacity of disfiguring yourself—one of the handsomestslaves of our noble mistress! You who could be sold not onlyas a good working slave, but as a slave of first class beauty!Ah! you double-dyed criminal! Walk ahead of me, you willbe thoroughly whipped, as you deserve. By Pollux, I shallrecommend to the executioner that he put new thongs in hiswhip."With an angelic look and a voice that matched it, Loysecalmed the furious rage into which the keeper's threats threwSylvest. She answered the former:"No, you will not have me to suffer any ill-treatment!""And who is to prevent me, Delight of the switches?"2"The interest of our mistress—I am with child—by beat-ing the mother the child would be killed—a child is of valueto our masters.""You are with child! You are fooling! These shamelesscreatures are always with child whenever their skin is threat-ened with a strapping! But the matron of the lying-in1A frequent resort of slaves to (Tne Woman and, the Donkey) ofescape from their horrible 'ot. Plautus, the following such ex-

1 The punishments and tortures presslons are found: "GymnasiumInflicted on the slaves were as nu- of the switches, hail!" "How goesmerous as varied Hence these un- It with thee, Prison pillar?" "Pre-fortunate onet were familiarly server of the chains," "Joy of theflven the names of the penalties thongs." See also the name appliedthey underwent. In the Asinaria to Sylvest. below.

LOYSE AND SYLVEST. 51slaves will soon enough find out whether you are telling thetruth."Turning thereupon towards Sylvest, who was firmly heldby the other two men, the keeper proceeded:"And you, jail-bird, what are you doing here? To whomdo you belong, Dear child of the leather lash?""His name is Sylvest. He belongs to seigneur Diavolus,a noble Eoman of Orange," answered one of the two menwho held Sylvest and who read the inscription engraved onthe collar that the slave wore around his neck."Oh! You belong to seigneur Diavolus ?" replied the keep-er. "You will be taken back to your master, and I hope hewill reward you according to your deserts."At the moment of separating from his wife Sylvest saidto her in the Gallic tongue, which the keeper and his mendid not understand:"At the next moon meet me near the wall of the park, tothe left of the canal. Whatever may happen, unless betweennow and then I die, I shall be there. Adieu, my adoredwife, my saint! Think of our child!""Think of yourself," answered Jx>yse; "think of us all,my Sylvest!""Enough! Enough of that barbaric jargon, which is goodonly to conceal evil intentions!" broke in the keeper, rudelypushing Loyse before him in order to take her back to thefactory, while Sylvest was marched to the city of Orangetinder the guidance of the other two men.Among Faustina's slaves, in the midst of whom Sylvest wasnow placed and chained to two Spaniards, were several Gauls.Sylrest soon discovered that he was not the only one of thegang who attended the previous evening the secret meeting

53 THE IRON COLLAR.of the Sons of the Mistletoe. At a moment that the keepershappened to be a little distance away, Sylvest heard the tworobust slaves who dragged the wagon behind them hum thesong:"Oh, flow, flow, thou blood of the captive!

Drop, drop, thou dew of gore! "To which Sylvest answered with the following verse ofthe same chant:"Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest I"The song had been sung for the first time that very nightin the cavern of the deserted valley. The two slaves recog-nized Sylvest as one of the Sons of the Mistletoe, exchangedlooks of intelligence with him, and all the three hummed inchorus the closing lines of the song while keeping a sort ofsinister time with the clank of their chains:"Hasten, you mower, hasten!Whet your scythe, whet it! Whet your scythe!"When the keepers returned to the gang, the three Gaulsstopped humming. The gate of Orange was presently reach-ed. While one of the keepers who remained in charge of thegang led the field laborers to their work, the other orderedSylvest to march before him, and took him to his master,seigneur Diavolus.

THE SLAVE'S RUSE.CHAPTEE IV.Sylvest's master, seigneur Diavolus, was a descendant of anoble Eoman family, that established itself in ProvencalGaul since its conquest by the Romans two centuries ago andthat had contributed its share to transform the country intoa new Italy. Young, dissipated, debauched and indolent asall the nobility of his race, seigneur Diavolus would haveconsidered himself disgraced by work.1 Accordingly, helived on loans raised from usurers, whilst impatiently wait-ing for the death of his father, seigneur Claudius, whosevast revenues flowed from the labor of two or three thousandslaves skilled in all manner of trades and whom he hired outto entrepreneurs. The latter, in turn, exploited the wretchedcaptives-, and thus the labors of these had to yield at oncelarge revenues for their master and a profit for the entre-preneurs, who, having to furnish the keep of the slaves, al-lowed them to remain almost naked and furnished them witha food that animals would have turned away from. Crushed1 The Homan nobles professed the the morale of slavery, such the menhighest contempt for work, but they It produces."—Naudet, notes tolived In magnificence off the fruits Plautus' Woman and the Donkey,of the labor of their slaves. vol. 1, p. 382."Crassus, who bent himself to "I have built up for myself aacquire fortune, had a multitude of flne race of industry. Muleteersslaves, whom he caused to be In- have mules for beasts of burden;

structed In all manner of artisan I serve myself with men of burden,handicrafts. Thence flowed an 1m- They are lusty ; whatever load onemense revenue for him, but they, lays on their backs, they carry."—the producers of It, had no profit Plautus, The Ghost, p. 285.of It save what they stole; such la

54 THE IRON COLLAR.dcwn by the weight of toil, exhausted with fatigue and hun-ger, if the slave's strength failed him he was speedily revivedwith the lash, the goad;1 often also with red-hot irons, themarks of which furrowed his back and limbs. And thesewere only minor punishments. Tardiness, let alone a refusalto work, or rebellion, was visited with atrocious andvaried punishments that ranged from torture up to death.Taken back to his master by Faustina's men, Sylvest wasprepared for severe chastisement. Absent from the houseduring the whole night and without permission, he was nowreturning at so late an hour in the morning that he failed inhis domestic duties. Sylvest was a valet. Although in somerespects this occupation was less hard, it often proved moretrying to the slave than that of field or factory work. Syl-vest had been assigned to his present occupation in thecourse of events that followed the horrible death of his fatherGuilhern, of which he will speak later. Yes, Sylvest gladlysubmitted to this servile condition; although of a proud andfree stock, and grandson of the brenn of the tribe of Karnak,he preferred that form of slavery because he knew that onthe great day of retribution and deliverance, an importantrole would devolve upon the town and domestic slaves inshaking off the Eoman yoke.Reduced to the employment of ruse until the moment whenforce should become applicable, Sylvest, like so many othersof his companions, concealed his hatred for oppression andhis love for freedom and his country behind the mask ofhumility and light-heartedness. He always had a joke onhis lips; he affected joviality, the currishness of the good1This goad was a staff tipped In the fire and applied to the dlf-wlth a point which wa« reddened ferent parts of the body.—Nandet.

THE •SLAVE'S RUSH. 55valet, and even played the ready tool for his master's de-baucheries. In secret he rejoiced at the evil instincts of meperverse and cruel seigneur Diavolus. It delighted him to seethe wicked and hardened soul going to perdition in this world

and thus destining itself to perpetual misery in the nextworlds. These thoughts and sentiments assisted Sylvest inpatiently waiting for the great day of vengeance.Oh, my son! You for whom I trace these lines, in obe-dience to my father's orders, as he obeyed the same ordersfrom his father, you will excuse my cowardly dissimulation—you will curse only those who forced it upon me. Alas! Thetime for breaking our chains and for battling in the open asour forefathers did, has not yet arrived. Moreover, my child,however stalwart a race may be, the poisoned air of slaverypenetrates it and lowers its tone.You will see in these family annals that our grandmotherMargarid as well as the other women of our family killedtheir own children and afterwards themselves in their uncon-querable aversion to slavery. Nevertheless, my father Guil-hern, full grown man though he was, resigned himself to aslavery that his own father Joel would not have endured fora single day. No, at the first favorable opportunity, hewould have killed his son, and himself immediately after-wards. And in turn, my father, ever silent and savage likea chained wolf, would not have played his role in slavery asI am now doing. And so it may happen, poor child, that,condemned from your birth to slavery, should our freedomnot be reconquered in your lifetime, you will fall still fur-ther than myself from the superb hatred for bondage—oneof the virile virtues of our ancestors. Nevertheless, it is inthe hope that their example may inspire you with the neces-

S6 THE IRON COLLAR.sary strength to struggle against such a degradation that Ibequeath to you these family stories, and that I add my ownto them.Accordingly, Sylvest was taken back in the morning to hismaster. Seigneur Diavolus inhabited a magnificent house inthe city of Orange, not far from the circus where the gladia-torial combats are delivered, and where, occasionally, slavesare thrown to the wild beasts.The porter, dressed in a green livery, the master's color,was, as is the custom, chained to the vestibule by the neck,like a watch dog.1 Having twice sought to flee he was pun-ished with the loss of both his ears and his nose. Only two-holes were visible where his nose belonged. His head wassmoothly shaven; on his forehead the two letters F and <J?stood legibly branded.2 He was a Gaul of Auvergne, alwayssomber and sullen. Seigneur Diavolus originally gave him

the name of "Cerberus," by reason of his functions as por-ter; but after he ordered the porter's nose cut off he nick-named him "Camus." His chain's length allowed him toreach only as far as the door. He opened it to the keeperwho had Sylvest in charge, after the latter announced him-1 "la the vestibule wag stationed vent him from putting his hand tothe porter, chained like a dog, his mouth and eating the meal. An-dressed in green, and with a cherry- axarchus muzzled the slaves whocolored belt; he was shelling made bread, lest they soil It withvetches Into a silver platter. Under their breath."—Wallon, History ofthe lintel was hung a gold cage Slavery in Antiquity, vol. I, p. 227.with a magpie, which greeted withits cries all who entered."—Petron- ' "Then Eumolpe, with a trainedius. Satires, vol. I, p. 131. hand, covered our faces over withThere were, however, precautions the letters with which fugitivemore horrible and more degrading slaves are regularly branded, withstill. "For the baker slaves, says a hot Iron."—Petronlus, Satires,Pollux (Onomasticon, X),there was vol. I, p. 79. The letters were aInvented a sort of wheel which they Greek <}> and a Latin F, the Initialspassed over the slave•s head to pre- of the respective words for fugitive.

THE SLAVE'S RUSE. 57self with the bronze knocker that represented an obscenefigure.A kitchen slave, named "Four-Spices," happened to stepfrom a passage into the vestibule at the very moment of Syl-vest's and the keeper's arrival. Four-Spices having once runaway from a previous master, had been punished with theloss of his lower right leg, which was now replaced by awooden stump. He was a Swiss by nationality, and of un-shakable fortitude in pain, as he proved on a certain occa-sion when seigneur Diavolus, having ordered a surmullet fromItaly at the cost of a hundred gold sous, invited his friendsto partake of the dainty dish. It turned out that the sur-mullet was badly cooked. Angered thereat, Diavolus or-dered Four-Spices before his guests, had him strapped face-down to a bench and made the assistants beat him with lard-ing-pins greased with pig's fat.1 Four-Spices underwent theatrocious operation without emitting a moan, and that not-withstanding, the cooking was thereafter more exquisite thanever before. Two months later, however, he confidentiallywarned Sylvest and the other slaves that on that day, a grandfeast being given by the master, all the dishes would be pois-oned. Sylvest, who considered such a vengeance cowardlyand excessive, had great difficulty in dissuading Four-Spices

from his project and succeeded only after intimating to himthat a speedy revolt of all the slaves was in preparation."Oh, my poor comrade!" said the cook to Sylvest themoment he saw him, "a lamprey skinned alive is not as rednor less bloody than your back will shortly be. Our masterJ3 furious—I have never seen him in such a rage. If onlyyou had let me do as I wanted—and yet—" saying which1Desobry, The Romans in the Auguitian Age.

58 THE IRON COLLAR.Four-Spices made with his fingers the motion of taking apinch of powder, meaning thereby to remind Sylvest of theprojected stroke of poisoning.Certain, on his part, of the fate in store for him, Sylvestsaid to Faustina's keeper: "Follow me, I shall lead you tomy master's room."The two entered Diavolus' chamber. The seigneur wasin his morning gown. At the sight of his slave he becamepale with rage, and threatening him with his fist cried be-fore the keeper had time to say a word:"Ha! Scamp! You have come at last! By Pollux! I shallnot leave an inch of skin on your back, nor a nail on yourfingers! I came home last night imperially drunk, and therewas no one to carry me to bed! No one this morning to puton my shoes, to dress me, to comb me, to curl my hair,1 toshave me! Where do you come from, infamous scamp ?""Seigneur," said the keeper, "we surprised the vagabondearly this morning in the park of our honored mistress Faus-tina. We found him there with one of our mistress' femalefactory slaves. Instead of punishing the wretch, we fol-lowed our mistress' instructions on the consideration that thenobility observes towards one another, and we brought himto you.""Here—this is for you," replied Diavolus, handing a pieceof silver to the keeper. "You will greet Faustina in Dia-volus' name, and assure her that the bandit will receive con-dign punishment for his audacity in entering the noble lady'spark."The keeper left; Sylvest remained alone with his master.1 Desobry.

THE SLAVE'S RUSE. 59"And so, you gallows-bird!" cried Diavolus, "you gpentthe night outside of the city gates, running after a—"

"That's it—'Take your chances of a strapping, of a brand-ing with hot irons,.even of death if necessary, in your mas-ter's service!'" Sylvest put in brazenly and interrupting hismaster, "that's the reward we get here!""How, truant! Dare you—""'Deprive yourselves of sleep, tire yourselves out withrunning in your master's behalf—and this is the way inwhich you are received!""By Hercules! Am I awake, or am I asleep?""Go your way, seigneur, you do not deserve to have sucha slave as me!""Just look at him—the fellow scolds me I""But henceforth I shall no longer be foolish enough to runthe risk of breaking my neck in the effort to serve you.""If I only had a cane here!" exclaimed Diavolus lookingaround the room, stupefied at the increasing effrontery of hisslave. "How is that, scamp ? Is it in order to serve me thatyou go making love to one of your likes a league away fromhere?""Is it, perchance, in my own service?""The impudent scamp!""All masters are ingrates!""Decidedly, the wretch must be affecting idiocy in orderto escape the punishment that he deserves!""You call me an idiot!—me? I never have been more inmy senses. What was it you said to me yesterday morning?""Yesterday morning?""Yes, seigneur—'Oh, my dear Sylvest!'—because when-ever you need me I am your 'dear.'"

60 THE IRON COLLAR."By Jupiter! This insolence has gone far enough! Willthere be switches enough to gash your back with I"1" 'Oh, my dear Sylvest!' you said to me; 'night and day Ican think of nothing else than the dazzling beatuy of thatcourtesan whom they call the Beautiful Gaul, and who re-cently arrived from Italy. I saw her only once, at the circus,at the gladiatorial combat; I dote upon her. But a goldbridge will be needed to reach her—and that old fool of myfather, the measly old fellow, the miser, the curmudgeon,does not die.' Pardon me, my master, for speaking in theseterms of seigneur Claudius! I am only repeating your ownwords to me.""How is that, you impudent chatterer! Do you mean, tomake me believe that your last night's excursion, which you

employed in making love to one of Faustina's slaves, has anyconnection with my love for the Beautiful Gaul?""I am telling but the truth, seigneur.""By Hercules! The fellow is playing with me! Youknow, I hope, a certain bench that is furnished with a bridge,pulleys and weights?""Yes, seigneur, I know it perfectly. I have been there.You are stretched out on that bench with your hands tiedover your head; a heavy weight is then attached to your feet;and then by means of an ingeniously contrived wheel the ropethat your hands are tied with is violently stretched; it fol-lows inevitably that, what with the weight at your feet andthe tension at your hands, your limbs are dislocated and thepatient's length is increased by several lines—"2, „„, to the men who will crack your1"You hare just now made proor bones »—piautus. Truculentus (Theof my gentleness, my kindness I Brutai Man), TO!. IX, p. 305.Interrogated you^by^^grea^strokes ,PlautuB> j_,inaria (The Womangibbet. WTake care lest I send you and the Donkey), p. 249.

THE SLAVE'S RUSE. 61"And you will be lengthened into a giant, shameless buf-foon, if you do not on the spot prove to me the connectionbetween your last night's excursion and the Beautiful Gaul!""Seigneur, did you not when you spoke to me of the Gallicgirl say: 'Oh, my dear Sylvest! If you could only scheme ascheme by which I could approach that beauty!' Did you notseigneur ?""Miserable wretch, what has that got to do with Faustina'sslave?""A happy accident reminded me that a slave of my coun-try, a girl who is employed by Faustina's intendant in thenoble dame's weaving factory, said to me only the other day,or rather, the other night; because you know, seigneur, thatwhen you leave the house to attend the banquets that last twodays and three nights, you occasionally grant me a few hoursof freedom;—well, I remembered that Faustina's slavedropped a few words about our country woman, the BeautifulGaul. Not knowing at the time that the matter might be ofinterest to you, I paid little attention to what she said. Butyesterday, after you confided your secret to me, the wordscame back to my mind. I was almost certain to see theslave at the place where she frequently comes to meet me atall hazards. Thinking I would be back before you at thehouse, I ran to Faustina's villa, saw the slave, and spoke to

her of the Gallic girl. Oh, seigneur! If you only knewwhat I then learned! The Beautiful Gaul is my own sister!""Your sister! You lie! You are trying to escape the lashwith that yarn!""Seigneur, I tell you the truth. The Beautiful Gaul mustbe about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age; she is, likemyself, from Breton Gaul; she was bought when a little

<to THE IRON COLLAR.child, after the battle of Vannes, by an old and rich Romanpatrician named Trymalcion.""Sure enough, Trymalcion, who died long ago, left in Italya great reputation for magnificence and extreme originalityin his amorous orgies. How! Could it be possible! Canthe Beautiful Gaul be this fellow's sister?" observed Dia-volus talking aloud to himself, and wholly oblivious of hisrecent towering rage. "Your sister? She?"Much as it cost Sylvest to speak of his own wife and sisterwith such levity, the slave had fully made up his mind, andresigned himself to the simulation. His plan was formed.The conversation with his master was, however, interruptedby the arrival of one of Diavolus' friends.

CHAPTEE V.DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.The friend of seigneur Diavolus who interrupted the con-versation on the Beautiful Gaul was a young and :nch Gaulof Gascony named Norbiac, the son of one of the traitorswho attached themselves to the Roman cause.Diavolus was celebrated for his debaucheries, his debts andhis concubines. Seigneur Norbiac took him for his modeland strove to imitate him in point of insolence, in point ofimmorality and even in the style of his dress. These degen-erate Gauls disowned their native customs, their languageand their gods; the height of their ambition was to copyslavishly the habits and the vices of the Romans.After the exchange of a few friendly words, Sylvest's mas-ter said to the young Gallic seigneur:"You will excuse me, Norbiac, for shaving in your presence.I am this morning much behind hand with my toilet, allthanks to this vagabond," and Diavolus pointed at Sylvest,"whose bones I was just about to order broken on the wheelwhen you came in—""I also killed one of my slaves this morning," answered

Norbiac puffing out his cheeks; "it is the only way to treatthese animals."Sylvest in the meantime had made ready to shave Dia-volus. Every time that the slave thus had his master's throatat his mercy, as be promenaded the razor over it, he asked

64 THE IRON COLLAR.himself with ever fresh astonishment whether it was due toexcessive confidence in their slaves, or to excessive contemptfor them that masters, who were often merciless, every dayplaced their lives at the mercy of their victims. But Sylvestwas incapable of taking revenge by so cowardly a murder.While he shaved Diavolus the conversation continued unin-terrupted between the latter and his visitor."I came," said the young Gaul, "to bring some bad newsand to ask a service of you, my dear Diavolus.""First of all, unload the bad news, we shall afterwardstalk of the service that you desire from me; bitters beforesweets.""Oh, my friend! It takes you Eomans to give such agree-able turns to things—'bitters before sweets'!" Norbiac re-peated with an air of delightful admiration. "What bar-barians we Gauls are beside you. Our Gallic race is coarseand savage. Well, as you put it, I shall first unload thebad news.""What is it?""I have just learned from one of my friends who has ar-rived from the interior of Gaul, that our brave Eoman armyhas, alas! started on its march back to Italy—""You say 'our' Eoman army? You, conquered Gauls?"broke in Diavolus laughing. "That word surely proceedsfrom a decidedly peace-loving heart.""Certainly 'our' brave Eoman army—and is it not that,indeed ? Is not the army that protects our enjoyments trulybrave and truly dear to us all ? If, in obedience to the fate-ful order of Octavius Augustus, it returns to Italy, the con-temptible populations of the center and the west of Gaulthat have been suppressed with so much trouble will surely

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 65attempt a fresh revolt at the call of their hell-rakes of druids.Jl•ew Chiefs of the Hundred Valleys will immediately spring'-p; new Abiorixes, new Drapeses will rise from the earth.The revolt will spread; it will reach Orange. Then good-bye to our pleasures, to our giddy night orgies, to our ban-

quets that last from sun to sun I""Be easy-, Xorbiac. Octavius knows what he is about. Ifhe withdraws the Roman army from the west and the centerof Gaul it is because he feels sure that all thought of rebel-lion is extinguished among your savage countrymen! Ha!Ha! They have so often been rudely chastised by thegreat Caesar, that they could not choose but renounce allfurther thought of independence. Besides, do you not seethat with a good and strong iron yoke, a well sharpened goad,and a heavy wagon behind them, little sleep and less food,the wildest of bulls become tame in the end?""May the gods hear you, dear Diavolus! But I can notsay that I feel wholly at my ease. Oh! If you only knewto what excesses these brutes can be driven by the sillywords, 'Liberty for Gaul!' Well, I have given you my badnews, and although I do not share your feeling of security,I shall now proceed to the service that I want of you.""One word, dear Norbiac. You are a neighbor of Junius.Do you know whether his daughter, the charming Lydia—""Dead, my dear. She died early this morning.""That was what I feared to hear. I knew that last even-ing hardly any hope was entertained for her.""Poor young girl. A Vestal Virgin was not chaster thanshe!""And for that very reason did she excite as much admira-tion as curiosity. Vestal Virgins are rare birds in Orange,

66 THE IRON COLLAR.are they not, my dear Norbiac. Ah! The watchers ofLydia's grave will have a hard task to-night—""Why so?""Do you forget the magicians? Do you not know thatthey ever prowl about green graves in order to carry off somehuman scrap for their sorceries?1 And it seems that thebody of a deceased young virgin is especially prized in theirincantations. Therefore, as I was telling you, seeing thatfew girls die vestals in Orange, the watchers at Lydia'stomb will have hard work to-night in keeping witches away.Junius is one of my friends. He will be inconsolable overhis daughter's death. May Bacchus and Venus come to hisaid. And now, dear Norbiac, tell me what service I canrender you. You may dispose of me.""Your charming poet Ovid has just written his 'Art ofLove'; it is good; but what does the art of loving boot with-out the 'Art of Pleasing'? Now, then, I know you for a

past-master in the art of pleasing, my dear Diavolus. There-fore, I, the barbarian Gaul, have come to ask your advice.""Are you in love?""Passionately so; crazily. Yes, I am in love—and I pre-sume you will laugh at the baseness of my taste. I love acourtesan!""The Beautiful Gaul, perchance!""Why do you start, Diavolus? Are you perhaps also inlove with her?""I ? By Hercules! I care as little for the Beautiful Gaulas for the fool who is now shaving me, and who never was1"Tou who guard the corpses, slip themselves Into the vaults inkeep your eye ever alert, for the a way to escape even the eye olcursed sorcerers transform them- the sun." — Apuleius, Metamor'»elve» into all sorts of animals, and phases, book II, p. 85,

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 57so long about it as to-day. Will you never be through, vaga-bond ? Hurry up, scamp!""Seigneur, you shake your head so much while speaking,"Sylveat answered his master, "that I fear to cut you.""Just try such an act of clumsiness! The slightest scratchon my chin, I warn you, will be translated into whole shredsof skin taken from your shoulders. Well, you were saying,my dear Norbiac, that you were distractedly in love with theBeautiful Gaul. Without sharing your taste, I approve it,because, by Venus, the girl's patron, a more charming womanis not seen every day. But what stands in your way? Youare rich; you hold the golden key; the good Jupiter used itto open Danae's door—imitate him!""Alas! The golden key is of no use to enter the house ofthe Beautiful Gaul!""How is that! And she a courtesan?""But are you not aware, my dear Diavolus, that this oneis not a courtesan like any other ? You know, no doubt, thatthe moment a celebrated courtesan arrives in a city, all thehonorable practitioners of her profession, of whom your ac-commodating Mercury is the patron, repair to her and ten-der her their services.""Yes, indeed, just as brokers hasten to pay their court tothe captains of all the ships that enter the port. It is therule of the trade.""Very well; but not only were these honorable women ofher trade refused admission by the Beautiful Gaul, they werereceived with insult and brutally thrown out of the house by

an old eunuch who serves her for porter, and is as malevolentas Cerberus,"

68 THE IRON COLLAR."Hum! That begins to look troublesome for you, mydear Norbiac.""And it is not yet all. You must know that I keep tenspies on the field.""A wise precaution.""The Beautiful Gaul inhabits a little house near the Tem-ple of Diana. My spies have not removed their eyes fromher lodging since the day I saw her at the circus, where shemade so profound a sensation. They relieved one anotherday and night. With the exception of her female servants,they saw ho one either enter or leave the Gallic woman'shouse. I know not how many litters, chariots and knightshave stopped at her door. The old and ferocious lookingeunuch sends them all away, without even deigning to hearthem.""Then what did this beauty come to Orange for?""That is just what everybody is asking. Finally, day be-fore yesterday, several young Eoman seigneurs, consideringthe untractableness of the beautiful Gallic woman a piece ofimpertinence, went to her house accompanied by severalslaves armed with axes and crow-bars, and they ordered theirvarlets to break in the Gallic woman's door—""By Mars! A regular assault!""The assault was as fruitless as all the other attempts.The prefect of the city being almost immediately notified ofthe siege of the courtesan's house, sent to her help a cen-turion and soldiers. Despite the rank of the young seigneurs,two of them were seized and taken to prison. Now you knowit all. I have hardly anything more to add, my dear Dia-volus, except to tell you that I thereupon went in person tobeard her Cerberus, the old eunuch, a fellow with a wan

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 69face, and round and heavy as a hogshead. I offered himfive hundred gold sous, if he would but listen to me—""By Plutus! That is to speak—and to act—like a sensibleman. Well, did the eunuch lend you his ear?""He answered me in an uncouth language—part Romanand part Gallic. I understood the fellow just enough to becertain that all my offers would be in vain. And now, my

dear Diavolus, tell me, prescribe to me what I am to do insuch a pinch. You alone, in your quality of past-master inmatters of seduction and amorous intrigues, are able to giveme advice.""My dear Norbiac, make this evening an offering to Venusof two braces of gold-chiseled doves. The priests of the goodgoddess prefer gold to feathers.""An offering to Venus? Why that?""Because she protects you.""Explain yourself."Diavolus turned over to Sylvest and said to him: "Drawnear."Sylvest drew near.His master then proceeded:"Dear Norbiac, look well at this clown.""At the slave? Your valet?""Yes; examine his features attentively.""Are you joking?""No, by Hercules! Look closely; do you not find a cer-tain vague resemblance—some such resemblance as there isbetween a duck and a swan?""A resemblance—with what swan?""With the Beautiful Gaul—your charmer.""You are mocking!"

70 THE IRON COLLAR."I am not mocking. Imagine upon this shaven head amountain of- long blonde hair; in place of this face, tannedby the sun, imagine a complexion of lilies and roses.""You are right. I never before looked closely at theslave," said Norbiac examining Sylvest's physiognomy. "Ifhe is blonde, he does share with the Beautiful Gaul a ratheruncommon feature—black eyes with blonde hair. Yes, thelonger I look at him the more do I detect a certain vague-ness of resemblance—""That comes, no doubt, from his not being entirely of thesame father and mother with his sister," broke in Diavoluslaughing.Sylvest felt at the moment that if he then had his masterunder his razor he probably would have cut the Eoman'sthroat."But, after all," resumed Diavolus, "the father has beensufficiently represented to enable you to recognize in thisclown the brother of the Beautiful Gaul.""Her brother! This slave?"

"He and your charmer were sold as children about eigh-teen years ago, after the battle of Vannes. He was tellingme the whole story when you came in. Not so, vagabond?""It is so, seigneur," answered Sylvest, who did not trusthip senses, unable as he was to penetrate the design of hismaster."You aie her brother!" cried the Gaul addressing Sylvest."You must then know—""He only yesterday learned of his relationship," Diavolushastened to explain. "Until then he never saw the Gallicwoman, and was ignorant of her beinsr his sister. Do younow understand, dear Norbiac, that though other courtesans

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 71and the rich seigneurs saw the door close in their faces, itwill open to her brother?""Ah! Diavolus! My friend! My generous friend! Youmake me the happiest of mortals!""Now keep this well in mind: There is no courtesan whocan not b; bought; all you have to do is to choose the rightmoment and lay down the right price. Accordingly, I feelquite sure that if this clown presents himself in your name,w.'Jh a goodly casket well filled with gold and properly orna-mented with jewels as a mere sample of your munificence—""Diavolus, you are the pearl of friends! I shall hurry tomy banker for two thousand gold sous. Of. course, you an-swer for your slave! The commission will be faithfully ful-filled?""First of all he knows that I shall have both his feet andhands chopped off if he refuses to serve you; secondly, seeingthat his race is thievish by nature, should you confide yourgold to him, I will not lose sight of him until I have seenhim enter the house of the Beautiful Gaul.""Oh, my friend! This is really a service! It cannot berequited!" cried Norbiac. "I shall run off for the gold. Mylitter is at the door. I shall return within shortly."He rushed out of the room and out of the house.Left alone with his master Sylvest looked at him withwonderment."Now, my vagabond, you and I are to continue the con-versation. Did you understand my plan?""No, seigneur.""What a dullard! By virtue of your title of brother tothe Beautiful Gaul—""Mayhap, seigneur—I do not know whether I could—"

73 THE IRON COLLAR."I shall have you flayed alive if you fail to be admittedto her presence this very day. Is that clear enough?""Very clear, seigneur. I shall introduce myself to mysister—""With the casket of gold that you will receive from theGallic seigneur.""Which casket I shall offer her as a sample of the seign-eur's generosity?—""Of seigneur Diavolus' generosity, you double dullard!Yes, you will offer the casket to the Beautiful Gaul as afeeble proof of the munificence and magnificence of yourmaster, who, you will say, accompanied you to the door ofthe house. And in order to convince your sister you will in-duce her to look out of the window so that she may see mewaiting outside. Do you now understand, vagabond?""I understand, seigneur. You will employ the gold ofseigneur Norbiac to seduce the Beautiful Gaul for yourself.I admire your consummate genius!"

CHAPTEB VI.IN THE ANTE-CHAMBER.Sylvest's simulation of readiness to be helpful to his mas-ter's amour was .only a stratagem on his part, intended to ac-complish two purposes—to meet Syomara and to escape, notthe torture—he knew how to bear that with fortitude—butthe possible imprisonment with which his late nocturnal ab-sence might be punished, and that would have interferedwith his plan to see his sister with the least possible delay.Seigneur Norbiac returned shortly with a casket filled withgold, again heaped thanks and acknowledgments of gratitudeupon Diavolus, and left with the request that he be speedilynotified of the favorable or unfavorable issue of the slave'sinterview with his sister. Towards evening Sylvest wascharged with the casket and, closely followed by his master,started out in the direction of the Temple of Diana, in the im-mediate neighborhood of which stood the house of the Beauti-ful Gaul. He arrived there, knocked, and through the halfopen door saw the face of the eunuch, an old man of abnor-mal stoutness. Stuck in the middle of the bloated, beardless,pale and weary face were two little black and wicked-lookingeyes that resembled a reptile's. A few locks of grey hair es-caped from under his black cap, that matched his robe. His

nether hose were red, and his old gaiters yellow. The old manaddressed Sylvest in a rude yet clear and piercing voice:"What do you want?"

74 THE IRON COLLAR."To see my sister.""What sister?""Syomara.""Are you Syomara's brother?""Yes.""Get away from here, imposter! And quickly too, or I shallmake you taste a hickory stick that I keep behind this door!—Get you gone, clown!""I expected your incredulity, and I brought with me theproof that Syomara is my sister. If you refuse me admittanceto her, I shall in some way or other notify her who I am andthat I live in Orange." •Sylvest's assurance and the tone of his voice seemed. toastonish the eunuch and to make him pause. He became un-easy, seemed perplexed what to do, and still holding the doorajar he fastened his piercing viper's eyes upon the slave andproceeded to interrogate him:"Your name?""Sylvest.""Your father's name?""Guilhern.""Your grandfather's name ?""Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak.""Your mother's name ? Your grandmother's name ?""My mother's name was Henory; my grandmother's Mar-garid.""Where were you sold?""At Vannes, together with my father and sister, after thebattle."The eunuch grew more and more thoughtful as the rapidinterrogatory proceeded. He remained silent for a moment,

IN THE ANTECHAMBER. }$still keeping Sylvest on the street, while seigneur Diavolus,standing at a little distance away, did not remove his eyesfrom his slave. Finally the eunuch said to Sylvest:"Step in."The door closed behind both.Leading the way, the eunuch followed a narrow corridor

and entered a little room, carefully closing the door after him.He then sat down by a table, took a long sharp poniard fromunder his robe, and placed the weapon near him. Thereuponhe addressed Sylvest in a peevish voice:"A few stray words do not prove to me that you are Syo-mara's brother.""I have more proofs.""What are they?""I have about me a little gold sickle and a little brass bell,the relics of our father; besides these I have some scrolls con-taining the accounts of our family—If my sister ever talkedto you of her childhood and of our parents, you will see bythese manuscripts that I am not lying, and that I am herbrother.""Unless, by no means an unlikely thing, you are a vagabondwho stole those articles after killing the true Sylvest.""There are many other matters concerning our family uponwhich I am informed. None can know them but I—whenI mention them to Syomara she will recognize me—""Draw near to that window," said the eunuch seeing that itwas growing darker, "or, rather, wait," he proceeded to say,and taking a fuse and tinder, lighted a lamp. Aided by thelight he long and attentively examined the slave's lineaments.Finally he observed:"Your face will be better evidence to me than any other

76 THE IRON COLLAR.that you could produce; it is better evidence than those nick-nacks of sickles and bells."Again the eunuch proceeded with the scrutiny of Sylvest'scountenance, and presently, looking up at the ceiling seemed tocommune with himself aloud:"Such close resemblance can be no accident—The Gallicwoman must have been right—in their infancy they mighthave been taken the one for the other.""Did my sister speak to you about me?" Sylvest broke inupon the cogitation of the eunuch, the tears leaping to hiseyes, "Perhaps she often recalled her brother!""Oh! Very often!—She is a creature that never forgetsanything."And the old man's face assumed an expression of sinistermockery."And my mother? my father?—Did my sister often speakto you of them ?""Very often," answered the old man with the same ex-

pression on his face; "Very often—She is the pearl of daugh-ters and sisters!—It is a pity she is not married, she wouldalso be the pearl of wives! But what do you want of yoursister?""I want to see her—I want to have a long talk with her.""Truly ?—And what have you got in that casket under yourarm?""Gold.""For the Beautiful Gaul?""I have been ordered to offer it to her—""By your master, I presume ? Your shaven head and liveryannounce that you are a domestic slave—A valet for abrother!—That is something to make Syomara feel proud—

IN THE ANTE-CHAMBER. 77And then, you are playing the go-between to your sister—that is a kindly office for a relative—"Eage mounted to Sylvest's forehead, but he controlled him-self and replied:"Accident gave me this evening the means to see my sister—I am availing myself of it—""Very well—lay the casket on the table—And how andwhen did you learn that the Beautiful Gaul is your sister ?""That does not concern you!""The fellow is independent!—So, then, you wish to see yoursister, no doubt in order to ask her to buy you from yourmaster ? Or perhaps to wheedle some alms out of her ?""In seeking to see my father's daughter, I but yield to thepromptings of my heart!" proudly answered Sylvest. "Ahandful of the infamous gold that she earns might set me freefrom the danger of torture and even of being killed—yet Iprefer both!""Just listen to the fellow! With his shaven head and hisvalet's harness on, he speaks of honor!" said the eunuch, andlooking at Sylvest challengingly he added: "Did you, scampthat you are, come here in order to twit your sister with heroccupation ?""I wish I could! I would much prefer to see her turn themill's wheel bare-footed and under a keeper's whip than livein shameful opulence!" cried Sylvest.Sylvest had no sooner uttered these words than he regrettedhaving done so. He feared they might keep the eunuch fromtaking him to Syomara, lest she listen to the good adviceof her brother. But much to his surprise, after another and

longer spell of reflection the eunuch struck his forehead asif a sudden thought had enlightened his mind, took the lampy& THE IRON COLLAR.in one hand, the poniard in the other, and said to Sylvest:"Follow meP• . The old man opened the door, led the slave into a narrowand winding passage which they threaded for a while, andthen suddenly blowing out the lamp said to Sylvest amidstthe profoundest darkness:"Step forward before me."Although astonished at this proceeding, Sylvest obeyed.It was with no little difficulty that he succeeded in pressinghimself through between the large body of the eunuch and thewall of the narrow passage."And now," the old man proceeded, "walk straight aheaduntil you strike a wall—have you found it ?""I have just struck myself against it.""Do not budge, and listen."The eunuch ceased speaking; presently he added:"Have you heard anything?""I heard a sound as of a curtain drawn over its pole.""You should be called 'Fine-Ears.' Put your back againstthe wall.—Have you done so ?""Yes.""Now put one foot forward, carefully, as if to feel yourground.—What do you find ?""A void!" cried Sylvest affrighted and pressing himselfquickly back against the wall."Yes; it is a void!" answered the voice of the eunuch. "Ifyou take but one step to run back out of your nook, you willfall to the bottom of an abyss, where you will break your bonesand from which you will never emerge, because I shall closethe trap I have just opened, over you.—So, then, wide awakeupon your feet!"

IN THE ANTE-CHAMBER. ft"Why these threats?—What is your purpose?""My purpose is to feel certain that you will not budge fromwhere you are, while I am gone.—Wait for me!"The slave heard the retreating steps of the old man, andcried after him •"But my sister! My sister!""You shall see her in an instant—""Where?"

"Where you now are," responded the ennuch's voice furtheraway. "Turn your face to the wall—look sharp—and—"

CHAPTEE VII.SYOMARA.The last words of the retreating eunuch did not reach Syl-vest's ears. He thought the mischievous old man was butplaying a prank upon him. Nevertheless Sylvest turned hishead mechanically toward the wall at his back and was in-stantly struck by a strange phenomenon. By little and littlehe began to distinguish objects that he. did not at first notice.It seemed that the wall grew transparent at the elevation ofhis eyes. At first, all seemed enveloped in a whitish mist. Bydegrees the mist lifted and made room for a feeble light thatresembled the gleam of early dawn. The slave could have cov-ered with his hands the clearest point of the circular light,that, insensibly waning around the circle, merged beyond itinto the surrounding gloom. He felt the wall at the lightestspot: it was a smooth, hard and cold surface, like marble orsteel. The clearness grew steadily. The circular space re-sembled the orb of the moon at her full, slowly disengagingherself from the light grey vapors that at times obscure herface. After a while the disk became perfectly transparent,and across it Sylvest saw a vaulted chamber, only a part ofwhich fell within the angle of his vision. A lamp, resemblingthose that are kept perpetually burning in the Roman tombs,hung from an iron chain and lighted the place. With no lit-tle horror he noticed, ranged upon shelves along the wall,several whitened human skulls, all of which, however, stillpreserved their long and silky hair, like the hair of women.Upon a table that was littered with bizarre instruments

SYOMARA. 81wrought in steel, he saw also a number of oddly contrivedvases, and also the hands of skeletons, whose bony fingers werecovered with costly rings. Among the latter—shocking tosay—lay the little hand of a child, recently cut and still bleed-ing.Near the table, a bronze tripod supported over a pan oflive coals a brass vase from which rose a bluish vapor. Onthe other side of the table stood a large trunk of preciouswood, and above it there hung from the wall a mirror wroughtof burnished silver. Upon the trunk lay a red belt inscribedwith mystic characters, and resembling the one that the Thes-salian witch wore and that the slave had noticed on the pre-

ceding night in Faustina's temple. In one of the corners ofthe chamber was a couch of cedar wood, inlaid with ivory andcovered with a richly embroidered carpet. At the head of thecouch stood a little porphyry pillar surmounted with an ex-quisitely chiselled silver capital upon which, along with sev-eral other relics, was deposited an ass's hoof that shone likeebony and that lay turned over in such a manner that Sylvestnoticed it was shod in gold with five large diamonds as theheads of the nails that held the shoe to the hoof. At firstSylvest thought the chamber was not occupied, but this wasdue to his eyes not having the full sweep of the place. Pres-ently a woman moved within his ken. She walked backwardwith her back turned to him. She was throwing kisses at acorner that he could not see. Only partly clad in a linentunic that left her alabaster shoulders and arms bare, thewoman was tall, graceful and recalled the Roman Diana. Oneof the thick and long tresses of her blonde hair had loosenedfrom the coil that crowned her head, and hung down almostto her feet. At the sight of that blonde hair—blonde like the

fe THE IRON COLLAR.hair of his sister, a shudder ran over Sylvest. Presently,after the woman blew from her delicate finger tips a last kissin the direction of the previous ones, she threw herself uponthe couch, and in doing so turned her head around.Sylvest now saw her face.—It was she—it was Syomara.—•Aye, it was she beyond a doubt! Thanks to the sweet recollec-tions of his childhood, the only solace left him in servitude,—thanks to the striking resemblance of his sister to their motherHenory—thanks to all that, Sylvest could not fail to recog-nize Syomara. Never had he beheld a more dazzling beauty.He forgot the unfortunate girl's infamy; he forgot thestrange, weird, hideous and horrible trappings that surroundedher; he had for her only eyes that were moist with tendernessand filled with admiration.Her cheeks animated with a bright rosy hue, her largeblack eyes shining like stars from under their long lashes, herblonde and copious hair tumbling partly undone upon her bareshoulders, Syomara leaned her head on one hand upon thecouch, and passed the other over her burning forehead. Pres-ently she languidly dropped her head upon the cushion andhalf shut her eyes seeking repose, if not sleep.Sylvest was thus enabled to contemplate his sister for along while.—Then burning, bitter tears rolled down from hiseyes.—Thp enchanting, rosy, fresh ingenuous-looking face, as

ingenuous as a virgin's, was a courtesan's, condemned by slav-ery and since her early childhood to an infamous occupation!With shame mantling his forehead and rage invading hisheart, Sylvest imagined that the kisses wafted by his sister tothe invisible person, were perhaps wafted to the gladiatorMont-Liban. The sinister objects with which the room wasfitted—the human skulls with long hair, the skeleton-fingers

SYOMARA. 83covered with costly rings, the recently severed child's handthat still bled—struck his eyes anew. And Syomara, stretchedout at full length upon the couch, dozed peaceful and smil-ing in the midst of these grewsome human spoils. The acci-dent that, for two successive nights—one at Faustina's tem-ple, the next at Syomara's retreat—rendered him the invisiblespectator of strange mysteries, chilled him with ominous fore-bodings.A moment later Syomara seemed to awaken with a startout of her drowsiness; she quivered, sat up and listened asif she had heard a noise or some signal, rose and left the couch,and walked over to a tablet on which were several inscriptionswhich must have reminded her of some appointment, becauseshe hastened to re-arrange the tresses of her hair. Syomarathen took from the table a flagon of an odd shape and pouredseveral drops out of it into the brass vase upon the tripod fromwhich all the while a bluish light vapor had been rising. Sev-eral tongues of flame forthwith shot up. While they burnedSyomara exposed a sheet of polished metal over them. Whenthe flames were extinguished she examined intently the black-ish marks that the fire left upon the polished sheet. The slavecould not, at this moment, avoid remembering with a shudderthe sorceries that the Thessalian witch indulged in the pre-vious night. A moment later Syomara threw the sheet ofmetal into a corner and clapped her hands in glee. Her facebeamed and she alked quickly towards the trunk of preciousmetal that stood under the burnished silver mirror. Inthat pose she had again her back turned toward Sylvest. Sheopened the trunk, took out of it a long black robe, arrayedherself in it and gathered it around her waist with the redbelt that lay near the mirror. When Sylvest saw the black

84 THE IRON COLLAR.robe and the magical belt a cold sweat inundated his fore-head. He now saw his sister dressed exactly like the old

Thessalian witch that attended Faustina's orgy. With herback still turned toward Sylvest, Syomara again stooped downto the trunk, took from it a sort of mask to which a hood wasattached, carefully covered her head with it and turned aroundto officiate once more at the tripod.Oh, ye Gods! Sylvest must have been gifted with a stronghead, else he would at that moment have lost his reason! Buthe was seized with a vertigo. No; it was no longer Syomarahe saw before him—it was the Thessalian witch, who, thenight before, had demanded the life of one of her slavesfrom the Eoman dame.—Yes, it was the magician—it washerself—her coppery skin, her visage furrowed with the wrin-kles of old age, her nose crooked like a night-hawk's, her thickeye-brows, grey like the straggling locks of hair that escapedfrom her hood.—Yes, it was the Thessalian.—Could it be thatby some magical charm the hag had until a minute before as-sumed the features of Syomara ?—Or was it, indeed, Syomara.who, by some trick of witchcraft assumed the features of thehideous old hag?—Sylvest knew not. All he knew was thathe now had the Thessalian before his eyes.—The superhumantransformation almost crazed the slave, it struck him dumbwith stupor. Thinking of one thing only, to flee from theinfernal place, he forgot the impassable abyss behind him.However, he was speedily reminded of it. Hardly had hegroped his way a step from the wall when he felt his footover the pit. He tried to throw himself back. The sudden-ness of the motion made him trip and fall, and roll over intothe gaping opening. He had barely time to seize the ed.<r^of the flooring with both hands and thus escape being hurled

SYOMARA. 85to the bottom of the pit. Suspended thus the slave hung overthe unknown depth.Oh! But for the remembrance of Loyse and of the childthat she carried under her bosom, Sylvest would not have en-deavored to escape death—he would have allowed himself toslip and roll down into the pit that yawned below him. Thelove for his wife made him cling to life and imparted to himsuperhuman strength. He raised himself by his wrists, inthis effort succeeded in lifting his body high enough to enablehim to throw one knee over the edge of the trap, and thusto extricate himself from death. Exhausted by the strainupon his strength and mentally crushed with the shockingdiscovery he had just made, Sylvest dropped upon the floor.How long did the slave remain in the physical and mental

coma that overcame him ? He knows not. When he recoveredconsciousness he at first believed that he awoke from a fright-ful nightmare. But by degrees the reality revived its cruellines upon the tablets of his memory; he realized, alas! thatit was not a dream. He imagined that the eunuch hadcaused him to witness unseen the execrable mysteries prac-ticed by his sister, with the end in view of inspiring •him witha horror for her and thus preventing a meeting between thetwo—a meeting the result of which the mischievous old manperhaps feared. But for the pit that yawned beside him, Syl-vest would have fled the accursed place. With his returningsenses he noticed that the transparency in the wall, althoughsomewhat darkened, was still visible. Yielding to irresist-ible curiosity, he rose and again applied his eyes. The cham-ber was now deserted; the iron lamp was extinguished; onlythe bluish light that proceeded from the brass vase on thetripod lighted the sinister retreat. A moment later the sor-

86 THE IRON COLLAR.ceress returned holding in her hand a bundle wrapt in a blackcloth. She unwound it in great hurry and took from it awoman's head freshly severed from the trunk. By the bluishlight from the tripod Sylvest distinctly recognized the head ofthe chaste Lydia, the young virgin who died the day before,and whom he had more than once seen and admired on thestreets of Orange. The words of his master then came backto him, when on that very morning, in the conversation withseigneur Norbiac, Diavolus remarked that the watchers atLydia's grave would find it difficult to keep her remains fromthe profanations of the magicians, adding with cynicism thatyoung girls who died virgin were becoming rarer in Orange,and that their bodies were considered to be of special virtuefor sorceries.The horrid old hag—Sylvest clung to the theory that hiseyes had played him a trick, or that he had but seen a vision,and refused to believe that Syomara and the magician wereone and the same person—the horrid hag deposited Lydia'shead, together with another bleeding and shapeless piece offlesh, upon the table; she then took up the piece of flesh,placed it in the recently severed child's hand, and laid bothupon Lydia's head where she steadied them with the long hairof the deceased.At this moment Sylvest felt a hand upon his shoulder andthe piercing, mocking voice of the eunuch said to him in thedark:

"The pit is no longer open at your feet—you can now fol-low me without danger.—Are you satisfied?—You have nowseen your sister Syomara, the Beautiful Gaul, the adoredcourtesan.""No!" cried the slave in answer while following the eunuch

SYOMARA. 87in the gloom. "No! I have not seen my sister!—No! Thathorrible witch is not Syomara—All these tricks are magicand sorcery!—Let me escape from this cursed house!"But the eunuch barred with his bulky shape the slave'spassage through the narrow walk, and forced him to stop andlisten to him:"What! You now want to leave the place without evenspeaking with your sister? What has become of the furioustenderness that you affected for your mother's daughter ?""No! She is not my sister—or, if it be she, indeed,—I nolonger have a sister—let me flee!""She is not your sister ? And why not ?" rejoined the eunuchlaughing out aloud. "Is it, perchance, because, though beau-tiful as Venus, she suddenly transformed herself into an oldand hideous hag like the three Fates ? And yet, had you seenher only day before yesterday, naked as the Cyprean risingfrom the sea, rub herself with a magic ointment, and forth-with a light down cover her beautiful body; her charmingarms shrivel and disappear under long wings; her legs, shapedlike Diana the huntress's, together with her delicate feet,change into the claws of the night-hawk; her lovely neck swell,take on feathers; and finally, that adored head assume theshape of an osprey, emit three funereal cries, and fly awaythrough the roof of the room1—""Let me flee—you will craze me!""What would you have said the other evening, when Syo-mara transformed herself into a wild she-wolf in order toprowl around the gibbets at the setting of the moon and tocarry back to the house between her teeth the head of a man1 Belief In these transformations the Romans at this time. Be*of sorcerers was common among Apulelus, Metamorphoses.

88 THE IRON COLLAR.who was executed and that she needed for her enchantments ?"1"Oh, gods! Have mercy upon me!""And then the other night, when, assuming the form of ablack serpent, Syomara glided into the cradle of a newly born

babe that slept near its mother's bed, and gently coiling her-self around the child's neck, drew her reptile head close to thelittle rosy lips of her victim so as to inhale its last breath?Syomara strangled the babe, whose last breath she needed forher sorceries!""I shake with horror!" murmured Sylvest. "Am I dream-ing ?—Am I awake ?—What blood-curdling confidences is thiswretch making to me!""You are awake, by Hercules!—Aye, you are thoroughlyawake—but you are afraid. How is that, infamous poltroon!You have a sister who by her magical powers can become inturn the Beautiful Gaul, an osprey, a she-wolf, a ser-pent, who, in short, can assume any shape, and yet you donot rejoice—in the honor to your own family!"Sylvest feared his reason was on the point of being de-throned; he believed the eunuch's words. If Syomara wasable to transform herself into a hideous witch, why could shenot metamorphose herself into an osprey, a serpent, or a she-wolf?Still barring the passage with his bulk, the old man pro-ceeded :"What! Dullard, are you not thankful to me for having1 Apuletus gives as follows the nails out of gibbets, and heads halfobjects usually to be found In the eaten by the beasts In the circus."den of an enchantress: "There are —Metamorphoses, book III, p. 81.aromatic herbs of all sorts, plates "In the tombs, upon the pyres.of brass covered with Indeclpher- they went In search of spoils, ofable characters, pieces of Iron, sad shreds of corpses, with which toremains of wrecked vessels, numer- conjure the most dire Ills upon theons pieces of human flesh from living."—Idem, book II.bodies recently mourned, fingers,

SYOMARA. ft)placed you on that spot of vantage so as to initiate you intothe secrets of Syomara's life, to the end that when you shallsee her, as you will shortly, you may tenderly press her toyour brother's heart and say to her: 'You are a worthy daugh-ter of our mother!'""Oh! Almighty Hesus! Have mercy upon me! Oh! Eithertake my life from me, or extinguish my understanding thatI may not hear the words of this demon!" exclaimed Sylvestso wholly prostrated with grief and stunned with pain thathe had neither the strength nor the courage violently to forcehis way out."What!" continued the mischievous eunuch with imper-

turbable malice, "I place you there to the end that you mayalso see and know your sister's gallant—that you may approveher good taste—that you may compliment her on her choice—and yet you remain standing there like a blockhead andhave not a word of thanks for me!—Answer me, you nowknow him, do you not?—You now know Syomara's gallant—you have seen Belphegor!""I have seen no one," murmured Sylvest ever more dis-tracted, and answering despite himself, so to speak. "Theyoung woman who was there—Oh! No! She is not my sis-ter !—that young woman stepped into the room throwingkisses to someone whom I could not see.—I imagined theywere for the gladiator Mont-Liban.""Mont-Liban!" repeated the eunuch with a peal of laugh-ter. "Syomara despises Mont-Liban as she does the mud onher sandals. She would give ten Mont-Liban's- for one Bel-phegor.—And you say you did not see her darling ?""No.""It is possible.—She may have gone to his apartment, in-

90 THE IRON COLLAR.stead of having him come to her's. Their rooms are on thesame floor. Probably when she left him she threw some lov-ing kisses to him through the door.—Oh! You did not seeBelphegor!—Pity!—Would you like to know who that chosenone is ? Who the gallant is whom many a grand dame wouldenvy Syomara if they knew he was hers ?—Well that gallantThe eunuch whispered two words into Sylvest's ear.1The slave emitted a piercing cry of horror. A recent recol-lection flashed through his mind. In his horror and ragehe precipitated himself violently upon the eunuch, threw himover, walked bodily over him, thus opened a passage to him-self, and ran straight ahead in the dark, striking himself hereand there against the wall, and pursued by the chilling guffawof the eunuch, who, having risen from the floor, followed himdown the passage repeating:"Belphegor is your sister's lover! Belphegor!—Belphegor!"1See The Golden Alt, already cited; also the Latin verses ofJuvenal.

CHAPTEE VIII.COUBTESAN AND GLADIATORWhile fleeing from the pursuit of the eunuch, Sylvest sawa light at the further extremity of the narrow passage; he

hastened to reach the spot; arrived there, he recognized thevestibule, rushed to the street door and drew the inside bolt.The slave now thought himself safe. He erred. At the verymoment when he put his foot on the street he found himselfface to favJ with a man of gigantic stature who seized himby the throat with a hand of iron, threw him back into thevestibule, stepped in himself and closed and bolted the doorfrom within at the moment that the eunuch arrived out ofbreath and yelling in a broken voice:"Bel—phegor!—Bel—phegor!"At the sight of the giant, the eunuch started back and criedangrily:"Mont-Liban!—You here!""Death and massacre!" thundered the gladiator. "The Beau-tiful Gaul shall no longer trifle with me!—Since nightfall Ihave kept watch from the opposite house.—I saw this villain-ous slave come up accompanied by his master, seigneur Dia-volus. That happened in the evening. It is now morning.—Ravage and fury! Does she take me for a booby ?""You are taken at your right value and for what you are—a butcher of human bodies! a sack of wine! a desolator offull pouches!" yelled the eunuch in response and in his clear,

92 THE IRON COLLAR.penetrating voice. "Get you gone, you plunderer of taverns!Terror of tavern-keepers! Get you gone, you bull of the arena!Nobody entered the house, and your roarings do not frightenme!""Are you itching to have me smother you in your own fat,you old fatted capon! Are you itching to have me break everybone in your body, you lump of grease!" bellowed the gladia-tor, raising over the old man a stout ebony club the handle ofwhich was a polished human thigh-bone. "Blood and bowels!If you utter another word, you will never utter a second. Takocare, you ton of rancid lard!"Such was the language of the celebrated gladiator whomthe grand Eoman dames pursued with their lewd desires. Heseemed to be still young, but the expression of his coarse andbeastly features was insolent and stupid. A sabre cut thatstarted from his forehead and lost itself under his bristlingyellow beard had put out his left eye. Wine and grease spotsbespattered his clothes. His silver-embroidered tunic thatlooked creased and was ill adjusted on his body, exposed hisHerculean chest, hirs te as a bear's. His doe-skin hose andgold-tasselled military gaiters looked as out of place as the

rest of the man's accoutrement. A long and heavy swordhung from his side; on his head he wore a felt hat ornamentedwith a long red tuft of feathers. In his hand he held theebony club which he swung over the eunuch's head, and whosehuman thigh-bone handle was a souvenir of one of his com-bats. Yes, such was Mont-Liban, the hero of the circus, forthe possession of whom the noble dames of Orange vied withone another, and who disdainfully rejected the overtures ofFaustina.At the increasing tumult produced by the altercation be-

COURTESAN AND GLADIATOR. 90tween the gladiator and the eunuch an inside door of thevestibule opened. Sylvest saw Syomara appear at the thresh-old, not now transfigured into the hideous witch, but young,dignified and beautiful! Oh! a thousand times more beautifulthan the slave had seen her early on that accursed night!—But no! It was not she he had seen.—He could not believeit. Syomara's thick hair was imprisoned in a net-work ofsilver. She wore two tunics: one white and long; the other,sky blue, short and embroidered with gold and pearls, left herneck and arms bare. Seeing his sister before him for thefirst time in eighteen years; beholding her so dazzling in herbeauty and so pure, Sylvest was now more than ever con-vinced that he had been the victim of a horrible dream duringthe night. No, no, thought he, a courtesan, monstrously de-bauched, a cursed witch, could not possibly be endowed withso chaste and proud a front, or so sweet a look. No! The in-famous eunuch lied! Appearances often deceive. My eyes weredeceived last night; they were the dupes of an illusion!—Thereis some mystery about it, that my reason cannot penetrate—the Syomara that I behold standing there is, indeed, mysister—the one that appeared before me in.the night was theproduct of witchcraft.These were the thoughts that flashed through the slave'smind as he stood in the shadow of a pillar in the vestibule.The courtesan did not notice him; he waited to see the issueof her encounter with the eunuch and the gladiator. The lat-ter's coarse audacity seemed to evaporate at the sight of Syo-mara who looked down upon him with an imperial and threat-ening mien. With head erect, she took a step towards thegiant."What noise is this in my house?" she asked him with se-

94 THE IRON COLLAR.verity. "D666 Mont-Liban think he is here in one of thetaverns where he carries on his nightly wassails ?""This wild beast knows nothing but to roar," put in theeunuch; "and by Jupiter! I—""Hold your tongue!" Syomara ordered the old man; andreturning to the gladiator she added with the majesty of anempress:"Down on your knees!—Beg pardon for your insolence!""Listen—Syomara—" stammered Mont-Liban with in-creased confusion, embarrassment and awkwardness; "I wish—to explain—to you—""Down on your knees, first!—First repent your insolence.—You may speak afterwards, if I allow you.""Syomara!" replied the gladiator clasping his hands im-ploringly, "one word—only one word—to justify myself—Ilove you!""Down on your knees!" she repeated impatiently. "WiWyou down on your knees!"With the timid docility of a chained bear, who obeys hismaster's orders, the Hercules dropped on his knees saying:"Here I am on my knees, at your feet—I—Mont-Liban—I, who have the grandest dames of Orange at my feet—""And it is over them that I walk when I trample on you,"said Syomara with a mien of superb disdain. "Lower, yourbead—lower still—still lower!"The giant obeyed and prostrated his face upon the slab ofthe floor. Syomara then planted the tip of her dainty andembroidered sandal upon the bull's neck and said:"Do you repent your insolence ?""I repent."

COURTESAN AND GLADIATOR. 95"Now," said Syomara kicking him with her foot, "get outof this house, and never enter it again!""Syomara—you despise my love!" exclaimed the gladiatorrising on his knees, where he remained for a moment with animploring and desolate look. "And yet I never give a blowwith my sword without pronouncing your name. I neverdespatch an adversary whom I have conquered without offer-ing him as a homage to you! I laugh to scorn all the womenwho pursue me with their love.—And when I am utterlywretched at your disdain, it is then that I drown my grief inthe taverns.—I would resign myself to your contempt with-out complaining if all other men were rejected by you as I

am.—But I saw that vile slave," saying which the gladiatorrose and pointed at Sylvest, "come in here and remain thewhole night in your house, Syomara.—He was here on hisown or his master's errand.—It was that that drove me crazy.I could not control my anger—and I broke in!"

CHAPTEK IX.BROTHEE AND SISTEE.Sylvest's sister mechanically followed the direction ofMont-Liban's arm and for the first time noticed the slavewho until now had kept himself hidden in the shadow thrownby one of the pillars in the vestibule."Who is that man?" she said walking with quick stepstoward Sylvest. She took him angrily by the arm, and madehim step forward so that his face was clearly lighted by thelamp that still burned in the vestibule. "Who are you? Towhom do you belong ?" she asked, fixedly looking at the slave."What are you doing here?"The eunuch seemed to await Sylvest's answer with noslight apprehension, while the slave himself still strugglingwith the mysterious recollections of the previous night, couldnot find his speech. His brother's love wrestled in his breastwith the horror that Syomara had filled him with. She, onthe other hand, after having contemplated the slave for a mo-ment in silence, felt a thrill run over her body, drew himclose to the lamp, and proceeded to scan his features with in-creased intentness and curiosity, holding both her hands uponhis shoulders.—Sylvest felt those hands tremble—Syomaraasked him:"Of what country are you?"Sylvest still hesitated. He was on the point of giving ananswer that would throw his sister off the track. But seeing

BROTHER AND SISTER. (97so close to himself the charming face that reminded him ofhis own mother—feeling on his shoulders the hands that hadso often held his own in the happy days of their infancy,Sylvest saw only his sister. She repeated with impatience:"Do you not understand the Roman language ?—I am ask-ing you of what country you are.""I am a Gaul.""Of what province ?" Syomara proceeded in Gallic."Of Brittany."

"Of what tribe?""Of the tribe of Karnak.""Since when are you a slave?""I was sold, when still a little child, after the battle ofVannes.""Had you a sister?""Yes—she was a year younger than myself. We loved eachother tenderly.""Was she sold, like yourself, when still in her infancy ?""Yes; a rich seigneur bought my sister.""Did you ever see her again, since ?""No!—Alas! I never saw her again.""Come, follow me," Syomara said to the slave while thegladiator and the eunuch, the former in anger, the latter indeep concern, stood in the vestibule and heard the conversa-tion, which, however they could not understand. The cour-tesan stepped towards the door of the inside apartment andseemed to have completely forgotten Mont-Liban. Her eyesfell upon Mm, however, as she was about to leave the hall.She turned towards him4 and now addressing him with a kind-ly smile, said:"You humbled your forehead under my foot—you, the

g8 THE IRON COLLAR.bravest of the brave!—You may now kiss this hand," and sheextended her arm. "Continue to throw the grand Romandames into despair, as I do the noble seigneurs.—I do not shutoff hope from you.—Do you understand me, lion heart?"The gladiator threw himself down on his knees and pressedthe courtesan's dainty hands to his gross lips. Undoubtedlythat savage, brutal and debauched man must have been pro-foundly enamoured, despite the coarseness of his nature.While he kissed Syomara's hands with mingled respect andardor, tears dropped from his subdued eyes. He then rose,and as Syomara made a sign to Sylvest to follow her, thegladiator cried with exaltation:"By all the throats that I have cut! By the many morethat I yet shall cut! Syomara—you may proclaim to theuniverse that the heart and the sword of Mont-Liban arewholly yours."Jjeaving the gladiator to declaim his passion, and the eu-nuch to gulp down the rage that the meeting of the brotherand sister undoubtedly kindled in his breast, the courtesanleft the vestibule, motioned Sylvest to follow her, and ledhim to a magnificently furnished chamber, where the two re-

mained alone. Syomara immediately threw her arms aroundher brother's neck, and said to him with inexpressible ten-derness while she pressed him passionately to her heart:"Sylvest—do you not recognize me? And I recognized yonon the spot! I am your sister—sold like yourself eighteenyears ago after the battle of Vannes!""I also recognized you perfectly—""You say it so coldly, brother,—you turn your eyes fromme—your face is somber.—Is it thus that one treats the com-panion of his youth—and after so long a separation?—In-

BROTHER AND SISTER. 99grate!—And not a day went by without my thinking of you.—Oh! I feel like weeping!"And, indeed, her eyes filled with tears."Listen, Syomara—with one word you can render me themost wretched of men, or the happiest of brothers!""Oh! Speak!""With one word you can summon from my heart to mylips all the treasures of affection that for these many yearsI have stored up for you!—""Speak!—Speak quickly!""In short, one word from you, and we shall continue thisconversation, that, but yesterday, I would have gladly paidfor with my blood; otherwise I shall instantly leave the houseand never more see you.""Never more see me!—And why? What have I done toyou? In what ha\e I offended you?""Syomara, the gods of our fathers are my witnesses.—When I learned that the 'Beautiful Gaul,' the celebrated cour-tesan was yourself, my grief and my shame were profound,sifter!—But I bethought me how slavery almost always andperforce debases us, especially when it seizes a being fromchildhood.—I kept in mind that the master who bought youat the tender age of eight, was named Trymalcion.—Ac-cordingly, I felt profound pity for you.—That is the senti-ment that brought me to your house—last evening, towardsnightfall—""You have been here since last evening?" asked Syomara,looking at her brother with alarm. "You spent the nighthere?""Yes—yes, my sister.""Impossible!"

1oo THE IRON COLLAR."As I said to you before, Syomara, with one word you shalldecide the question whether I am to cherish while pityingyou, or whether I must quit you in horror!—""I, inspire you with horror I" she exclaimed in a tone of in-genuous astonishment and of such kind reproach that Syl-vest was deeply afiected. "Why, brother, should you havea horror of me ?"And the young courtesan looked with her beautiful largeeyes into those of her brother. The slave felt snaken in hisresolution; his doubts and his misgivings alternately gainedthe ascendency over him."Listen! Last evening I knocked at your door, and it wasopened to me by your eunuch. I told him that I was yourbrother—""Did you reveal that to him?" she cried, and then seemedto muse."He looked disturbed and angry at my revelation. He thensaid to me: 'Do you wish to see your sister? I shall show herto you. Come.' He led me through a narrow passage. Aftera little while he put out his lamp and told me to walk on.—I obeyed him until I struck against a wall. At the sametime a pit opened behind me at .my feet. The eunuch thentold me not to budge from where I stood at the peril of mylife, and to look at the wall—" ^-"How is that!" she obsen'ed again with as much astonish-ment as candor, while a slight smile of incredulity playedaround her lips. "In order to see me, he told you to look atthe wall—Are you talking seriously, my good and dearbrother?""I speak so seriously, Sj'omara, that at this moment I amlaboring tinder a terrible agony—because you are about to

BROTHER AND SISTER. 101utter the fateful word I have been demanding.—Listen—1followed the eunuch's instructions; I concentrated my atten-tion upon the wall; and—""And?""By I know not what prodigy the wall became transparent—and I saw a woman in a vaulted chamber.—She looked likeyou.—Now, Syomara, was that woman you? was it you or aspecter? Was it yourself, yes—or no?"And trembling at every limb, Sylvest awaited hissister's answer."I—in a vaulted chamber?" she repeated as if her brother

had said something incredible, or even absurd. "Me—seenthrough the transparency of a wall?"A second later she carried both her little hands to her fore-head as if suddenly reminded of some forgotten fact, andbroke out into a peal of laughter, but a laughter so naive andfrank that her enchanting face grew fiery red and her eyesfilled with the tears that excessive mirth often provokes. Theslave looked at her astonished, but also happy.—Oh!He was happy and his happiness deepened as he felt his sus-picions abating. When Syomara's mirth subsided, shedrew closer to her brother who sat beside her, laid one of herarms upon his shoulder and said to him in her sweet voice:"Do you remember, in our rustic Karnak home, to the leftof the sheep-fold, looking on the pasture of the little heifers JDo you remember at the foot of a large oak-tree a little lodgemade of sea-furze and—""I do," answered Sylvest, surprised at the question, butdespite himself allowing his mind to wander back to the dearmemories that his sister conjured up; "I constructed the lodgefor you!"

102 THE IRON COLLAR."Yes; and when the sun burned too hot, or the springshowers came down, we would shelter ourselves, do you re-member? under the shade or the protection of the retreat—""We were there so comfortable! Above us towered the talloak; before us stretched the beautiful pasture of the youngheifers—and further away ran the pretty little stream onwhose banks stood the fine willow tree under which thenewly woven cloth was stretched—""Brother, do you remember that in that retreat we lovedto play at what we called 'spoken games'?""Yes, yes—I remember that.""Do you remember that we gave one of those games thename of 'conditions' ?""I do!" ->."Very well, brother; let us play that game now—now aswe used to when we were children.""What is it you mean?"Syomara replied with charming grace:"First condition: Little Sylvest, who sees Syomaras throughwalls, will ask his sister no more questions on that subject,because, notwithstanding the profound respect that she en-tertains for her elder brother, she would not be able to keepfrom laughing at him.—Second condition: Little Sylvest will

answer the questions that his sister will put to him. Whenthese conditions are fulfilled, little Sylvest will learn all thathe wishes to know, including even the subject of the trans-parent wall," added Syomara, seemingly hardly able to re-press a fresh outburst of laughter. "And then little Sylvestwill find only one trouble—the trouble to express his tenderlove with sufficient warmth to the poor little sister, whom he

BROTHER AND SISTER. 103just threatened never again to see,—the wicked littlebrother."Many years have elapsed between the day of that conversa-tion and the one on which Sylvest writes its account. Buthe still seems to hear Syomara's voice, her tone of naivemirthfulness while recalling to her brother the memories oftheir childhood;—he still seems to see the adorable face thatbore the stamp of sincerity and candor. He believed his sis-ter. His confidence in her was confirmed. He felt assuredthat what he had seen were but visions, and that hisreason had been duped. Agreeable to her promise, Syomarawas about to clear up the mystery and prove to her brotherthat she was nowise unworthy of his affection. Sylvestyielded to the delightful craving for^the reminiscences of theonly years of happiness that he ever knew, and that he sharedwith his sister in the bosom of his family, then happy andfree! Drawing nearer to Syomara he took her two hands inhis, and endeavoring to smile as did she at the recollectionsof their infantine games, he said:"Sylvest accepts the conditions of little Syomara.—He willput no more questions.—Let his sister interrogate him. Hewill answer."Pressing her brother's hands no less tenderly than he didhers, Syomara said to him in a touching and tearful voiceas if prepared for a sad answer:"Sylvest—what of our father?""Dead—he died a frightful death!"Large tears rolled down from the courtesan's eyes. Aftera mournful silence she proceeded:"And is it long since our father was put to death?"

104 THE IRON COLLAR."Three years after he was made a slave like ourselves,after the battle of Vannes.""I remember our grief, when we were separated from each

other, at the sight of our father loaded with chains, makinga superhuman effort to come to our help.—But you, brother,what became of you ? You were not separated from him, wereyou?""No. His master bought me also. He bought me for verylittle, at least I think so. Our father having shown himselfof an intractable disposition, they feared the whelp mightgrow into a wolf.""And whither were you both taken?""Back to our tribe—there to cultivate under a master'swhip the land of our very fathers.""Indeed?""After the battle of Vannes, Caesar distributed the landamong his invalid officers. To one of them fell our houseand a part of our field.""Poor father —Poor brother!—How painful must it nothave been to you to see our house and fields in the hands ofthe stranger! But, at least, you were not separated from ourfather?""At night, he and the other slaves were huddled into anunderground vault that was dug out for them,1 while theEoman officer, his female slaves and our warders occupiedour house, where I also was lodged, locked up in a sort ofcage.""In a cage? And why such barbarity towards so young achild?""The day after our arrival at our house, our master said to1The ergaetula, or prison of the laboring slaves, was alwayg under-ground.

BROTHER AND SISTER. 105my father, pointing at me: 'Every day that your work is notsatisfactory to me a tooth will be pulled out from your child'shead; if you resist my orders, a nail will be drawn from hisfingers; if you try to run away he shall lose a foot or a hand,or his nose, or an ear—a limb for each attempt; if you suc-ceed in escaping, both his eyes will be put out, and he willbe either thrown into the oven, or smeared over with honeyand then exposed to the wasps, or burned alive over a slowfire in a tar gown.1 It now lies wholly with you whether yourson shall keep a calendar by the mutilations on his body andclose the score with his death.'"Syomara shuddered and hid her face in her hands."'You will have no more docile and industrious a slavethan I,' father answered his master; 'all I ask is that youpromise to let me see my son from time to time if you are

satisfied with my work.' 'Behave well, and I shall see', an-swered the Roman. Our father kept his promise, thinkingonly of sparing me. He proved himself the most industriousand most docile of all the slaves.""He, the most docile of slaves!" exclaimed Syomara, hereyes wet with tears. "He! Our father! He, so proud of ourfamily's freedom!—He, Guilhern, the son of Joel! Oh! Nevercould a father have given his son a stronger proof of hisaffection!""Only a mother—only a father can be such a hero! Andyet, despite his submissiveness, it was long before our masterallowed him to approach or even see me. Occasionally I sawhim at a distance either in the morning or in the eveningwhen he was led in or out of the ergastula. In order that Imight have some little exercise my master allowed me at those1 Among other tortures, slaves were dressed In garments smearedwith tar, and burned In them.

106 THE IRON COLLAR.hours to leave the cage, but never without first yoking me toa large and ferocious dog that always kept watch over me.""You, my brother?—Treated so cruelly?""Yes, sister. I wore a little iron collar around my neck.A chain that was fastened to the collar was on such occasionsalso fastened to the dog's collar, and thus coupled me tohim. Encouraged by the promise that he would occasionallyreceive in the morning to see me that evening, fatherperformed some days labors that were above human strength.The first time after our common slavery that he was al-lowed to speak to me? he owed the favor to his having hoedseven acres on one day, from sunrise to sunset. Even whenin his full strength and enjoying full health, when free andhappy, he could not have performed so heavy a task in lessthan two days' hard work. On that evening, burned by thesun, dripping with sweat, and still panting for breath, ourfather was brought to my cage by one of the warders. As anadditional precaution, besides the chain that he carried on hislegs, his hands were manacled. The warder did not take hiseyes off us.—Oh, sister!—I broke down in tears at the aspectof our father. Until then I had seen him only at a distance.But seen closely, I saw his head shaven, his face worn andfurrowed with deep lines, and the rags in which he was clad.""And he was so handsome ! So proud ! So mirthful! Do youremember, Sylvest, how on holy days, or the days of the mili-tary exercises, he would ride at full gallop over the meadow

on his spirited grey stallion with his red housings and bridle,while our uncle Mikael the armorer followed with him onfoot as if hanging from the horse's mane?""And yet, sister, the first time that our father was per-mitted to see me and to speak with me, his face beamed with

BROTHER AND SISTER. 107as much joy as during our happiest days of yore. Hardly hadlie come within reach of my cage when he cried out to me ina voice choked with joy: 'Your cheek, my poor boy! yourcheek!' I pressed my cheek against the iron bars and he triedto kiss it through the rails. But notwithstanding our hap-piness at seeing each other again, we wept a good deal. Hedried his tears so as to console me, and sought to encourageme by reciting the manly deeds of our ancestors and theprecepts of our gods. We also spoke of you, my dear sister.Finally, after we had exchanged many words of affection, thewarder took him back to the underground slave-pen. Thesemeetings were, however, few and far between. But every timethat they took place they inspired our father with new for-titude, and afforded him a few minutes of unutterable hap-piness.""And you, dear brother, remained all this time a prisoner ?""All the time. It was the only guarantee our master couldfind for father's docility. Three years passed inthis manner. Having some correspondence to carry on withthe Gauls of England for the sale of some grain, the Eomanassigned that duty to father. It was through this cir-cumstance that, following the last orders of our grandfatherJoel, he could furtively now and then put down in writ-ing the account of his life that he left me. He hid in thehollow of a tree, which he designated to me, the narrativesleft by Joel and Albinik, together with the little gold sickleof our aunt Hena and one of the little brass bells that ourbulls wore at the battle of Vannes; he hid his own narrativein the same place. I have with me, sister, these pious relicsof our family. I brought them to you, in order to prove, if

1o8 THE IRON COLLAR.need be, that I was your brother. Alas! the last lines thatfather wrote preceded his death by only a few days—""And what was the cause of his death—of the terrible deaththat you say he died?""Seeing that father rendered many and valuable ser-vices to his master, he finally enjoyed a little more freedom

than the other slaves. He utilized it to prepare the meansfor our escape. At our last interview he said to me: 'If fireshould break out at night and invade the section of the housein which you are kept, be not afraid; seek not to flee; quietlywait for me.' Do you remember, sister, the shed where the flaxwas thrown to dry?""Yes; the roof touched the bulls' stable.—Oh, Sylvest!How many times did not all of us of the family spend therethe long winter evenings merrily, twisting the flax into skeins!What mirth at our work!—And it ever was our poor fatherwho gave the signal!""Yes. In those days he had, like Joel our grandfather, themirthfulness of all good and brave hearts. Well, as I wasabout to tell you, I was generally locked up in the flax loft.My cage, which consisted of thick oak planks, was open onore side and that side was furnished with an iron railing. Ientered the cage by a door which the Eoman himself alwaysbolted from without. One night I was awakened by a thicksmoke, and I presently saw a gleam under the door that com-municated with the stables. The door flew open andfather, free from his chains, bounded in, hatchet in hand,across a cloud of smoke and flames. How he managed it Inever learned. He rushed to my cage, drew the bolt, orderedme to follow him and leaped down into the heap of flaxthat the conflagration had already invaded. A few blows with

BROTHER AND SISTER. togLis hatchet opened a hole through the wall. He made mecrawl through it first, and he followed.""When you got out you must have found yourself on anarrow, round patch, surrounded by a palisade, where the war-dogs were allowed to go loose—Did you not?""Yes; the palisade was too high to leap over; fatherfell upon it with his hatchet. The conflagration lighted theplace as if it were broad day. The palisade finally yielded.Behind it, you will remember, was a deep and wide moat.""How did you clear it?""From the ground to the bottom of the moat the distancewas twice father's height. He jumped in, reached outhis arms to me and told me to follow him. I became dizzyand took too strong a leap. Our father was hardly able todeaden my fall. • In striking the bottom of the moat I sprain-ed my ankle. The pain drew a piercing cry from me. Fathersmothered it by putting his hand over my mouth. I faintedaway. When a long while afterwards I regained conscious-

ness, this is what I saw: You will remember that not farfrom the wash-house there stood two willow trees, one ofwhich was hollow—""Certainly, and we used to tie a rope across and swingourselves.""In the hollow of one of these trees our family relics werehidden. Those very trees, once the witnesses of our childishgames, were also to be the witnesses of my own and our fath-er's torture. After I fainted at the bottom of the ditch Iwas recalled to my senses by an extraordinary pain. A prick-ing sensation ran all over my body. I opened my eyes. Buta scorching sun that darted its vertical rays upon my shavenhead forced me to close my eyelids. I felt that I was naked,

no THE IRON COLLAR.that I stood on my feet and that I was tied with my back toa tree. I soon realized that the tree was one of the two wil-lows. Again I opened my eyes. Before me, naked and tiedto the other willow, I saw our father. His whole body and facewere smeared with honey, as I was myself, and were com-pletely covered by a swarm of large red ants that had theirhill at the very root of the willow to which he was lashed.I then understood the myriads of tiny pricks that tormentedme. The ants had not yet invaded my face, but I felt themcrawling up to my neck. My first cry was to call out tofather. It was only then that I noticed that he alternatelylaughed a weird laugh, and pronounced incoherent wordsinterspersed with piercing cries of pain. The ants had nodoubt begun to penetrate his head through his ears, and to•devour his eyes. His closed eyelids were •wholly covered bythe insects. The atrocious pain, above all, the burning sunthat had for hours fallen upon his bare and shaven head haddemented him. I called out to him: 'Help, father!' He nolonger heard me.1 My cries attracted another Eoman colo-nist, a neighbor of my master, and who passed for kindtowards his slaves. He happened to be walking in the neigh-borhood and he ran to me. Moved with compassion, he cutmy bonds, dragged me to the nearby stream and threw mein to rid me of the ants. As soon as my first pains were alle-viated I implored the Eoman to run to father's assist-1Th's frightful torture of being him by small but Innumerable bites,delivered to the ants Is thus de- Thus they caused him to expire lascribed by Apulelus: "He was or- slow torment, devouring his verydered to be smeared with honey flesh and entrails until the unhappyfrom head to foot and tied to a wretch had become a fleshless

hollow oak whose trunk served ns corpse, and there was left of himthe home of colonies of ants. As nothing but a skeleton hanging tosoon as the Insects had scented the a tree."—Apulelus, Metamorphoses,rweet odor of honey exhaled by his book VIII.body, they attached themselves to

BROTHER AND SISTER. inance. One of our warders came upon us at that moment,and close behind him our master. He consented out of greedto soil me to the other colonist, but in his rage he declaredthat father, having set fire during the night to a partof the buildings for the purpose of making his escape to-gether with me during the tumult, would have to undergohis punishment to the end. I was taken far away by my newmaster. Long was I ill, but I was treated with humanity.All the Romans are not equally ferocious towards their slaves.The first time that I could leave the house alone I repairedto the two willows. Lashed to the tree were the bleachedbones of our father.""Oh, God! Such a death!" cried Syomara wiping hertears. "To die a slave, and die an atrocious death, at that—and then on the very plac» "'here one has lived happy andfree!""My heart, Syomara, has bled like yours at that thought.Although still young, I took upon fathers sacred re-mains the oath of vengeance. I drew our family narrativesfrom the hole in the willow where they lay concealed. I re-mained a few years with my new master in the capacity of& domestic slave. -During that period I learned to speak theEoman tongue. Unfortunately my master died. Placed un-der the auctioneer's hammer together with his other slaves,I was bought by a Roman procurator who happened to bemaking the circuit of our country. He was of violent tem-perament and cruel. My life now was even more miserablethan ever before. He sold me. Passed from hand to hand,1 was finally sold to seigneur Diavolus, one of the most wickedmasters that it has yet been my misfortune to belong to.Almost two years ago, having accompanied Diavolus to a

1i2 THE IRON COLLAR.villa near that of a grand Roman dame, whose intendant hasunder his charge a large number of female slaves at work ina factory, I met there a young Gallic girl from Paris whowas sold as a slave after the siege of that city. We loved

each other, and one night we pledged each other our trothbefore the sacred planet of the Gauls—the only form of mar-riage allowed to the slave. The gods have blessed our love.Loyse, my wife, expects to be a mother. Finally, njght be-fore last, learning by the merest accident that the womanmuch spoken of as the 'Beautiful Gaul,' recently arrived inOrange, was you, my sister, I feigned to subserve the proflig-acy of my master in order to find the means to reach you.During the night that I spent here I witnessed shock-ing mysteries. For a moment they affected my reason. Aye,for a moment I was a dupe of visions or of witchcraft. Yourspecter appeared before me and chilled me with horror.Now, sister, in the name of the memories of our childhood,that touched you so tenderly—in the name of our fatherwhose cruel death you have just wept, fulfil your promise tomake clear those mysteries that are now unexplainable to me.Feel assured that I have pardon and pity for the shame inwhich you live and into which you have fallen despite yourbetter self. Alas! What else could you have become, beingbought as an infant by Trymalcion—that monster of de-bauchery and cruelty!""Trymalcion was no monster!" interjected Syomara witha sweet smile. "No, indeed, he was not!""What say you? That horrible old man—""Oh! He was ugly to the point of horribleness—he eveninspired me, at first, with fear—that lasted a few days. After

BROTHER AND SISTER. 113that," she added ingenuously, "my sentiments for him be-came quite different—""Do I hear aright! You, my sister! You, hold suchlanguage ?""Would you want me to be ungrateful?""Just gods! What is that!""You, dear brother," resumed Syomara redoubling hertender caresses, "you, who from childhood were subjected toa hard yoke, and who had nothing under your eyes but thespectacle of the sufferings, of the trials of our father—youcan not choose but look upon slavery with hatred and horror.Nothing more natural. You contrast your present life withthe peaceful days of our infancy in our humble home—butas to me, Sylvest, what a difference!""Sister! Sister! Is it thus that you refer to slavery ?""Slavery ? I ?" and she laughed such a sincere laugh thatSylvest shivered. "You should, on the contrary, say, that

before a week had expired, I, a child in her ninth year, had formy head slave the old seigneur Trymalcion. All his slaveswere mine. I know not what philter rendered that old man,so feared of all, a veritable lamb to me. Besides, you cannot imagine the marvels of his galley that took me fromVannes to Italy. Imagine—my private chamber, the finestof all—it was Trymalcion's before he passed it over to me—was wainscoted with ivory panels incrusted with gold; charm-ing pictures covered the ceiling. The carpet, which consist-ed of the feathers of the rarest birds in point of the splendorof their many-colored plumage, was as brilliantly shaded asthe rainbow. My bed, together with all the other appur-tenances of my chamber, was chiseled by the Greeks and itsmaterial was of purest gold. The down of young swans,

H4 THE IRON COLLAR.filled my mattress of Tyrean silk. As to my linen, such wasits whiteness and fineness that, beside it, the web of thespider would seem coarse, and snow, grey. Ten female slaves,assigned to my service, worked night and day and preparedfor me the most charming clothes out of priceless Orientalmaterials—and every day placed, at my disposal, a new outfitbefore my enchanted eyes. Collars, bracelets, jewelry of alldescriptions glittering with precious stones filled my caskets.Exquisite dishes, delicate wines covered my table, and theaged seigneur Trymalcion amused himself with officiating asmy cup-bearer. If I had a mind ior sport, Persian dogs nolarger than your fist were brought in to me, or quaint monkeysin funny clothes, or little Moorish girls of my own age to beused by me as dolls, or, in their silver cages with gold bars,little green and blue parrots that had been taught to say'Syomara.' When I was tired of these amusements, the agedseigneur gave me little boxes filled with pearls and otherprecious nicknacks that I loved to throw into the sea. Thissport alone probably cost Trymalcion ten thousand gold sousevery time I indulged in it. Upon our arrival in Italy, thegorgeous entertainments and pleasures tnat awaited me therealmost made me look back with disdain upon the childishand costly amusements on the galley/'Sylvest had not the courage to interrupt his• sister. Neveruntil then had that monstrous side of slavery occurred tohim—its infamous seductions, infinitely more shocking toa proud and just soul than the heaviest labors or most ex-cruciating torments: the latter only broke and killed thebody.

"What!" he said to Syomara, his eyes filling with tearsand pity. "What! Unhappy child! So young, and yet

BROTHER AND SISTER. USyou had not one sad thought for your lather—your mother—your relatives! Your thoughts never went back longinglyto the innocent life of your early years?""Oh! They did! At first I did weep! I wept for you,for my mother, for my father. But tears dry again. Thenalso, childhood is fickle. Moreover, brother, I really couldnot long regret my coarse robes of grey wool, my heavyleather shoes, my cloth head-coverings, our games of pebbleson the beach, while I reigned as a sovereign on board thegalley of seigneur Trymalcion. I found myself dressed likethe daughter of an empress, and amused myself casting pearlsinto the sea—•""Merciful gods!" cried Sylvest. "I bless you for havingrendered bondage so cruel to me! For having clapped aniron collar to my neck instead of one of gold! I would un-doubtedly, like this unfortunate woman, have borne the collarof infamy with joy. So, then, opulence, idleness, pleasureswere worth all else to you? Family, shame, country, liberty,gods—none of all that existed any longer for you?""What would you have had me do, Sylvest?" replied Syo-mara languidly stretching out her arms as if an inexpressiblesense of weariness and satiety still burdened her spirit. "Howelse could it be ? When barely fourteen I was the .queen atthe gigantic bacchanalian feasts that old Trymalcion gaveonce every month in order to amuse me in his immense un-derground villa on the isle of Capri, where, obedient to anodd whim of that noble seigneur, ten thousand torches ofperfumed wax substituted the light of day. Whole prov-inces could be bought with the gold that each of these satur-nalia cost, where young and handsome female slaves weredrowned in porphyry basins filled with the rarest of wines,

116 THE IRON COLLAR.or where children and young virgins were smothered undermountains of petals of roses and of jasmine and orange blos-soms, not to mention a thousand other whimsical contriv-ances of Trymalcion, who only lived to invent wherewith toplease and entertain me, and to drive away my increasingweariness. Oh, Sylvest! The people of Orange talk of theorgies of Faustina—these are but innocent vestal games be-

side the nocturnal and subterranean orgies of that old seign-eur, who prolonged his days to the advanced age of ninety-eight years by taking every morning a magic bath into whichwas poured the still warm blood of a young girl.1 The oldman died in time, both for himself and others. He was atthe end of his powers of invention to combat the sense ofdisgust and satiety that was slowly and steadily underminingme. Fortunately, two years later I found the remedy forthe weariness, the satiety, the disgust with which all thingsinspired me. Oh, brother!" Syomara proceeded with an ex-altation that caused her face to beam with happiness, "if youonly knew what tart and intense voluptuousness is found incertain mysteries! If you only knew! But what ails you ?Your face grows pale and is stamped with terror! Sylvest,what ails you? Answer me—"Syomara's speech was sooth. Her brother's face grewpale, his features denoted terror, horror. While making tohim the abominable revelations that she did, his sister's faceremained unmoved, and even smiling. Her calm and sweetvoice grew animated only when she touched upon the tartand terrible voluptuousness that she found in certain mys-teries. These words re-awakened in him doubts more poig-nant than had before assailed him; they recalled to his mind1 Pliny the naturalist, De Natura, book II.

BROTHER AND SISTER. 117the vision of the previous night. Sylvest shuddered andbrusquely drew away from his sister, whose arm lay upon hisshoulder. He raised his hands heavenward and cried, unableto believe what he heard or what he saw:"Oh, almighty gods! And yet, a moment ago, this wretch-ed woman was tenderly touched by the recollections of ourchildhood! She wept at the account of her father's torturesand at mine! Merciful gods! Is this another vision ? Isthis another phantom that assumes my sister's shape?"Syomara looked astonished at her brother and moved to-wards him. He, however, motioned her back with a gestureof horror.Seeing herself thus repulsed Syomara turned her large andbeautiful eyes full upon her brother and said in her tenderestvoice:"Poor brother! What is the matter ? Why do you act inthat way ? You have seen me, you say, touched by and weep-ing over the remembrances of our childhood—at the narra-tive of the miseries and of the tortures that you and our

father had to undergo—""Yes—and when I saw your tears flow my last suspicionsvanished.""What suspicions ?""Did I not tell you the horrible vision that I saw lastnight?"Syomara relapsed into silence; she remained pensive; aftera few moments she addressed the slave without blushing,without fear, and in a low voice as if making a friendly con-fidence :"Brother, I can now admit the fact to you, it was not avision; it was myself you saw last night—"

n8 THE, IRON COLLAR.At this revelation Sylvest dashed towards the door; onlythen did he notice that it was locked. He sought to openit—in vain. All the while Syomara repeated:"No, it was no vision. The Syomara of last night—theSyomara the magician—is myself—she is your sister—"And she added in a tone of kindly reproach:"Be not weak-hearted—""Merciful gods!" Sylvest exclaimed with a sigh of relief,struck by a sudden thought. "Oh, gods! You havebereft her of her senses—she is insane! Oh, wretched wo-man! It is no longer horror that you inspire in me!" headded unable to repress his sobs and drawing near to hissister. "It is pity I now feel for you! Oh! My heart breakswith grief when I behold you so young, so beautiful and yetinsane! Aye, I feel my heart break! But it no longer re-volts at the sight of a monster—you are only a poor crazygirl!""Crazy! I crazy ? Crazy because my tears flowed at yoursad narrative? Are you astonished at that? I must con-fess, it astonished me myself. But yet those tears were sin-cere. Why should I feign them, seeing I was bound to makethe revelation to you, and to say—'Last nighf s magician wasmyself?""Yes, poor body! It was yourself I" answered Sylvest withthe complaisance that one humors the crazy with, so as notto irritate them. "Yes, it was you—yes!""Brother, you talk of a disordered brain ? It is your brainthat is unsettled. You seek to reject what you do not under-stand. Last night, due to my eunuch's act of treason, yousaw me young and beautiful; before your eyes I transformedmyself into a hideous old hag. Do you understand that?

BROTHER AND SISTER. 119Do you now understand how I could shed tears a while ago?And yet that transfiguration was as real as the tears that Ished before you. Let your astonishment cease."At the remembrance of the sorcery that he had witnessed,Sylvest's spirit was troubled anew. Whether crazy or not,his sister was a witch, one of those monsters who are thehorror of nature, of man and of the gods. He now essayeda. last and terrible test. Taking full control of himself hesaid:"Poor crazy girl! If you are really a magician, tell me,what did you do the night before? Where were you?""At Faustina's, the proud patrician dame's, in the templenear the canal.""How were you clad?""Just as I was last night, when I left the chamber to fetchthe ingredients for my enchantments.''"No! No!" cried Sylvest distractedly, seeing his last hopeslip from him. "No! It was not you! The magician pre-dicted to Faustina that Syomara would be her victim. Wouldyou have made such a prediction against yourself ?""Who posted you on that ?""Oh! Horrible prediction! deciphered by her whom youclaim to have been yourself, by your specter, from the whitetraces left upon a red carpet by the convulsive fingers of ayoung female slave who was poisoned—""Who posted you upon that also ?""Merciful gods! Have mercy upon me!""Seeing that you know all about it, brother, learn thenthat, in order to deceive Faustina, whom I hate—Oh! WhomI have long hated! My hatred for her dates fully three yearsback; we were then both at Naples—I sought night before

130 THE IRON COLLAR.last to kindle in her heart a hope the assured failure of whichwill be a dagger in her breast. I took on by means of sor-cery the appearance of the Thessalian magician whom shesummoned to her side. I re-assumed that appearance lastnight before you when I left the chamber in search of othermagic charms.""You admit it all! It is yourself who caused the deathof the young female slave, a girl not yet sixteen years ofage! You inflicted a frightful death upon the innocentcreature—and all for the purpose of deceiving Faustina?"

"Yes," replied Syomara with an inspired air. "Yes, theslave girl died through my sorcery—what her dying agoniesrevealed to me Faustina knows not. She is lulled into securityby my false report, while myself, informed by the tracesleft upon the carpet by a hand convulsed in death, have beenable to read the hidden mysteries of the future. Yes, thatgirl died as others have died before and will die after her!The agony of death unveils to us the fearful and hiddensecrets of the future. The death agony contains treasuresfor him who knows how to discover them. I therefore seek—and seek again," she added in an ever more absentmindedinspired air, "I seek—I interrogate everything; everythingcontains a magic power! The flower that sprouts in thecrevices of a tomb, the clotted blood in the veins of a youngvirgin, the direction imparted by the air to the flames of afuneral torch, the bubbling of metals in a state of fusion,the laughter of the child that plays with the knife that is aboutto smite it, the sardonic smile of the criminal nailed to thecross. I interrogate everything! I seek—I seek—I havefound—I shall find much more!"

BROTHER AND SISTER. x«"What is it you seek?" cried Sylvest distracted. "Whatdo you expect to find ?""THE UNKNOWN! The magic power of living at once inthe past and in the future, and of subjecting the present toour will. The power of cleaving the air like a bird, thewaters like a fish; of transmuting the dried leaves of treesinto precious stones, sand into pure gold; the power of pro-longing my beauty and my youth into all eternity; the powerof assuming any shape I wish. Oh! To become at will aflower in the fields and feel my calyx inundated with the dewof the night, and to thrill under the kisses of the little sprites,the nocturnal lovers of the flowers; to become a lioness inthe desert and attract the lordly lions with my roar; to be-come a silvery serpent and intertwine myself with the blackones and shelter ourselves, thus coiled, under the large leavesof the blue-blossomed lotus tree that borders the sleepingwaters; to become a turtle-dove with its iris neck and rosybeak and nestle in the sward with the birds beloved of Venus!Oh! To equal the gods in their might. To be able to say:'I will it!' and it happens. That is why I seek and seek—and I shall find! No price will be too dear to me! None!Oh, brother! As I said to you, if you only knew the anxie-ties, the terrors that accompany these researches, pursued by

necromancy! Unutterable and matchless voluptuousness!Listen—this very night—transfigured into the Thessalianwitch, I succeeded, by means of a thousand enchantments, tolull the watchers at Lydia's grave into slumber and keepthem steeped in profound sleep until, all alone, and in thedeep silence of the night, I was enabled to seize the body ofthe young virgin in order to accomplish my magic charmsupon it. Thus, you see, brother, I have experienced frights,

id* THE IRON COLLAR.shocks, ecstasies, fruitions that no human tongue knows of—nor ever will know.""Oh! Enraged heavens I" cried Sylvest. "You horrifyme, Syomara! But a curse upon slavery that has made youwhat you are! You, the once innocent child of my mother!A demon carried you away when still young: he led youastray; he depraved; he lost you to yourself! From one de-bauchery to another, surfeited at fourteen by the monstrousprofligacy of Trymalcion, you have landed where you noware—searching the unknown and unknowable through mur-der, the profanation of graves, and the frightful mysteries ofa sacrilegious magic! Oh! In the name of my father whodied in tortures! In the name of my sister who has becomethe horror of nature and of the gods—eternal maledictionupon slavery! implacable hatred for it! vengeance upon allthose who keep slaves !'*"Yes, brother! Hate! Execration! Vengeance! Thesekill! These kill!—and dead bodies are useful to sorcery!Listen! There are powerful enchantments, infallible, saythe Egyptian women, provided they are invoked by a son anddaughter of the same blood and both have sacrificed at thesecret shrine of the goddess Isis. Be you that brother—Ishall have you affiliated, and shall purchase your freedomfrom your master."Sylvest was about to spurn the offer with indignation whenthe conversation was interrupted by the eunuch's voice. Hobeat against the door and cried:"Open, Syomara—open! The sun is high. A magistratebas entered the house with soldiers. They are seeking for aslave who is hiding here, and who has run away from thehouse of seigneur Diavolus after taking possession of a casket

BROTHER AND SISTER. j23full of gold ! Open—open—or they will break in the door."

"I shall ascertain where your master lives," Syomara saidto Sylvest. "I do not wish to be separated from you again,my good and tender brother! I shall buy your freedom atany price. Moreover, Diavolus is in love with the BeautifulGaul—what could he refuse to her!"'Such a disgrace had never crossed Sylvest's mind—to beredeemed from slavery by his sister's shame! Ready to parrythat last blow, he said to Syomara while the eunuch con-tinued beating against the door:"Raised in the faith of our fathers, magic seems to meabominable. That notwithstanding, I might perhaps secondyour designs if you promise to put in my hands, through yourmagic art, the means of wreaking terrible vengeance uponmy master and his fellows!""Brother, let us not separate again. Thanks to my sor-ceries, you will have but to choose among the most atrociousmeans of vengeance the one that may please you—""In order to satisfy my hatred, I must remain a few dayslonger in the service of my master. My plan is made. Swearto me, in the name of our mutual affection, that you will takeno step towards my liberation from my master before I shallhave seen you again. I shall speedily find a way. Do youpromise me that?""I swear!" answered Syomara beaming with joy.Saying this the courtesan pressed her brother in a lastand tender embrace, which he dared not to resist lest her sus-picions be awakened. Syomara thereupon approached thedoor; touched, no doubt, a secret spring; the door flew in-stantly open; and before Sylvest had time to look around,Syomara had disappeared, either through some invisible issue,or by means of some new enchantment.

CHAPTEK X.THE DEMENTIA OF DESPAIRThe instant the door of the chamber in which Sylvest andSyomara had met for the first and last time since they weresold at Vannes had opened, the eunuch rushed in, followedby the magistrate and seeming to find an exquisite pleasurein forcibly ejecting the slave."There is the miserable slave!" he cried pointing at Syl-vest. "The Beautiful Gaul did not know that the vagabondhad stolen a casket of gold; nobody in the house saw anysuch casket; but she was kindhearted enough to listen to thelamentations of the scamp, who claimed to be a countrymanof hers so that he might wheedle some alms out of her. Get

you gone, you gallows-bird! Fortunately seigneur Diavoluswill soon settle accounts with you."Led away by the magistrate and his posse of soldiers, Syl-vest left Syomara's abode. Outside, his master stood waitingfor him. Diavolus requested the magistrate to have the slavepinioned, and he was escorted by two soldiers to his master'shouse lest he should attempt to flee.The secret purpose that Sylvest pursued began to be real-ized. He was taken back to the house of seigneur Diavolus,who, without uttering a word, marched beside the soldiers.Diavolus' silent anger was more dreaded by his slaves thanhis outbursts of rage. Arrived at his residence he orderedthe two soldiers to wait in the vestibule, and had Sylvest

THE DEMENTIA OF DESPAIR. 1125Mmself follow him into a lower apartment where he re-mained alone with his slave.Diavolus' face was pale. Prom time to time his fiststwitched convulsively while with knitted brows, eyes flashingfire and clenched teeth he looked upon his slave in savagesilence. After having, no doubt, turned his scheme of ven-geance like a sweet morsel in his mindj he said to Sylvest,whose arms were still pinioned:"I waited for you all night at the door of the BeautifulGaul—aye, at her door—I—I waited. What were you doingall that time while your master was dancing attendance inthe chill air of the night on the street ?""I was speaking of you, seigneur.""Indeed! Quite an honest servant! And what were yousaying ?""I told her, seigneur, that, loaded with debts, sticking atno act of baseness or of knavery, and insensible to shame, yousent to her as a present a casket of gold which you had vir-tually stolen from one of your friends, a young and imbecilebut rich fellow. 'Therefore/ said I to the Beautiful Gaul, 'Iam of the opinion that you can make no more lucrative choicethan to take in both the imbecile and his gold. As to mymaster, seigneur Diavolus, take my advice, and close yourdoors to him. That noble scamp will eat you out of houseand home, as he did with the noble dame Fulvia, with Bassathe flute player, and so many other silly girls whom hesqueezed like lemons and then cast off.' The Beautiful Gaullistened to my brotherly advice. You may convince yourselfby knocking at her door. Do not think I am joking, seigneur.

No, this time, different from so many other occasions, I amnot sporting with your stupid credulity. I said, and

1a6 THE IRON COLLAR.am now saying just what I think of you. Oh, my contempt-ible seigneur! Oh, master more infamous than the lowestscamp!—"Accustomed to the impudent repartees of his slave, Dia-volus did not at first wish to interrupt him. He confidentlybelieved that after indulging in his insolent humor, by wayof counter-irritants to the truth, Sylvest would speedily strikea different tack and make amends for his insolent sally. ThusDiavolus allowed his slave to proceed until the latter^ lastwords removed all doubt from his mind. Unable now anylonger to restrain his fury, Diavolus seized a heavy chairstudded with bronze ornaments, rushed with it at the slave,and raising it in both his hands, was on the point of crush-ing in Sylvest's head who, impassible and full of hope, silent-ly awaited death. But a second thought suddenly stayedDiavolus' arms. With the chair still over Sylvest's head,he cried:"Oh! no—I shall not kill you now—no—you would suffertoo little."Sylvest saw with deep grief that his last hope was frus-trated. But he did not yet wholly give up his plan. Hisarms were pinioned, but his legs remained free. He tookadvantage of the partial liberty thus left to him and gaveseigneur Diavolus so furious a kick in the stomach that thedebauchee rolled on the floor screaming for help."Now," thought Sylvest, "he is bound to kill me. I shallnot owe my freedom to the infamy of Syomara and I shall,withal, be free from her sorceries. These would ever hauntme. I would finally succumb to them."At the screams uttered by seigneur Diavolus the two sol-diers and several slaves, among the latter of whom was ftri

THE DEMENTIA OF DESPAIR. 127cook Four-Spices, rushed into the chamber, while their mas-ter painfully raised himself from the floor with a face dis-colored by pain and rage. He dropped into a seat gaspingfor breath and said to the soldiers:"Arrest that criminal—he tried to kill me!"The soldiers seized Sylvest, while his companions in bondagestood around silent and dumbfounded. They all loved him.

They exchanged sad glances among themselves.His pain having somewhat subsided, Diavolus rose fromhis seat, and leaning with both hands upon a table said tothe soldiers in a calm and collected voice, after a moment'sreflection:"Take that murderer to the underground pens of the cir-cus. In three days there will be a performance. Let him bethen delivered to the wild beasts in the arena.""At last," thought Sylvest to himself, "my hour will soonsound."A shudder of horror ran through his companions whilethe two soldiers led Sylvest away. Pour-Spices, however,covertly made to Sylvest a mysterious sign that consisted injoining two of his fingers, as if taking a pinch of some pow-der. Sylvest understood that Four-Spices had returned tohis poisoning scheme.Before proceeding with this painful narrative, my son, Iwish to tell you why the noble Faustina should inspire you withno pity whatever, while Syomara, however criminal, howevermonstrous she may seem to you, deserves, perhaps, somecompassion.Faustina is the personification of the savage contempt forthe life of others which is born of the unlimited power thatthe master arrogates to himself over his slave, the conqueror

128 THE IRON COLLAR.over the conquered, the oppressor over the oppressed. Faus-tina is the most shocking instance of the excesses that atotal absence of religious sentiment, unbridled will, unbound-ed desires speedily followed by satiety, lead to. They engen-der the refinements of barbarism and the debaucheries thatcause nature to shudder.Syomara, on the other hand, is the personification of theshocking depravity that slavery almost inevitably plunges oneinto when taken young, above all, when, instead of presentingitself in the garb of roughness and cruelty, it caresses thebody with all the enjoyments of luxury, and for all timepoisons the soul with precocious corruption. The slave whois condemned to the most arduous labors, who is beaten andtortured has his energy ever revived by pain: the sense ofh-7 own dignity never is wholly extinguished in his breast;his mind will ever turn to revolt. The horror for oppres-sion, sole virtue left to slavery, the slave who is rendered ef-feminate and is unnerved by infamous delights wholly loses.Often he eclipses his own master by his crimes.

Bought when still a little child, and brought up by aninfamous old man, the monstrosity of whose performancesseemed to cross the bounds of possibility, Syomara could notchoose but emulate Trymalcion; and she surpassed him.Shame to our race! But the slave Syomara never had thechoice between good and evil; the noble Faustina on the con-trary, being free and rich, could choose.The one became a monster through circumstances, theother developed into one by nature.Have pity for the unfortunate Syomara.

CHAPTEE XI.THE CIECUS JAILOR.Sylvest was taken by the soldiers to the circus, where hewas put in irons and locked up in a solitary cell. All slavesintended for the wild beasts were locked up separately, out offear lest they mutually put an end to their lives in order toescape a death whose long agony rendered it dreadful in ad-vance.From his cell Sylvest could hear the roarings of the ani-mals that he was to be a prey to on the evening of the thirdday of his imprisonment. The gladiatorial combats and theexhibitions of wild beasts were always given by torch light.So shaken was Sylvest's mind at the close of the night thathe spent in Syomara's house, especially when she offered himto associate himself with her sorceries, that, forgetting Loyse,he sought, by insulting and striking his master, to meet aspeedy death which his hands, bound since he left the courte-san's house, prevented him from giving to himself. In theseclusion of his cell, the slave had leisure to collect histhoughts. He remembered his wife, and mentally addressedher his adieus, sorrowfully reflecting that on the very even-ing when he would be delivered to the wild beasts, Loyse wasto wait for him at all hazards in Faustina's park, as wasagreed between them at their last interview. It also shotwith grief through his mind that he had not accepted Loyse'soffer, made to him a month previous, to try to flee.

130 THE IRON COLLAR,To certain domestic slaves and to those who were employedin factories and in field labor the opportunity for escape wasnot infrequent. But they had to take refuge in the wilder-ness, far from any inhabited spot. Hunger often killed thosewho ventured on the expedient. He did not wish to expose

his wife to such a death, all the less knowing that she wasAvith child. But finding himself at the pass when his onlyprospect was to be slain by the teeth of a savage lion or tigerin the amphitheater, now when a painful agony loomed be-fore him, he regretted not having mustered up the requisitefortitude to brave the dangers of flight with Loyse. But forthe recollection of his wife, the slave would have awaited thehour of his death with indifference. Enslaved Gaul mightnot so soon be able to break her chains by the revolt of theSons of the Mistletoe. He would, at any rate, be about tojoin his ancestors in the new and unknown worlds.In the midst of his perplexities there was a fear that everand anon recurred to Sylvest. At such times he would scanthe thick vault overhead and the heavy slabs of his cell withanxiety. Syomara was a magician; he feared to see herappear any moment and to find himself carried away by her,thanks to her magical powers. There was still another causeof pain that assailed his heart. As was his custom, he hadstowed away in the thick and strong belt of his trousers thelittle gold sickle and brass bell of Hena and his father Guil-hern, together with the thin rolls of tanned skin that con-tained the annals of his family. Seeing himself now inevit-ably doomed to death, he sorrowfully saw in advance thepious relics scattered over the blood-stained sand of thearena, instead of being handed down to his descendants, ac-

THE CIRCUS JAILOR. 131cording to the wishes of his grandfather Joel, the brenn ofthe tribe of Karnak.The jailor who once a day brought to Sylvest his allottedpittance of food was an invalided soldier, an old Cretan arch-er, and as talkative a fellow as any of our own Gallic country-men, as the good Joel would have said. The jailor, longfamiliar with the combats of the circus and hardened to thespectacle, always entertained Sylvest at his meal hour, andthat without any evil intention, with recounting to him thenumber and ferocity of the animals which his friend andcompanion, the chief keeper of the animals, had under hischarge. On the eve of the expected sanguinary feast he saidto the slave with a paternal air:"Ah, my son! We have just this minute received for to-morrow's spectacle a superb couple of African lions. Ithought of you, because, my good friend, the keeper of theanimals says he never saw such a couple of ferocious beasts.Only four leagues from here, while the train halted and im-

mediately after having had their fill of meat, those lions toreto pieces the Arab keeper, to whom they were long accus-tomed and who therefore did not in the least suspect them—all out of pure viciousness. What will it be to-morrow even-ing, after they will have been deprived of food for a wholeday! My son, I wish for your sake that you fall into thepaws of one of these two fellows. He will not make you lan-guish—above all I urge you earnestly, your youth makes mefeel an interest in you, above all remember this: Do notfollow the example of the weaklings, who, the moment thewild beasts are let loose into the amphitheater commit theclumsiness of throwing themselves flat down upon their faces,and expose their backs, instead of their breasts. The clumsy

132 THE IRON COLLAR.fools! Their agony lasts a hundred times longer. I shallexplain to you why. As no vital part of the body is attackedfrom the start, death is much slower—while, on the contrary,one is done quick if, now remember this, my son, if he dropson his knees, face to face with the lion or tiger, his chest andthroat freely exposed to their teeth. The chances are thenfair that you will be despatched in short order by the ani-mal's seizing you by the throat or disemboweling you on thespot.""The advice is good; I shall remember it.""But remember also this, my son, that to drop down onyour knees face to face to the animals applies only in casesof lions or tigers.—If you have to deal with an elephant, youmust resort to a contrary manoeuvre. I'll tell you which—""Will there be elephants also at this Eoman celebration? Idid not know that there were any of them in Orange.""Anxious that to-morrow's spectacle shall be a record break-er in Eoman Gaul, the ediles have put themselves to great ex-pense. They bought the battle elephant of the circus ofNimes. He is said to be a ferocious brute. He arrived hereseveral days ago. And that is not all, because, by Jupiter!our noble ediles do things upon an imperial scale. There willalso be an extraordinary combat of a sort that I have seenonly twice in all my life, once in Eome, another time inAlexandria, in Egypt.""And in what will that extraordinary combat consist?""Before telling you that, let me, my son, give you an ex-cellent precept. I am now talking of the elephant You seehim running towards you furiously, not so? Try to avoid

that he catch you in the coils of his trunk. You must throwyourself flat on the ground, glide under him, grab one of his

THE CIRCUS JAILOR. 133hind legs, and he will thereupon immediately trample you todeath in order to rid himself of your embrace. In a jiffy hewill have all your bones broken and you will be flattened outwith as much ease as you would flatten out a shell-less snail.""I shall endeavor to select the elephant. With him thereis a better chance of dying quickly than with the lions.""Yes, truly! But you will have to be quick and wide-awakeso that you may be one of the first to reach the elephant. Hewill be very much in demand. You will see that from theinstant he makes his appearance in the arena all the slaveswho are sentenced to the wild animals will rush toward him.""And would the extraordinary combat that you referred tooffer a quicker death ?""No! No! By Hercules! I can assure you that I can giveyou no suggestion with regard to the monstrous animal thatI am going to tell you about. It is a crocodile. I once sawin Eome the legs and arms of three slaves as neatly and quick-ly cut through by the saw-like teeth of a crocodile, as an axewould have done.1—""This Eoman feast promises to be elaborate—bears, lions,tigers, elephants, marine monsters! Will there be slavesenoiigh to feast so many guests?""Without counting those whose masters may between nowand to-morrow evening generously tender them to the publicspectacle, there are now nearly eighty of you—that will beenough.""I should think so! That should be quite enough to enter-tain the surfeited taste of the nobles. But will that crocodilebe able to fight on the sand of the arena?"1 Pliny the naturalist gives these the combat of a crocodile and ncurious details of the behavior of hippopotamus.—De Natura, bookanimals in the arena, and recounts VI, pp. 239-299.

134 THE IRON COLLAR."No; a pond has been dug out for him in the center of thecircus, level with the ground. While fleeing hither and thitherfrom the wild beasts, many slaves will be sure to fall in. Thepond is a hundred paces round and a yard deep. The cro-codile came from Eome by sea in a galley specially con-structed for him."

"Just like a pro-consul, or some rich and noble seigneur!""Yes, my son. I must say that what interests me doubly inyou is the fortitude that you display. What country are youfrom?""I am from Breton Gaul.""By the brave god Mars! Those Bretons were mighty fel-lows at their swords. I made their acquaintance. The armI lost was cut off at one blow of a hatchet under the very eyesof Caesar, the great Caesar, at the battle of Vannes—It wasa terrible fight. Caesar came near being made a prisoner.""Yes, my father was carrying him off in full armor on hishorse.""You speak sooth; I was there when the Numidian ridersran to the help of Caesar, whom a kind of Gallic giant wascarrying off on his horse.—And that Breton was your father ?""The only one of my family who survived the battle ofVannes.—But," Sylvest explained, fearing lest the jailorimagine he was seeking to enlist his compassion by speakingof the bravery of the Gauls, "we are wandering far away fromthe crocodile that arrived from Eome in a galley, like a pro-consul ! Where did the beast disembark ?""At Narbonne; from Narbonne it was brought to Orangein a large basin filled with water and drawn by twenty yokeof oxen. This morning a live heifer was thrown in to themonster—Oh! my son, the monster crunched the heifer's

THE CIRCUS JAILOR. 135bones with the ease that a cat crunches the bones of a mouse.""It seems to me that the slaves thrown in to the crocodilemay drown themselves before being devoured.—That wouldbe better still—""No, they will not be able to drown themselves. Precau-tions have been taken against that. The bottom of the croco-dile's basin is covered with a thick layer of mud and gravel.When the slaves fall in, their heads and shoulders will beabove water.—As to the way to meet quick death in thecrocodile's tank, my son, I can give you no advice. I haveno experience in that line.—For the rest, seeing that theslaves are not delivered to the animals but as the closing actof the performance, you will have a chance to wait for yourhour by witnessing one of the most remarkable gladiatorialcombats ever yet seen. There will be eight couples on horse-back, and twenty-five afoot.—And it is even said, but the re-port is not yet confirmed, that this part of the performancewill not be completed but after the genuine fashion of Borne,

according to which several grand dames will combat againstone another. We expect to have female gladiators."1"Women? Noble dames?""Certes, and of the noblest. The keeper who brought thecrocodile from Italy was telling us a few hours ago that hesaw in the circus at Eome five female couples, all wires ofsenators and knights, combat on the arena. Some combattedwith others of their own rank, and one or two combatted withfemale slaves. And he says that they fought with incrediblefury, the same as seigneurs and knights often indulge in gla-1 "This very year there were themselves In the arena."—Tacitus,spectacles even more magnificent Annals, book XV. sec. 32.than before. But women of lllus- "There they fought, not onlytrfmis and senatorial rank, in to» men, hut even women."—Suetonius,great numbers, went to degrade Domitian, ch. IV.

136 THE IRON COLLAR.diatorial fights with their slaves, the latter, of course, alwaysunarmed. The slaves are armed only when they are set tofight one another unto death, like professional gladiators, suchas the celebrated Mont-Liban and other skilful masters inarms.—Ah! The evening's entertainment promises to be gor-geous.—Thanks to the new method adopted by the physicians,"added the jailor laughing, "the assistants at the circus, andI am one of them, will make good fees to-morrow.""What fees?""Are you ignorant of the marvelous healing powers, forcertain diseases, that have been discovered in the liver offreshly killed gladiators?—The physicians hold themselvesready to swoop down like a cloud of vultures upon the bodiesof the fallen and still warm gladiators,—because, you mustknow, the liver must he extracted warm from the entrails,or it loses its virtue.—The sale of livers, without counting thepresents given us by old men and epileptics who also hastento the spot in search of life in death, constitute our profits.But, by Pluto! It is not all fun with us! You must know thatthe moment the performance is over, the torches put out andthe amphitheater deserted and dark as night—Oh! myson—""What is it that makes you shudder like that? What is itthat happens when the amphitheater is deserted and dark?""Then is the hour of the witches!—""The witches!" exclaimed Sylvest shuddering in turn."What brings them to the circus—at that hour of the night?""Oh! It is the hour when, assuming the shapes of hyenas,

wolves, serpents, birds of prey or of some unknown and stillmore dreadful animal, these magicians glide through thegloom and contend with one another for the human remains

THE CIRCUS JAILOR. lythat strew the bloody arena and that they need for their in-cantations.—Oh! How many times have I not stood shiver-ing in my lodge, old soldier though I am, when I heard fromthe distance the screeches, bowlings and frightful gruntingsof the witches tugging at the dead bodies for the heads andvital parts of the corpses in which wild animals had left theimpress of their teeth!—Oh! my son! The cold sweat comesover me when I think of the mysterious, frightful noises thatI shall hear during the night after the festival—"Saying this the jailor took his departure leaving Sylveststeeped in fresh anxieties.—Perchance Syomara, transformedinto a she-wolf, might prowl on the night of the followingday into the arena and contend with other magicians for thecorpse of her own brother.The last night of his imprisonment Sylvest spent almostwithout sleeping a wink. He constantly feared to see Syo-mara appear before him.—Thanks to the gods she did notcome. Probably, faithful to her promises not to take anysteps with seigneur Diavolus looking to the redemption ofher brother at an infamous price, before seeing him again,she was quietly awaiting his return, wholly ignorant of hisbeing condemned to die in the arena.The evening dedicated to the Eoman feast arrived at last.Two hours before, the old jailor came to Sylvest, but, insteadof bringing him his usual pittance, said:"My son, to-day you have a free meal!""What is a free meal?""You can ask anything you wish, worth not more than halfa gold sou. The eighty slaves who are destined, like your-self, to the wild beasts, all enjoy the same right—it is theirlast meal.—It is an old and generous custom1."1Wallon, In his History of Slavery in Antiquity, gives the originof this "free meal."

138 Tti£ IRON COLLAR."Yes! No doubt the ediles desire that the lions, tigers andcrocodiles shall have for their dishes slaves that are nicelyfed on the last day of their lives.—As to me, I care not tooffer myself as any such dainty dish to the noble animals.

To-day I shall eat nothing at all. They shall have to acceptme such as the prison diet made me.""That is a singular notion," observed the jailor gravely, andlooking closely at Sylvest, "There are here about thirty Gallicslaves condemned to the wild animals; they all act on thesame principle and are firm as rocks, while all the otherslaves, whether Eoman, German, Spanish, Arabian, Hebrew,all of them—no, not all,—the Hebrew slaves also display greatcourage, they do not seem to mind death, they say that theirtrue Messiah will come some day and cause justice to reignon earth—•""Who is their Messiah?""I could not describe him to you. They claim that he isa better man than any of the numerous and pretendedMessiahs who have hitherto sprung up, and that he will de-liver their people from the yoke of the Eomans. Eome, asyou know, dominates the country of the Hebrews the sameas it does the rest of the world.—Well, as I was saying to you,those Hebrews also are very firm in the presence of death,while all the others, yon Gauls excepted, have seen the ap-proach •of this day either with increasing terror or with savagedespair. You and .the Hebrews, however, do not show theleast concern. By Hercules! I would like to know what im-parts such courage to you.""It is the druids, our priests. We draw our fortitude fromthe belief in immortality. The druids have taught us thatthere is no death."

CIRCUS JAILOR. 139"How! When in a few hours your bones will crack betweenthe teeth of wild animals—when your body will be torn intoshreds—you still claim that life will not have been extin-guished in you?""Does the body die when the garments that cover it areworn out and are replaced with new ones? No. The gar-ments pass, the body remains. It is thus with our lives.Our life is eternal—it changes its wrappings as we changeour garments. Hardly will, this evening, the last shred ofmy fleshly garment be torn by the wild beasts, than, puttingon a fresh body, as one puts on a fresh garment, I shall con-tinue my life in unknown worlds, where I shall meet againthose whom I have loved in this."The invalided legionary looked at Sylvest with eyes fullof astonishment, tipped his head in the air and remarked:"If you Gauls believe that, then courage must come easy to

you. I now no longer wonder at the fool-hardiness of yourrace, and at their headlong conduct in battle.—And so, then,you do not intend to do honor to your free meal?""No; I shall not taste any dish that you may offer to me.""You are wrong.—I have always heard it said that theagony of a man with an empty stomach lasts longer than thatof a man with a full stomach.—But do as you please.—Atsun-set I shall come for you. You will then witness one ofthe most magnificent performances in the world.—First thecombat of eight couples of gladiators on horse-back; these areprofessional gladiators. After that twenty-five couples ofslave gladiators, who are compelled to fight until death. Afterthat the young and rich seigneur Norbiac will present himselfin the circus—""To fight?—Seigneur Norbiac?—And against whom?"

140 THE IRON COLLAR."Pure comedy, but it is the fashion.—He will fight armedto the teeth with a slave 'armed in blank'1 as the circus termis, that is to say, the slave will be armed with a tin swordwithout either point or edge. Our young seigneurs enjoy thatsort of sport. After that there will be the combat of womenthat I spoke to you about. It is now certain that it will takeplace.""Between whom? ""Between two of the most beautiful women of Orange—agrand dame and a celebrated manumitted courtesan.""What are their names ?" Sylvest asked with deep curiosityand no little anxiety. "Oh! Their names.""The grand dame is Faustina, a patrician of this city. Themanumitted courtesan has been only a short time in Orange.They call her the Beautiful Gaul. After that we shall betreated to a combat to the death between the famous Mont-Liban and Bibrix, the most celebrated gladiator of Nimes.Finally, to wind up the feast, the slaves will be delivered tothe wild animals, and by the way of them, do not forget, myson, the advice I have given you upon how to behave in sightof a lion or tiger, or in sight of an elephant. As to thecrocodile I can give you no advice."Sylvest was again left alone. He had just been dumb-founded with the tidings of the combat between Syomamand Faustina. What could be the reason for an encounterbetween the two women? Was it perhaps the rivalry betweenthem on the score of Mont-Ldban? Sylvest hesitated to acceptthat theory. He remembered the disdainful manner in which1"Tbe gladiator princes were Si- foutrht only agalnat adversaries

ways very careful liow they exposed armpd wlfh a simple pointlesstheir throats. Commodus, who foil."—XlphlHn. These were cow-boasted to have slain a thousand ardly comedies, always terminatedgladiators with his left hand, by a murder.

THE CIRCUS JAILOR. 141Syomara treated the gladiator, although in the end she dis-missed him with a few kind words. But since that morning,three days had passed. Perhaps Syomara did finally takeMont-Liban for her lover, out of mere hatred for Faustinarather than out of esteem for the stupid and brutal gla-diator. Sylvest thought this possible as he recalled Syomara'sadmission that she fled to necromancy from a surfeit of de-bauchery. Finally he remembered the horrible revelation ofthe eunuch on the subject of Belphegor; he shuddered at therecollection of the eunuch's words and was still loth to be-lieve them true. On the other hand, he was not surprisedto see the noble Faustina, for the sake of the combat, leapthe barrier that separated her from the manumitted courtesan.At Eome the most notable Eoman dames combatted on thearena either with others of their own rank or with femaleslaves; a Gallic courtesan might be taken to be no more thana slave. What he could not explain was that Syomara shouldhave accepted the murderous struggle. Perhaps she reliedupon her magic powers to emerge triumphant from the ordeal.These cogitations occupied Sylvest's mind until sun-set.At that hour the jailor opened the slave's cell to conduct himto the Roman feast."Am I to be delivered to the wild animals with chains tomy feet and my hands manacled ?" he asked the invalid. "Willyou not unchain me?""No, my son. You will be taken all together into aniron-barred vault that is situated on the same level as thearena and opens upon it. As you are to remain locked upthere until the moment when you are to be delivered to thewild animals, you might kill one another if you were to beunchained. Just before you enter the circus your chains willbe removed. Come now, my son, follow me."

CHAPTEE XII.AT THE CIECUS BAILING.When Sylvest stepped out of his cell, he found himself ina long underground gallery, from either side of which openedthe doors of other cells whence, no doubt, a number of hisfellow victims had been taken ahead of him. At the farther

end of the underground walk towards which, prodded bytheir respective jailors and armed keepers, the slaves werebeing driven, a bright light was seen across heavy and close-set bars of iron. It was the illumination of the amphithe-ster. Filled with anxiety at the thought of the combat be-tween Faustina and his sister, Sylvest wished to be among thefirst to arrive at the railing of that huge air-hole, and hecleaved the mass of his companions. Thanks to this fore-sight, Sylvest succeeded in securing a place close to the ironbars, from where he heard with increasing distinctness therustling and even tumult of a vast concourse, seeing that theamphitheater of Orange, like those of Aries, Nimes, and sev-eral other cities of Roman Gaul, could seat twenty-five thou-sand spectators.1Oh! my poor child, son of my Loyse! You for whom Iwrite this account, you will learn from the description that1 Caumont. In his Monuments of in greater diameter, and 375 feetAntiquity, gives most precise de- In lesser. Nlmes, Bordeaux, Aries,toils of the construction of the cir- Limoges, all had circuses nearly ascuses and amphitheaters that, after large, not to speak of many smallerthe Roman Invasion, dotted Gaul. ones. (Caumont, vol. Ill, p. 498.)Poitiers had one that was 426 feet

AT THE CIRCUS RAILING. 143I shall now give you of one of the amphitheaters built by theEomans in our old Gaul, to what excesses of insane prodigal-ity our oppressors, enriched by the labor of their slaves, re-torted in order to afford themselves the entertainment of hor-rible suiferings and the massacre of human beings.The arena of the circus of Orange, destined for combatsand the spectacle of human torture, was of oval shape, ahundred and fifty paces long, and surrounded with a wallmassive enough for the vault, in which the victims intendedfor the wild animals were huddled together, to be enclosedwithin its thickness. The wall, raised so high that the ele-phants could not reach with the tip of their trunks the edgeof the wide platform that capped it, was decorated, on theside facing the arena, with fluted pillars which left betweenthem tall niches in which stood magnificent marble statues,and that completely surrounded the vacant space. The wallwas crowned by a sort of terrace on which the seats of the firstgallery were ranked. As a precaution against the possibleleaps of any of the wild animals, and notwithstanding itshigh elevation above the ground, this gallery was protected bya balustrade of gilded bronze. The seats in this gallery, which

ran completely around the amphitheater, were reserved forthe richest men and women, the distinguished notabilities ofthe city. Here also, and facing each other, were thethrone of Augustus, Emperor of Rome and Gaul, and thetribunal of the ediles, the magistrates who had the perform-ance in charge.Behind the gallery, and, like it, following the oval shapeof the arena, innumerable marble tiers of seats rose one abovethe other. They were reached from the outside through sev-eral exterior galleries that ran around the circus, and that

144 THE IRON COLLAR.communicated with one another by means of a large numberof staircases. If it rained, or if the sun grew too warm, thespectators were sheltered by a "velarium." But that vastcloth covering was not spread on this night. The air was still,not a breath of wind agitated the thousands of wax torchesihat stood inserted in candelabra of gilded bronze, firmly fixedin the arena itself, entrance into which was gained throughfour vaulted passages, contrived under the above gallery andtiers of seats, and through the full thickness of the wall.Two of the entrances—one from the north, the other fromthe south—were reserved for the gladiators on horseback andafoot. The other two entrances—from the east and west—and, like the first two, facing each other, were furnishedwith iron railings. One was destined for the admission ofthe wild beasts, the other for that of the slaves who were con-demned to be devoured alive. Sylvest and his fellow victimswere led into the vault of the latter entrance. Standingclose to the iron railing he examined with mournful curiosityall that he could see without.The floor of the arena, covered with a thick layer of red-colored sand to the end of subduing the traces of blood, wasstrewn with a large quantity of shining particles that glit-tered like gold foil in the light of the torches.1 Only a certainspace was not strewn with sand. It was covered only witha thick carpet provided with a round open space, that fittedover a corresponding opening in a plank flooring beneath.The tank where the crocodile awaited his victims was underthis flooring, which was to be removed the moment the wildanimals were let loose into the circus. Standing at certainintervals from one another upon platforms adjusted to the in-1Caumont, Monuments of A.ntiquttv.

AT THE CIRCUS RAILING. 145ner wall around the arena, Sylvest noticed a number of menarrayed like the Mercury of the pagans; they wore on theirheads round casques of steel ornamented with two gilt wings.The only clothing of these men was red tights. At their•heels also there were little wings. Each of the Mercurieshad before him a bronze stove holding burning coals, inwhich long brass bars were being heated at one end. Thesebars with their red-hot points served to ascertain whether theslave gladiators, who, seriously wounded, occasionally feigneddeath to evade continuing the combat, were actually lifeless.The Mercury ascertained the fact by passing his burning barover the wound. The stinging smart of such a trial renderedimpossible the simulation of the insensibility of death. Thebrass bars were also used to drive forward timid or refractoryslaves who retreated before their adversaries.Sylvest also noticed along the wall that skirted the arenaa number of men with long beards and of gigantic statureclad like Pluto, the pagans' god of hell. These men stoodmotionless, like the statues that decorated the niches in thewall. On their heads "they wore copper crowns with pointedteeth, their bodies were enveloped in long black togas spangledwith silver stars, they leaned upon the handles of their longand heavy blacksmith hammers. They were called Plutos.Their function was to drag the corpses out of the circus andto despatch with their hammers the victims who stillbreathed.11This horrible Invention of "Mer- who assured himself, by means ofcuries" and "Plutos" was one of the a heated rod, whether they wereaccessories required by all combats really dead. The Pluto draggedof gladiators. "The gladiators fed out the corpse, and If It gave anyup for the combat, should they fall sign of life, finished It with hiswounded In the arena, were ap- heavy hammer. The heated rodspreached, for fear they would not also served to goad to the combatget their deaths (after having the reluctant ones. If there weresworn to flght, as the word was, any."—Wallon, History of Slaver]/to iron and fire), by the Mercury; in Antiquity, vol. II, p. 229.

146 THE IRON COLLAR.Finally, near the two entrances of the gladiators stood theheralds-at-arms, their heads wreathed in scarlet ribbons, ivorystaves in their hands, and clad in white chlamyses. Besideeach herald-at-arms stood a trumpeter, arrayed in a silverembroidered green jacket with hose of the same color that,

however, disappeared almost wholly under the folds of thelarge leather boots that covered his nether limbs up to thethigh. In their hands, ready to blow into them, the trumpetersheld their enormous instruments that were curved like hunt-ing horns.Although the amphitheater was crowded to overflowing,btill the arrival of the ediles was awaited in order to begin theperformances. The calls and whistles testified to the impa-tience of the multitude. The illumination of the circus im-parted a strange and weird aspect to the spectacle. The in-numerable torches placed around the arena, and that inun-dated it as well as the first gallery, together with the tiersnearest thereto, with a brilliant light, left the rest of thespectators in a gloaming. The further removed the uppertiers were from the lower and brightly luminous focus oflight, all the deeper was the darkness into which they werecast. The light decreased upward in intensity, so that thethousands of human faces located in the uppermost tiers ofthe amphitheater resembled, in the pale red and almost duskyreflections of the torches, flitting phantoms that were hardlydistinguishable in the dimness, above which shone the starsin the firmament.Suddenly a great commotion was noticed in the first gal-lery, where several reserved seats stood vacant. Sylvest sawthe seats immediately taken by his master Diavolus, togetherwith several other seigneurs, friends of his, magnificently

AT THE CIRCUS RAILING. 147dressed like himself and bearing the evidences of having justrisen from some prolonged banquet. They wore chaplets ofgreen vine-leaves and carried large rose nosegays in theirhands. The noisy entrance of the young set, their loud voices,their continuous laughter, the ruddiness of their faces—allbetokened an advanced stage of intoxication. Leaning overthe balustrade, seigneur Diavolus examined the amphitheaterlong and attentively and returned hither and thither manygreetings directed to him. Presently, being seated exactlyopposite the place where the slaves condemned to the wildanimals were kept, and Sylvest being in full view behind thegrating of the vault, an accidental glance cast by Diavolusin that direction enabled him forthwith to detect and recog-nize his slave. He pointed him out to his friends, redoubledhis loud maudlin guffaw, and shook his fist at the helplessman, accompanying the gesture with coarse insults.There are avenging gods in heaven! The very moment when

Diavolus was thus rejoicing over his slave's fate, the latterheard his name mentioned behind him by one of his fellowvictims. He listened and heard a voice say in the Gallictongue:"There must be among us here a comrade named Sylvest—I wonder why he does not answer. I have called him severaltimes by name.—Can he be dead ?—Sylvest!—Sylvest!—""Here I am," responded the slave. "I am close to the rail-ing. I do not wish to leave my place. Come this way if youwish to speak with me—"A few seconds later Sylvest saw one of the condemnedslaves, a young man who bore on his forehead the brand ofhaving tried to escape from his master, pushing towards

148 THE IRON COLLAR.him. When near enough to be heard, the stranger said in alow voice in Gallic:- "Is your name Sylvest?""Yes, brother in bondage.""Are you a slave of Diavolus and did you have there a com-panion named Four-Spices, the cook ?""Yes.""Four-Spices charged me with some good news for you.I met him the day before yesterday at market. I have knownhim long. He is a firm and reliable companion. I said tohim: 'Within two days I shall be free in the thickest of theforest, or condemned to the wild beasts at the approachingperformances in the circus. This very night I shall try toescape, and my master has threatened that if I ever again tryto flee and he catches me, he will send me to the circus. Willyou try to run away with me to-night ? If two run away to-gether the attempt has better chances.' 'No,' Four-Spices an-swered me; 'I cannot accompany you to-night. But shouldyou be caught and sent to the circus, you will find among thecondemned slaves a Gaul named Sylvest; he is a slave ofDiavolus; say to him in my name, it will render death sweetto him, that our master invited a large number of youngseigneurs, friends of his, to a splendid banquet that is to begiven to-morrow, and is to precede the performance at thecircus, whither they will repair after their feast. I have longlain in wait for the hour to revenge myself. Sylvest causedme to adjourn my project by assuring me that at the nextdeparture of the Eoman army the slaves were to rise in abody and take up arms. Vain hope! It was positively stated

yesterday at my master's house that the Eoman army wouldLake up its winter quarters in Gaul.'"

AT THE CIRCUS RAILING. 149"What!" cried Sylvest in great alarm. "Can that news betrue?""Yes. The quarters, that were prepared in the suburbs ofOrange for the vanguard that was to arrive to-morrow, havebeen countermanded.—I know that for certain.""Malediction!" observed Sylvest grieved. "When will theday of deliverance arrive, the day of reprisals ?"" 'The revolt having become impossible', Four-Spices pro-ceeded to say, 'I have hastened to revenge myself and Sylvestwith one stroke. I bought from a witch a poison that is cer-tain but of slow effect. I tried it on a dog. The poison didnot work until after several hours, but it then worked withfearful violence. At to-morrow's banquet, the most exquisitedishes of honor, that are served only towards the end, will allbe poisoned by me, together with the last flagons that will beemptied. According to my experience with the dog, Diavolusand his friends will expire towards the middle of the per-formance at the circus. Say so to Sylvest for me, in case youhave to join him at the circus. Should he have to die beforeseeing Diavolus and his band expire, he will at least departcertain of being speedily followed by our master and hisworthy boon companions. The moment the thing is done Ishall try to escape. Should I be re-captured, I have made inadvance the sacrifice of my life.' Upon that Pour-Spices leftme. I tried to escape alone. My master seemed to havewind of my plans. He surprised me the very moment I wasscaling the wall. Three hours later I was taken to the circus.Since we were assembled under this vault I have been callingout for you, so as to fulfil the promise that I made to Four-Spices. By this time he must surely have left his master's

ISO THE IRON COLLAR.house. I only hope the drug will work, and that the cursedliomans may die like poisoned rats.""Do you see," said Sylvest to the other condemned slave,"do you see in the gallery, just above the vault of the wildanimals, yonder seigneur wreathed in vine leaves, clad in asilver embroidered blue silk chlamys, who is just now inhalingthe perfume of the nosegay that he holds in his hands ?""I see him."

"It is seigneur Diavolus.""Oh! By all the blood that is about to flow!" cried the slavewith savage joy. "We also are to have our feast! Laugh,laugh away young intoxicated seigneurs! Cast your lustfulglances at the courtesans!—This very evening the marble ofthe brilliant gallery will hold its dead, the same as the blood-drenched arena. .Let us take a good look at one another, faceto face, my fine and nappy seigneurs, my proud Eoman con-querors,—you, from the height of your gilded balcony, redol-ent with the fragrance of flowers, and dazzling in the bril-liancy of your apparel, we, conquered Gauls, we your slaves,from the bottom of our funeral air-hole!—Aye, let us look atone another, face to face, and let us mutually greet one an-other—condemned to die as we all are, both you and we, todie this very evening!—we in the teeth and claws of wildbeasts, and you convulsed by poison! Oh! Vengeance, comeswiftly!"The slave having in his increasing exaltation raised hisvoice so high as to be overheard by the other Gauls in thevault, the latter drew closer to him, and he related to them,to the end of rendering their death also sweeter, the ven-geance that Four-Spices had prepared. At his words, almostall the slaves, who, somber, silent and resigned to death,

AT THE CIRCUS RAILING. 151until then been either sitting or lying down upon the slabsof the cavernous vault, rushed forward to the railing in or-der to contemplate with savage delight the young Romanseigneurs, who, despite their vinous hilarity, carried withinthem a near and frightful death.Sylvest at first shared the savage delight of his fellow vic-tims, but he recollected that his uncle Albinik the mariner,while piloting the Eoman galleys on the eve of the battle ofV•annes, considered it an act of cowardice unworthy of Gallicbravery and loyalty traitorously to send to the bottom of thepea the Eoman craft that bore thousands of Eoman soldierswho entrusted their lives to his guidance. However excus-able Diavolus' ferocity rendered it, the vengeance of Four-Spices horrified Sylvest, notwithstanding he would havebeen the first to give the signal for an armed revolt to breakthe chains of slavery, exterminate the Eomans, and re-conquerthe freedom of Gaul. But when was the hour for that re-volt to strike? Had he not been firm in the face of death,the tidings he had just learned concerning the continued oc-cupation of Gaul by the Roman army would have removed

from his mind all regret to depart from this world."Fortunately, however," Sylvest thought, "though men maydie, the nocturnal meetings of the Sons of the Mistletoe will,thanks to the druids, continue from generation to generation,until the day of justice and deliverance,"

CHAPTER XIII.THE GLADIATORIAL COMBATS.Sylvest was steeped in these reveries when he was suddenlyrecalled by a loud flourish of trumpets. Blowing into theirtrumps the trumpeters announced the arrival of the ediles.These magistrates took the seats reserved for them on theirown tr".unal; and the heralds-at-arms gave the signal for thecombat. Again the trumpeters blared through their coppeiinstruments. A profound silence fell upon the vast assem-blage, and four couples of gladiators on horseback—pro-fessional gladiators—issued from the north entrance into thearena, and were confronted by four other couples who issuedfrom the south entrance. The first set rode white horsescaparisoned in green; the second black horses caparisoned inred. Each of the riders was armed with a light lance and agilded buckler; their bronze casques with lowered visors, thatwere perforated at the elevation of the eyes by two roundapertures, completely hid their faces. Armlets and irongauntlets covered their right arms; the rest of their bodieswere bare except for their gladiator's aprons that were fas-tened to their waists by a steel belt from which hung a longsword. Iron-soled sandals protected their feet. These eques-trian gladiators by profession were freemen; at least, theycombatted voluntarily, like brave men, just as more thanonce the ancestors of Sylvest had indulged in such combatsout of love for sports of valor; they did not combat as slaves

THE GLADIATORIAL COMBATS. I&who were forced to cut one another's throats for their masters'amusement.Clinging to the iron bars of their vault, Sylvest and manya one among his companions, became oblivious of their ownspeedy death; despite themselves they grew interested in thebrave combat that was enacted in their presence. Several ofthe riders were killed, likewise their horses. Not one left thearena scathless. When the combat of the equestrian gladia-tors was over, the corpses removed from the -arena by thePlutos, and the dead horses dragged out by richly caparisoned

mules to which they were hitched, there followed an intervalof rest.During this interval, loud and prolonged roarings re-sounded from the recesses of the vault that was opposite theone in which were the condemned slaves and which was fur-nished with an iron railing like theirs, only, differentlyfrom theirs, partitioned into three separate lodges. Presentlythe slaves could see four lions walk slowly and with muffledgrowls into one of the lodges, three tigers into another, andinto the middle one so enormous an elephant that his backalmost touched the roof of the vault. For a moment dazzledby the brilliant illumination of the circus, the animals didnot immediately approach the iron railing in front of them.They remained half concealed in the shadow, from where,however, their eyes could be distinctly seen to glisten. Athrill of horror ran through the slaves; the weaker amongthem emitted moans and lamentations, fainted away anddropped upon the floor; others hid their faces in terror; stillothers, gloomy but resolute, looked otherwise unconcerned.Again the trumpets blared; the heralds-at-arms let down thebarriers; and a large number of couples of gladiatorial slaves

154 THE IRON COLLAR.—either voluntarily donated or sold by their masters for thesanguinary feast, and forced to combat unto death,—wereseen entering the arena. They all wore casques on their heads,but of different shapes; the casques of some were furnished•with grilled visors, of others were wholly closed except for theopenings before the eyes, of still others wholly exposed infront. Their gladiatorial aprons—consisting of some red orwhite material and held around their waists by copper belts—left their upper body, and their nether extremities bare.Some of them wore iron armlets on their right arms and irongreaves on their left legs. All held a sword in their rightLand, and almost all carried a buckler in their left. Withsome, this defensive armor was substituted by a net fringedwith leaden balL; they carried it rolled around their leftarm; it was intended to be thrown over their adversary inorder to hamper his movements and smite him all the easier.Slavery often unnerves the brave and deepens the coward-ice of the craven. The larger number of these compulsorygladiators, so far from being animated by hatred towardsone another, were rather bound together by the fraternity ofmisfortune. The brave ones among them revolted at thethought of turning their valor to the entertainment of masters

whom they abhorred, and of being reduced to the level of dojrsin a pit. Accordingly, three of these slaves killed themselvesthe instant they stepped into the arena by plunging theirswords into their own breasts before the couples could be ar-ranged face to face; others, distracted with fear cast awayboth their swords and shields, wept and sobbed piteously,threw themselves upon their knees, and with suppliant armsextended towards the spectators, implored mercy. Thoresponse that they received was a storm of hisses. Among

THE GLADIATORIAL COMBATS. 155them there was an aged man. He ran towards one of thestatues that represented pagan divinities and that were placedin the niches of the wall surrounding the arena. He seemedto place himself under the deity's protection. But at a signalfrom the ediles' tribunal, the Mercuries drew their longbars from the brasiers, and approached and threatened theold man and the kneeling slaves with the glowing ends oftheir instruments. Placed between the fear of being burnedand the dread of a battle to death, the wretched beings re-signed themselves to fight. The combat started. Some foughtwith the fury of despair, anxious to meet in death the end oftheir miseries; others,-as soon as they felt themselves woundeddropped on their knees and presented their throats to theiradversaries who were thus forced to kill their comrades amidstthe thundering applause of the public; others still, riddledwith wounds and hardly able to drag themselves over the sand,raised, as is the custom, the palm of their left hands to-wards the spectators in mute prayer for their lives. Theyforgot that only the professional gladiators had the right tothe appeal, and that all slaves who enter the arena leave itonly dead—either killed with the sword, or their headscrushed by the hammers of the Plutos. Finally, there wereseveral others, who, being gravely wounded, feigned to bedead. One of these, a young and strong slave, had foughtvaliantly; his body was streaming blood; at the last blow hefell not far from the iron bars behind which stood Sylvest.Sylvest himself believed the slave to be dead. The body,with the head still covered by the closed casque, lay motion-less in a heap on the sand. One of the Mercuries noticed him.drew near armed with his incandescent brass bar, the pointof which was red as a burning coal, and passed it over one

1$6 THE IRON COLLAR.of the wounds of the prostrate slave. The raw flesh sizzledand smoked—the body remained motionless despite the ex-cruciating pain—the Mercury believed the slave dead andwalked away, but changing his mind he returned and thrustthe burning end of the brass bar through one of the eye-holesinto the slave's visor. The point of the burning weaponmust have penetrated the slave's eye; this time, overcome bypain, he bounded up and emitting the roar of a bull goadedto the quick dropped down again. Two Plutos then drewnear, and striking the casque with their heavy hammers asif it ere an anvil, they turned the head so completely topulp that Sylvest could see a nameless mixture of blood, brainand bits of bone squeeze through the cracks of the visor.At this horrible spectacle, the crowning one of the butchery,Sylvest could no longer repress himself. In a loud voice heintoned the refrain of the Gallic chant that was Bungat the last nocturnal gathering which he attended of theSons of the Mistletoe:"Oh, flow, flow, thou blood of the captive!Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest!"Sylvest was not the only one of the Sons of the Mistletoeamong his fellow slaves in the vault. Other voices took upthe chant, and, to the cadence of the chains that they furiouslyshook, repeated with him:"Oh, flow, flow, thou blood of the captive!Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest!"The funeral song in the vault was drowned by the tumultlhat reigned outside. The arena was strewn with dead and

THE GLADIATORIAL COMBATS. 157dying bodies. The heralds-at-arms were heard to announce•in stentorian voices:"The patients!—The physicians!"The announcement was hardly made when a large numberof infirm old men wabbled into the circus. They were allrichly dressed; some were held up by their slaves, othersleaned heavily upon their canes. Among these aged patientsthere was also many a young man. All knelt down or hud-dled close to the dying. Each patient applied his greedymouth to some wound, and pumped up the still warm bloodthat flowed from it. Some sought in the blood of theseslaves the recovery of their wasted energies, others the cure

for epilepsy.1 Here and there, physicians equipped with sharplancets, ripped open the dead that were still warm, and tookout of their bodies the liver which they used for "a remedy.The physicians being supplied and the rich patients suffi-ciently gorged with blood, the Plutos despatched with theirhammers the few bodies that still seemed to breathe, an<iaided by the Mercuries, removed the corpses, while other at-tendants of the circus covered the pools and streaks of bloodwith the dry sand of the arena that they raked over from endto end.In the meantime the sight of the carnage and the odor ofblood was exciting the wild animals. Their roarings re-doubled; they bounded with fury in their cages, and with1 "One could see men In the am- wound."—PHny, XXVIII, 2, 1.phltheater drinking the blood of "Strlbonius Largus, In the timethe gladiators, seeking to find In of Tiberius, said that, while not athat beverage, still pulsating with partisan of remedies of this na-Hfe, a remedy for the most severe ture, he vouched to have seen theirstrokes. They thought that noth- good effects. Item, says he, to takeIng was more efficacious than. a particle of the liver of a slaindrinking the warm blood, sucking gladiator, and make of It nine dls-It up like the respiration of the tlnct doses." (Cited by Wallon,son!, at the very lips of the vol. II, p. 251.)

158 THE IRON COLLAR.their powerful paws shook the bars that held them prisoners.At the sound of the roar of the wild animals that they were"soon to become a prey to, Sylvest and the Gallic slaves in-toned anew the refrain of the song of the Sons of the Mistle-toe while they clanked their chains:"Oh, flow, flow, thou blood of the captive!Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvestl"All the while, Sylvest and the other slaves kept their eyessteadily upon seigneur Diavolus and his boon companions.All were still hilarious and frolicsome. Diavolus was oneof those who showed himself most obstinate in refusing togrant their lives even to the free gladiators, who, wounded bytheir adversaries, implored the public's mercy with theiroutstretched left hand.Nevertheless Sylvest felt certain that he noticed the sloweffects of Four-Spices' poison. The high color of his master'sface, at first excited by wine and by the sight of the san-guinary entertainment, was visibly paling, especially at hisforehead, nose and chin that were becoming ashy. The same

change was observable on the features of his young friends.But neither they nor Diavolus grew either less noisy or lesshilarious. On the contrary. A farce had succeeded the recenttragedy on the arena. All of them received with boisterouslaughter the appearance of their friend Norbiac, who, gro-tesquely accoutred, made a misstep and tripped as he walkedinto the arena.That ridiculous and cowardly Gaul, the butt of all whoknew him, both by reason of his self-sufficiency and his im-becility, having heard that at Rome fashionable seigneurs

THE GLADIATORIAL COMBATS. 159occasionally fought as gladiators, wished out of vanity toimitate them. His steel casque was topped by a gilded chim-era of abnormal size; his lowered visor concealed his face;he was prudently cased in iron—gorget, cuirass, armlets,gauntlets, cuisses, greaves and gaiters made of iron scales.He reminded one of a turtle in its shell. Bending under theweight of the heavy armor, he walked with difficulty. Be-sides his armor he carried about him a complete arsenal, with-out mentioning his gilded buckler, the emblem of which was alion painted in red and holding in his right paw a deviceinscribed with large letters. The device was Syomara's name.Not yet having given up his hopes of conquering the Beauti-ful Gaul, the fop undoubtedly expected to touch her heartwith a display of courage at the celebration where he must havelearned that she was to be a performer herself.Norbiac held a long sword in his hand, and in his belt aponiard was stuck on one side, a battle axe and a spiked clubon the other. Before he had quite recovered his feet from hisfirst slip, it was evident to all from the clumsiness and slow-ness of his gait that the openings in his visor were too lowto enable him to see well through. Several times he essayed,but in vain, to raise the apertures even with his eyes, andthe clumsy and fruitless efforts were each time jeered withderisive laughter by the multitude.The slave who was to combat with Norbiac entered by theopposite gate. Excepting his gladiator's apron, no article ofclothing, no armor covered his body. His only weapon wasa long tin sword—a toy for children. The man, however,was young, agile and vigorous.The heralds-at-arms and the trumpeters gave the signalfor the combat. Covering with his buckler his body that

16o THE IRON COLLAR.already was amply protected by his heavy cuirass, Norbiacwhirled his sword around him and threw himself into thedefensive. The slave, on his part, being armed with a use-less weapon, kept himself beyond the reach of his adver-sary's strokes. He bided his time to attack his master handto hand, fully aware that Norbiac's weakness and inexpe-rience would soon cause his arm to tire under the weight ofthe heavy sword. Indeed, the whirlings of the latter's weaponsoon became fainter, and from all parts of the circus, espe-cially from the upper tiers, which were occupied by thepopulace, hisses and cat-calls resounded.The Gallic slaves applauded from the recess of their vaultthe insults that were being flung upon the craven perjurer,the stupid would-be imitator of the Komans. The ediles,however, could not allow a master and rich seigneur to serveany longer for the laughing stock of the crowd. They gavea signal to one of the Mercuries in the arena. The latter Im-mediately drew one of his red-hot brass poles from the fireand pricked therewith the back of the slave, who was keep-ing safely out of the reach of Norbiac's sword. The sur-prise and pain of the burn caused the slave to make a boundforward. With closed eyes he threw himself upon his ad-versary's sword and thus received two large gashes in theface and on his breast. The smart blinded him with rage.He dropped his tin sword, precipitated himself upon hisiron-cased adversary, pulled the iron-spiked club from the lat-ter's belt, and forthwith began to pummel the casque of Nor-biac, who dropping to the ground, began to shriek and call forhelp, much to the delight of the crowd. But the slave'sstrength was ebbing out with the blood that flowed from hisdeep wounds. His blows began to relax; the iron club

THE GLADIATORIAL COMBATS. ifaslipped from his right hand; he raised his tremulous left toimplore grace for his life; and rolled down on the sand nearNorbiac, whose piercing screams had changed into pitifulmoans, and who vainly sought to rise to his feet.Although, as is the rule, the slave was beforehand des-tined to die, the spectators in the upper tiers cried out aloud:"Life to the slave! Mercy! Mercy!"But the spectators in the lower tierSj as well as Diavolusand his friends, must have considered the granting of hislife to a slave, who had just pummeled his master, an en-couragement of a bad example. They demanded his death.

At a sign from the edile's tribunal, one of the Plutos crushedthe head of the wounded man. Norbiac, in the meantime,had succeeded in rising to his feet. Relieved from his re-cent fright, his strength returned. He started to run, de-spite the weight of his heavy armor, with his arms out-stretched before him like one whose eyes are bandaged. Thushe stumbled into the arms of one of the heralds, who ledhim out of the arena amidst universal hisses and cat-calls.

CHAPTER XIV.ROMAN DAME AND COURTESAN.The instant that the ridiculous and disgraceful figure ofseigneur Norbiac was removed from the arena the slave, thefriend of Four-Spices, remarked to Sylvest and his com-panions :"Look, look at Diavolus and his friends—how their pallorincreases and becomes greenish. Their eyes seem to be sink-ing in their orbits. The dark rings around them thickenperceptibly. Vengeance of heaven! The poison of Four-Spices is doing its work unerringly. But it seems that thosehilarious seigneurs do not. yet feel any pain. And still, thereis one of them who is listlessly passing his hand over hisforehead. His head seems to weigh heavily upon his shoul-ders. He is beginning to feel the effect of the poison.""And there is another one in the set, do you see him?who just sat down and who is putting his hands to his eyes.He looks dazed and giddy. That is two of them—"The slave's attention was at this moment drawn from thegallery, where the doomed Diavolus and his friends wereseated, by a great commotion that ran over the amphitheater.The names of Faustina and Syomara ran from mouth tomouth, and reached the ears of Sylvest as if pronounced byone single voice composed of a thousand others.Alas! Syomara inspired him with as much horror asdread. But at that supreme moment, when he was to have

ROMAN DAME AND COURTESAN. 163a last glimpse of his sister, he forgot both the courtesan andthe magician. He only remembered the innocent child thathe knew long ago, the sweet companion of his early child-hood.The trumpets brayed. All the spectators rose in their(seats, leaned eagerly towards the arena, and cried in a voicetremulous with impatience and curiosity:

"There they are!—there they are!"For an instant expectation was deceived. The first flour-ish of the trumpets did not yet announce the entrance ofFaustina and Syomara, it only announced the entrance ofMont-Liban, who preceded them, but not yet in order to enterupon the mortal combat with Bibrix, because he came inalone, and the combat of the two gladiators was not to takeplace until after the duel between the courtesan and thegrand dame. The giant entered the arena with a swaggeramidst wild applause and cheers. Excepting his gladiator'sapron, an iron greave on his left leg and an iron armlet onhis right arm, his body, as hirsute as a bear's, and athleticas that of the pagan Hercules, was bare and oiled. By arefinement of pride his numerous scars were all painted redas if to enhance their splendor in the eye of the spectators.A casque of polished steel and visorless—he disdained theprotection of a visor—covered his enormous head. With hisleft hand on his hip and holding two short and light swordsin his right he made the tour of the arena casting defiantlooks at the noble dames seated in the gallery, while thelatter in their shamelessness waved their handkerchiefs athim and cried with ardor:"Hail! Hail to Mont-Liban! Hail to the vanquisher ofvanquishers!"

164 THE IRON COLLAR.The flourishes of trumpets resounded anew, and the crowdnow cried with certainty:"There they are! There they are I"It was Faustina and Syomara presenting themselves inthe arena, the one by the northern, the other by the southernentrance.Men and women, the whole vast audience, including theediles themselves, again rose to their feet. A moment laterthe profoundest silence reigned over the spacious circus.The noble dame and the courtesan stepped forward calm,resolute, their heads erect, self-possessed. They seemed tobrave the eyes of the multitude that were centered uponthem. It was long since they knew either modesty, decencyor shame.Faustina wore on her head the light casque of the paganMinerva ornamented with a tuft of red feathers. Her shortvisor left uncovered her bold and pale visage with its largeblack eyes, its red lips and its heavy tresses of ebony hairinterlaced with strings of pearls that reached up to and were

lost under the ear-pieces of the casque. A simple net-workof gold that exposed the white skin of her bosom and im-prisoned her supple, nervy body from the shoulder down tothe hips, served her for cuirass, and was tightly buckledaround her waist by a narrow gold belt incrusted with prec-ious stones, from which her scarlet silk tunic, cut well aboveher bare knees, was suspended. Gaiters made of little scalesof flexible gold and reaching up to her ankles enclosed her^feet, allowing only the tip of her jewel-studded Morocco san-dals to peep forth.If frightful debaucheries and the expression of ferociouspassions had not left their stamp on that female monster, she

ROMAN DAME AND COURTESAN. 165would have been beautiful, but of a beauty that was sinister—because her oyes were fiery, and her forehead haughty as sheentered upon the combat.On the other hand, what with her exquisite armor andher resplendent beauty—because, to the utter amazement ofSylvest, her features preserved at that moment their wontedserenity and candor—Syomara presented a striking contrastto Faustina. Her Greek casque of chiseled silver, ornamentedby a light tuft of blue feathers, left her enchanting face com-pletely exposed to view. Her blonde hair, recently cut short,loosely fell in heavy ringlets around and over her cheeks andivory-white neck. Her nymph-like shape was, like Faustina's,imprisoned in a net-work, but of silver, that left uncovered thepinkish tint of her skin. Her narrow silver belt, her shorttunic of azure blue, trimmed with pearls, her gaiters of silverscales were all after the pattern of Faustina's.The expression of Syomara's face was not haughty, brazenand somber as was the physiognomy of her rival. No. Herlarge eyes, sweet as her smile, seemed to announce tranquilconfidence. When Sylvest saw his sister so ravishingly beau-tiful under her warrior's casque, he again asked himself bywhat unimaginable prodigy did this child whom Trymalcionbrought up, the celebrated courtesan, the poison-dealing witch,the hideous and sacrilegious desecrator of tombs, preserve theexternal appearance of charming ingenuousness.The two women slowly crossed the arena in order to meetat the spot where Mont-Liban stood waiting for them withthe short swords in his hand. The flooring that covered thecrocodile's tank and that was located in the middle of thacircus, not being considered by him a fit place for the com-bat, the gladiator selected a spot so contiguous to the vauit

166 THE IRON COLLAR.where the slaves were awaiting death, that when Faustinaand Syomara approached Mont-Liban, Sylvest stood onlya few paces away from his sister. Yielding to an involuntaryimpulse he threw himself back into the shadow of the vau'tto the end of escaping the eyes of Syomara. But a sense ofmingled affection, dread and irresistible curiosity speedilybrought him back to the railing. A power stronger than hiswill held him there. He was thus enabled to observe theface of Mont-Liban more carefully. His mien of braggartand brazen brutality yielded to a visible emotion. Pale andtroubled in mind, holding a sword in each hand, with theleft he offered one weapon to Faustina and with the rightthe other to Syomara. But the man's hands trembled soviolently at the moment when the two women were aboutto take the swords which he tendered to them, that hi? ex-treme perturbation did not escape Faustina. She cast uponhim one of her penetrating looks, pondered an instant, andthen, rejecting the sword which he offered her, reached outfor the other."No!" said Mont-Liban jumping back almost affrighted."No! Not that one!""Why not?" asked Faustina with a look of somber mis-trust.'Because, I being the judge of the combat," stammtrodMont-Liban, "to me belongs the right of distributing theweapons."Suddenly Syomara, who had paid no attention to the alter-cation between Mont-Liban and Faustina, seeing that beforeit was started her eyes had fallen upon the vault of the slave-sand she was contemplating them with increased intentness—suddenly Syomara recognized Sylvest. Instantly she ran

ROMAN DAME AND COURTESAN. 167towards the railing and seizing in her own both the handsof the slave that held the bar, she cried in Gallic withdeep tenderness and with tears in her eyes:"You, brother! You condemned! You here!""Yes; I am about to die. May the gods ordain that youdie also! Then before morning dawns we shall have re-joined our relatives who have preceded us to the unknownworlds. May Hesus and our parents pardon you, as I havepardoned you, sister!"

"Belying on your promise, I waited for you. Ah! Un-happy me for having put faith in your word! You shall befree and immediately!""It is because I wish to escape the shameful liberty of-fered to me by you, that I have sought death!"At first moved and even frightened, Syomara's face im-mediately beamed with joy. With a smile of happiness shesaid to her brother:"Listen—approach your ear to the railing."He obeyed mechanically, and she whispered to him:"Brother, you shall not die! • Faustina will fall under myblows, thanks to my sorcery. Diavolus is yonder. With oneword he can snatch you from death. He will pronounce thatv-ord—after Faustina's death. Courage, brother. We shallsup together this evening, and you shall be free!"Syomara thereupon, her face radiant with increased bliss,made a sign of intelligence to her brother, blew a farewellkiss to him from the tips of her fingers and ran back towhere Faustina and Mont-Liban were engaged in theirwrangle. Just as she did so a murmur of astonishment ranover the tiers of seats above her. The short conversation

168 THE IRON COLLAR.of the Beautiful Gaul with one of the condemned slaves pro-voked wonder and comment.When Syomara returned to her place, Mont-Liban, whonow seemed more troubled than before, was holding only onesword in his hand. The man's stupid face bespoke at onceembarrassment, pain and dread."My sword!" Syomara said to him.The gladiator seemed to be undergoing a violent strugglewith himself. Despite a flitting but plainly menacing ges-ture of Faustina, he pushed back the hand that the Gallicwoman stretched out towards the sword, and said to her Laa broken voice:"Not this sword—no—no—not this one!"And with the eye that was left to him the gladiator soughtto make himself understood by the courtesan. The latter,however, wholly preoccupied with a very different train ofthought, failed to notice the signs that the gladiator wasmaking to her and turned her face towards the gallery whereDiavolus was seated. The moment she saw him she salutedhim with her eyes, and more plainly yet, with her hands.She pulled one of the blue feathers from the tuft on hercasque, held it between two fingers, approached her rosy lips

to the feather and with a graceful motion blew the featherin the direction of the gallery while accompanying it aloudwith the greeting:"For you, Diavolus!"Saying this she cast a covert glance towards her brother.Sylvest perceived with a shudder that his sister was givingDiavolus earnest money for an infamous bargain in whichhis own liberty was to be the price paid by the Eoman, see-ing that a master was free, up to the last moment, to snatch

ROMAN DAME AND COURTESAN. 169his slave from death. With Faustina killed, the handsomecourtesan would utilize the time taken by the combat be-tween Mont-Liban and Bibrix to demand of Diavolus theliberty of Sylvest. She would obtain the favor through ashameful promise, and he would be sent for and taken fromthe vault of the condemned.While these thoughts were throwing the slave into de-spair—he preferred death to such a deliverance—all eyesturned towards Diavolus and a murmur of envy circulatedamong the seigneurs at the provoking greeting addressed tohim by the coveted courtesan, who, until then, had disdainedall advances. By that time, Diavolus, as well as the rest ofhis recent fellow-banqueters, had almost wholly lost theircolor; their complexion assumed a greenish hue. But wheth-er he did not yet feel the effects, of the poison, or whether,intoxicated with pride at the flattering demonstration fromthe famous courtesan, he forgot the incipient gnawings athis entrails, the dying seigneur leaned over the balustradebeaming with joy, threw into the arena at Syomara's feetthe nosegay of roses that he held in his hands, after passion-ately pressing the flowers to his lips, and accompanied theact with the cry:"Victory and love to the Beautiful Gaul!"The courtesan picked up the nosegay, pressed it in turnto her lips, laid it at the foot of one of the colossal marblestatues that decorated the deep niches of the wall surround-ing the arena, east one more look in the direction of herbrother, walked up to Mont-Liban and said impatiently:"My sword! My sword!"This time the gladiator did not refuse the weapon to the

17o THE IRON COLLAR.courtesan. On the contrary, with a smile that betokened in-fernal joy he handed her the sword.

Sylvest now understood it all. What he had seen were theprotestations of love that Mont-Liban addressed to Syomara.But when, striving to secure her brother's freedom, Syomarathrew herself so scandalously at Diavolus, Mont-Liban's fea-tures that until then expressed deep concern and tenderness,suddenly became frightful to see, deformed as they grewwith jealousy and hatred, while Faustina, motionless as aspecter, her left hand on her hip, and the point of her swordrested on the tip of her sandal, smiled with an air of sinistertriumph.Sylvest no longer had any doubts. One of the two swordsthat the gladiator tendered to the two women was enchantedby Syomara's witchcraft. Mont-Liban as well as she knewthe magic weapon; but his perturbation having thrownFaustina on the alert, she had refused the sword that he ten-dered her, and despite his endeavors to thwart her, had seizedthe other. In the measure that Faustina's choice at first terri-fied the gladiator for Syomara's sake, he was later bound to re-joice at it when furious jealousy against Diavolus trans-formed his love for the courtesan into inveterate hatred.Immediately after Syomara took the sword she turned toFaustina, saying in a low voice:"Are you ready?""I am ready," answered the Roman dame, who, likewise ina low voice, but loud enough for Sylvest to overhear, adde3 •"You remember our conditions?""It is agreed, noble Faustina!""Mont-Liban shall be yours if you kill me, mine if I killyou!"

ROMAN DAME AND COURTESAN. 171"Yes—accepted.""Dead or alive, you shall be mine, Syomara, if you cannot continue the combat after the first wound.""And if I kill you, Faustina, none but myself shall enteryour tomb for the death watch?""None but you—I have given orders to that effect, and Iforwarded to you the keys of my family vault.""Set on, noble Faustina!""Set on, Syomara!"Upon a signal given by Mont-Liban the two young womenrushed at each other with raised weapons, Syomara eversmiling as if confident of victory, Faustina with the demeanorof a fury but also confident. Indeed, at the first clash of thetwo swords the courtesan's weapon broke off, close to the

handle.Sylvest could not at that moment repress a cry. He heardthe Eoman dame utter a wild shout of joy, and saw herplunge her sword into Syomara's bosom with the shout:"Down! False Thessalian witch!"The wound was grave, perhaps mortal. The courtesandropped the handle of her weapon, fell upon her knees, casta last glance in the direction of Sylvest, and cried in a faint-ing and hardly audible voice:"Poor brother!"She then rolled over upon her face. Her casque fell fromher head and left her beautiful blonde head bare, while theblood flowed profusely from her wound, and crimsoned thesilver net-work that served her as a cuirass.Purple with delight, Faustina threw herself upon her rivallike a tigress upon her prey; rage and hatred redoubling herstrength, she put her arms around Syomara, raised her from

173 THE IRON COLLAR.the ground, and carried her off as she would have carried achild, while she addressed these last words to the gladiator ina voice that resounded over the whole circus:"Mont-Liban, I shall await you at the temple near thecanal—in the rotunda dedicated to Priapus!"And Faustina disappeared with her victim in the shadowof the northern vault amidst the frenzied acclamations ofthe spectators.

CHAPTER XV.THE WILD BEASTS' REVEL.The entrance of Syomara and Faustina into the arena,the hurried conversation with his sister, the exchange ofamorous tokens between her and Diavolus, the scene betweenMont-Liban and the Roman dame on the subject of the swords,and finally the duel, the defeat of Syomara, and her disap-pearance, wounded and bleeding, in the arms of her trium-phant and implacable rival—the whole scene was enactedwith such swiftness that Sylvest believed it was a dream—another vision. His head felt dizzy. But he was speedilyrecalled to his senses by the rumbling noise of the chainsthat the jailors and armed soldiers were striking from thelimbs of his companions. The hour had come to unfetter theslaves condemned to the wild beasts, whose roars were nowheard ever louder from the opposite side of the circus.

Standing motionless near the railing, Syjvest looked with-out seeing. Two jailors took him in hand and struck thechains off his limbs. His eyes filled with tears, despite him-self, at his sister's fate, and notwithstanding he had wisheddeath to overtake her, he sat down on the stone floor of thevault with his head in his hands, wholly indifferent to whatwas taking place in the arena where Bibrix and Mont-Libanwere engaged in mortal combat. Prom time to time loudoutcries among the spectators announced the varying shiftsof the combat.

174 THE IRON COLLAR.••'Courage, Mont-Liban!" cried some. "Courage!""Courage, Bibrix!" cried others. "Courage!"Finally, after a long struggle, a tremendous shout of "Vic-tory to Bibrix!" shook the walls of the amphitheater.Mont-Liban had succumbed in the mortal combat.Suddenly Sylvest felt himself violently crowded up andtrampled under the feet of his companions who seemed toflee pell-mell towards the iron railing. The slave had diffi-culty in rising to his feet in order to avoid being trampledto death. From the distance he could now see rapidly ap-proaching from the depths of the vault a sort of burningbarrier of a man's height and extending clean across fromwall to wall.The huge sheet of bronze, that was heated red-hot overrolling braziers, drove the condemned slaves before it. Therailing that until then barred them from the circus had sunkunder ground. It glided down along a concealed groove.The unhappy slaves, driven forward by the incandescentmetal sheet, could escape being burned alive only by precipi-tating themselves into the arena, into which, from the oppo-site side, the wild animals bounded at the same time, andfrom which Plutos, Mercuries, heralds-at-arms and trumpetershad vanished after removing the corpse of Mont-Liban, andclosed the two entrances, north and south, with iron-barredgates.The hour of their martyrdom having arrived, Sylvest de-cided to die bravely with his companions, and cried out tothem:"Sons of the Mistletoe! Let us die like worthy sons of

THE WILD BEASTS' REVEL. 175old Gaul! Brothers, intone with me in the face of death

the song:"Oh, flow, flow, thou blood of the captive!Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest!"And the Sons of the Mistletoe, in chorus with the otherGallic slaves and led by Sylvest, rushed into the arena chant-ing in their native tongue in sonorous voice the thrilling re-i•rain of the song.The loud song, together with the spectacle presented bythese men seemed at first to intimidate the animals. Profit-ing by this flitting moment of indecision and recollecting theadvice given him by the jailor, Sylvest, noticing that theelephant had backed up against one of the nearby nichesornamented with large marble statues that were interspersedalong the wall of the arena, addressed one last adieu to hiswife T oyse and also to his sister Syomara, ran straight towardsthe elephant, and, hoping to be speedily trampled and crush-ed to death by the animal, threw himself down upon his face,and crept under the towering brute in order to seize one ofits monstrous feet in both his arms.At that moment, and proceeding from the gallery whereDiavolus and his friends were seated, a great commotion washeard. The screams were at first muffled, but they speedilygrew in intensity. He distinguished his master's voice utter-ing loud and piercing yells of pain. The cries from the gal-1> ry were joined by an indescribable tumult throughout theamphitheater. Instantly a thought flashed like lightningthrough Sylvest's mind. It was a cowardly thought, he ad-mits ; he meant to endeavor to escape the death that his otherdoomed companions were about to undergo, and many of

176 THE IRON COLLAR.whom were undergoing at that very instant. But the thoughtcame to him with the remembrance of Loyse and his child.Instead of being turned upon the arena, the eyes of allthe spectators were centered at that moment upon Diavolusand his friends, who were then in the agonies and convulsionsof the death produced by the violent poison that Four-Spiceshad administered to them. The amazed mass of peoplelooked in stupor at the spectacle presented in his master'sgallery. The hulky body of the elephant that stood backedup against the niche, partly covered the cavity. Sylvesttook his chances, even at the risk of being later discovered.After creeping under the animal's body, instead of grippingone of its hind legs, he glided between them, clambered up

the foot of the niche and succeeded in completely blottinghimself from sight behind the large marble statue that wasplaced therein, a statue twice as high as himself, and thatfortunately represented a woman with ample flowing robes.Sylvest was not long ensconced in his hiding place when,during a lull in the tumult, he heard voices crying:"There are physicians outside. Carry those dying men out.Their convulsions and death agony are disturbing the feast."Diavolus and his expiring friends must have been carriedout of the gallery, because by degrees silence was restored, asilence, however, that was soon broken into by the increasingroar of the wild animals who had recovered from their firstsurprise.The carnage was in full blast. In the midst of the howlsof the animals, the cries of pain emitted by the slaves whofell under the fangs of the tigers and lions, the impreca-tions uttered by the victims who were not yet seized, andsome of whom were so crazed by terror that they implored

THE WILD BEASTS' REVEL. 177mercy from the furious beasts themselves, now and then rosesnatches of the chant quavering from the throats of the Sonsof the Mistletoe, who, even under the very claws of the fero-cious beasts continued to sing:"Oh, flow, flow, thou blood of the captive!Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!Germinate, sprout up, thou avenging harvest!"From behind the statue that concealed him—the elephant'shulk no longer masked the niche, the animal having movedtowards the center of the arena—Sylvest caught ever andanon a glimpse of a tiger or lion bounding in pursuit ofsome slave, whom the beast would forthwith knock downand pin to the ground with its paws, the sharp claws ofwhich, sinking in the victim's flesh, caused jets of blood tospurt forth. The animal would then either crouch besideor stretch itself upon its prey and devour or tear its fleshto shreds.Among the sights that presented themselves to Sylvest,one still haunts his memory as a horrible recollection of thatnight. An enormous and exceptionally ferocious lion, with analmost black mane, leaped upon the Gaul who was the friendof Four-Spices. In order to die quickly, the unhappy manthrew himself upon his knees, "but in his fright he coveredhis face with his two hands, evidently to escape the horrorof seeing the diabolical monster. With a blow of its paw on

the slave's head the animal threw him face down on theground, held him under with one paw, dug the claws of theother paw into his flank, drew him transversely towards it-self, and seemed to settle down for a leisurely meal. Breath-ing hard, the lion stretched himself at full length on his

178 THE IRON COLLAR.belly on the sand and for a moment rested on the slave'sbody his monstrously large head, whose drooping jaw andhanging tongue dripped with froth and blood. The Gaulwas not yet dead. He uttered inarticulate cries. His armsand legs beat the ground convulsively. The contortions ofhis whole body denoted that he was striving to escape anatrocious torture. Suddenly the lion's mane bristled up; hesugrily lashed the sand with his tail, raised his heavy rumpfrom the ground without, however, quitting his hold uponthe Gaul with his front paws; lowered his head abruptly;bit his prey in the middle of the spine, and emitted angrygrowls while he ground the bones between his tusks. A blackand yellow striped tiger, as enormous an animal as the lionhimself, approached to contest the latter's prey. Withouttaking his teeth from his victim's body, the lion raised thepaw that was battering the back of the slave's head and sankits claws into the tiger's muzzle. Despite the wound thusinflicted upon him, the tiger opened wide his jaws andseized between them the head of the slave whom the lion helddown with his other paw. With his rump high, his muzzledown, and arching his body on his front legs, the tiger tuggedviolently at the head and shook the air with hi? growls, whilethe lion, without removing his jaws from the middle of theslave's body, sank his fangs deeper into the flesh and tuggedin the opposite direction. From their original crouching pos-ture, the two beasts presently rose on all fours and continuedthe struggle over the body. The slave still gave signs of life.Raised from the ground by the now infuriated animals, thatcontended for his possession, his arms and legs were fromtime to time seen to twitch convulsively. At this point the

THE WILD BEASTS' REVEL. 179enormous hulk of the elephant passed between Sylvest andthe grewsome scene that was enacting before him.The infuriated elephant was holding aloft in the coils ofhis trunk a young slave who could not be above fifteen yearsof age, and who writhed in the air uttering fearful shrieks.Twice in his rage the elephant violently beat the wall sur-

rounding the arena with the bruised and almost dislocatedbody of the lad; after the mammoth animal had thus brokenthe slave's palpitating members, it threw him down at itsfeet, sought for a moment to gore him with its tusks, butdesisted and finally irately trampled him into a shapelessmass. While thus venting his maddened fury upon the bleed-ing remains, that were no longer but a pulp of human fleshand ground bones, the elephant moved backward and acci-dentally struck with one of his hind legs a slave who wasfleeing before a tiger and who at that moment passed be-tween the elephant's crupper and the crocodile's tank. Theshock imparted to him by the elephant's hind legs flung thedistracted slave, as happened to several others before him.into the muddy basin of the reptile. Sylvest immediatelythereupon heard the shrieks of the luckless being whom thosaw-like jaws of the crocodile cut into pieces.The carnage lasted until of all the slaves who were deliv-ered to the wild animals, there remained nothing but bones,from which the flesh was almost wholly gnawed off, or humanremnants without shape or name.From start to finish that Roman feast was accompaniedwith cheers and acclamations from the crowd, intoxicatedwith the spectacle of the wholesale butchery.Finally, the almost burnt out and nearly extinguishedtorches cast but a flickering light about the amphitheater.

I&> THE IRON COLLAR.The lions and tigers, now gorged with human flesh, spreadthemselves silent and heavy upon the blood-soaked sand ofthe arena; they yawned, gasped for breath, or licked theirhuge paws which they passed over their crimson muzzles.• Sylvest heard the receding noise of the crowd leaving thecircus.Presently, cautiously entering through the north and southgates, and picking their way by the light of the expiringtorches, the keepers of the animals stepped into the arena.They were clad in thick iron armor that was proof againstthe teeth of the beasts, and carried in their hands long tri-dents whose red-hot prongs were freshly drawn from the fur-nace. Tired, glutted, and accustomed to the voice of theirkeepers, above all, well acquainted with the sting of the trid-ents, the animals were driven without difficulty into their cor-responding cages under the vault from which they had issued.By means of a wheel turned by other circus attendants, the rail-ings rose again on their underground grooves, the vaults were

again closed; and the movable flooring was replaced over thecrocodile's tank. The torches that still glimmered were thenput out, and keepers and attendants left the arena precipi-tately and saying in low and frightened voices:"This is the hour of the witches!"The profoundest silence reigned thereupon in the gloomof the vast amphitheater.

CHAPTER XVI.THE FLIGHT.Saved from death by a miraculous accident, because, hadnot the screams of anguish—emitted by Diavolus and hisexpiring friends, upon whom the poison administered byFour-Spices took revenge for their iniquities—drawn awaythe eyes of the whole assemblage from the arena, it wouldhave been impossible, even if partly screened by the ele-phant, for Sylvest to reach unperceived the niche in whichhe blotted himself from sight—thus miraculously saved fromdeath, Sylvest gave thanks to Hesus; and, as if on that nightthe gods were to show themselves especially merciful to him,the remembrance flashed through his mind that, at their lastinterview, his wife Loyse promised to meet him four daysIster in Faustina's park, at night, near the end of the canal.Faustina's last words to Mont-Liban as she carried away Syo-mara fainting in her arms also occurred to him:"Mont-Liban, I shall wait for you at the temple near thecanal, in the rotunda dedicated to Priapus!"A sad presentiment told the slave that, with Syomara inher power, and, perhaps, still alive, the Roman dame wouldsubject his sister to all the tortures that a depraved, jealousand fiendish woman could conceive of in her hatred for arival. In such an event, the temple near the canal wouldcertainly be the place chosen for Syomara's punishment. Syl-vest decided to hasten to the park of Faustina's villa. With

ife THE IRON COLLAR.his ear on the alert, he finally stepped out of his hiding place.Odd fears came over him at that moment. As he crossedthe arena, he heard the flight of large nocturnal birds, whosilently hovered close over the ground; more than once hefelt with a shiver the breeze produced by their wings on hisface; several times he was even struck and almost thrownto the ground by hairy bodies that flitted past him. It mustsurely have been the magicians who now hastened by in un-

known forms in search of the bloody human remnants thatthey needed for their witchcraft and sorceries.Stepping upon a sword that one of the gladiators musthave dropped, the slave picked it up. It was short andsharp. He armed himself with it, finally reached the north-ern exit, followed a long vault, and soon found himself out-side of the amphitheater, that was located on the outskirtsof Orange. Only half an hour's walk lay between him andFaustina's park. He quickened his steps, arrived at the wall,?caled it, and ran towards the extremity of the canal, where,in view of the lateness of the hour, he almost feared not tomeet Loyse.Thanks to the gods! A poor slave also has his momentsof joy. Sylvest had barely taken a few steps on the terraceof the canal when he recognized the voice of his wife, whocalled out:"Sylvest! Sylvest! Is that you?"The slave did not answer. He threw himself sobbing withhappiness into Loyse's arms, and held her long embraced,while he covered her face with kisses and tears."You weep," she asked, affrighted. "Some misfortunethreatens you!"Oh! no, Loyse! The gods have been merciful to

THE FLIGHT. 183us. But we have not an instant to lose. It will soon be day.Will you take the chances of flight ? They are terrible! Butwe shall brave them together—""Sylvest, more than once did I propose to you that weflee—you always refused.""Yes—but now I accept. Will you have the strength toaccompany me, my beloved wife?""My love for you and for our child will give me the nec-essary strength. But whither shall we flee? In what direc-tion shall we turn our steps ?""If we start at once we shall be able to arrive before day-break at a desert valley where I know a cavern. I havebeen there before, to attend some nocturnal meetings. Weshall hide there for a while—on our way we shall gathersome fruit and roots from the gardens that border our route.There is a stream not far from the cavern. We shall notneed to fear for lack of water, or, for several days, for lackof food. We shall later consider what next to do. The gods,or, perhaps, men will have pity upon us—"

A piercing cry—a prolonged cry of pain, that seemed notto proceed from a human breast—a cry that, though distinct,came from a distance, smote at this moment the ear of Syl-vest and his wife. With a shudder that ran through herwhole frame the latter said:"Oh! Those cries—they seem not to end!""Did you hear them before?""Several times, since I came here to wait for you. Theycease at intervals—and then they are renewed, more frightfulthan before. Faustina is punishing some female slave todeath,""Faustina!" cried Sylveet stupefied; only at that moment

184 THE IRON COLLAR.did he recall Syomara. "Do these cries proceed from thetemple on the canal?""Yes—and yet I heard this evening that our mistress in-tended to go to the circus. But at the hour when I left thefactory, a manumitted slave on horseback, who came fromthe amphitheater, rode at full tilt through the garden to thetemple, to announce, as he said, the death of Mont-Liban toFaustina."There can be no doubt any longer!" cried Sylvest. "Itis Syomara. She must have been taken to the cursed temple.Oh! Malediction! Malediction! Come, come, Loyse!""Where are you going?" asked Sylvest's wife holding himback by the arm, as he made to dash towards the temple. "Doyou not hear those cries? Faustina is there! To approachthe temple is to risk our immediate death!"But Sylvest did not hear Loyse. The nearer he came tothe rotunda, all the more distinct did the cries sound thatthe victim was emitting. They presently became so dis-tinct that he recognized his sister's voice, drowned though itwas ever and anon by chants and the sound of lyres, flutesand cymbals.The frightened Loyse followed her husband and no longersought to retain him. Both arrived near the circular porticothat surrounded the temple. A brilliant light escaped fromwithin through the airholes, through which four days beforehe had been an invisible witness of monstrous mysteries. Alast cry, a cry more blood-curdling than any that had pre-ceded it, but an expiring cry, suddenly resounded throughthe silence of the night, and was followed by thewords—a supreme appeal made by a voice still distinct, al-though coming from the throes of death:

THE FLIGHT. 18$"Sylvest! My mother! My father!"Taking his sword between his teeth, the slave rushed to-wards one of the pillars of the portico, intending to climb it,as he had done once before. What was he to do when hereached the airholes above? He does not know. At thatinstant only one absorbing and controlling thought possessedhis mind—to rush to Syomara's help and to avenge her byFaustina's immediate death. Loyse, however, more and moreterrified by her husband's exaltation, clung with all her mightto his arm and prevented him from climbing the pillar,while she said to him in a low voice, with heart-rending ac-cents :"We shall be lost! Think of our child!"Sylvest strove to disengage himself of his wife's grasp,and, deaf to her prayers, was about to persist in his insaneproject, when he suddenly heard the triumphant voice ofFaustina breaking in upon the deathly silence:"Dead! Dead! You predicted it yourself, beautiful ma-gician, that Syomara, my rival, would fall into my power,and would expire between my hands under frightful tortures!Your prediction is fulfilled! There you lie! Dead! Stonedead! Aye, dead as Mont-Liban. By Hercules!" added themonster accompanying her words with a dismal peal of laugh-ter, "Mont-Liban is dead—long live Bibrix! Evoe! Evoe!Cheer all with me! Evoe! Come! Bring me wine, songs,music and flowers! Dead is my rival! Wine! Songs!Wine and all other delights!"The musical instruments resounded: obscene chants struckup: the shouts of the orgy grew frantic and marked the ca-dence of that infernal reel, the bare sight of which had nearlydriven Sylvest crazy with horror only four nights before!

186 THE IRON COLLAR.Syomara was dead. There was nothing left to the slave butto flee with Loyse. It was with difficulty that, his head likea volcano and his breast heaving for breath, he succeeded infinding his way through the dark to the wall of the park.He raised his wife over it, and both ran in haste towards thedeserted valley.

EPILOGUE.I, Fergan, who close this narrative of my grandfather—Iam the son of Pearon who was the son of Sylvest—have not

nrich to add.My grandfather Sylvest died at the advanced age ofeighty-six years.I was then fourteen years old. My birth cost my mother'slife. Shortly after her decease, my father Pearon was acci-dentally killed. He was crushed to death in the wheels of amill that he was turning.Of the several -accounts of his own life that my grand-father Sylvest was to bequeath ta me, two have been lost. Hetransmitted to me, together with the other parchments of ourfamily annals, only the preceding story concerning his ownexperience as a slave of seigneur Diavolus in the city ofOrange. Having escaped by nothing short of a prodigy thedeath that was decreed to him in the circus, my grandfatherimmediately repaired to the garden of Faustina, where hemet my grandmother Loyse, and whence he fled with her afterthe last dying cries of Syomara, who was tortured to deathby the grand Eoman dame.I remember that in my infancy my grandfather relatedto me how, after his flight, he kept a long time in hidingwith his wife Loyse, first in the cavern of the Sons•of theMistletoe, and later in a still profounder solitude, where theylived on fruits and roots that my grandfather fetched overnight often at great peril and from long distances.

itt THE IRON COLLAR.The season was beautiful and mild. In the seclusion oftheir retreat, the two poor slaves enjoyed the delight of theonly days of freedom that either had known for many a longyear. Nevertheless, summer passed, and then autumn. Thewinter was approaching, and with it the cold weather andthe lack of fruits and roots. Besides, the time was near whenmy grandmother was to be delivered of my father. Herclothes fell in tatters off her body and her health was de-clining. In view of this, my grandfather resigned himselfonce more to the idea of slavery, rather than see his wife dieof hunger, a death, moreover, that the child that she carriedwould have had to share.The fugitive slaves who were taken far away from theirmaster's residence, or who refused to give the name of theirowners, when, as happened with my grandfather and hiswife, they succeeded in ridding themselves of their collarwhere their masters' names were engraved—such slaves be-longed to the Roman fisc, and were either sold and theirproceeds turned into the treasury, or were employed in such

public works as the building of roads and highways or theconstruction of public buildings.After a march of several days through the woods my grand-father and his wife arrived almost dead with fatigue andhunger at the suburbs of Marseilles. There they asked forthe residence of the agent of the fisc, confessed that they hadfled from their master's house, and surrendered at discretion.The gods willed it that the agent of the fisc at Marseilleswas a kind-hearted man. fle took pity on my grandfatherand his wife, and promised them that, instead of being soldback again, they should remain slaves of the use, and wouldbe given work-—my grandfather on the aqueduct that was

EPILOGUE. 189then under construction near the city, his wife in the agent'shouse as a nurse for the children. The Roman could not,however, spare my grandfather and his poor wife the pain andshame of being, obedient to the law, branded on the fore-head as fugitive slaves.For many years my grandfather's life was supportable, al-though subject to arduous toil. Employed at first in the con-struction of the aqueduct, he was made to transport, eome-tnnes on his back, sometimes harnessed to a wagon, the stonesthat were needed for the structure. In the evening he re-turned home exhausted. But, at least, instead of sleepingin the ergastula, like the rest of his companions in bondage,he returned to his wife and child, a favor that my grand-mother won, through her gentleness and zeal, from the wifeof the agent of the fisc.Years passed in this way. My grandfather having agedand declined in strength by reason of the heavy work thathe had to perform, was unable to continue at work on theaqueduct, and was charged by the Eoman with the cultivationof his garden. My grandmother died shortly before my fatherwas of marriageable age, to contract the marriage that slavescontract; and my mother lost her life in giving me mine.I was eight years old when my father, who remained a slaveof the fisc and was assigned to field labor, was crushed bythe wheel of an oil mill while at work. The son of the agenthad succeeded his father in his office. Upon the latter's rec-ommendation, his son kept my grandfather near him as agardener. Although he was now very old, he was able toattend to his duties.At my mother's death another Gallic slave woman at-tached to the household nursed me together with her own

1po THE IRON COLLAR.child, a girl named Genevieve, who thus became my foster-sister in bondage. From our tenth year we were both em-ployed in domestic work. A few years later, however, ourmaster, who, like his father, was charged with the superin-tendence of the slaves of the fisc, made me learn, the weavers'trade for the purpose of hiring me out and having me pro-duce revenue for the treasury. My foster-sister Genevievelearned the trade of washerwoman.I was fifteen years old when, feeling himself growingweaker, my grandfather foresaw his approaching end. Heoccupied a hut in our master's garden. During my appren-ticeship I was from time to time allowed to visit my grand-father at the close of the day's work. On one of those even-ings I found him lying on his couch in the hut. He madea great effort to rise, had me close the door carefully, climbedon his stool, and took a long belt of thick cloth out of aconcealed place among the thatch of the roof. Out of thatkind of sheath he drew long strips of tanned skin, resemblingthose on which people write in my country. These strips,that were twice as wide as the palm of a man's hand, werecovered with our Gallic handwriting, close and fine, and weresewn together. To these strips there were attached a littlegold sickle, a little brass bell and a fragment of the iron col-lar that my grandfather wore when he escaped from the circusand the city of Orange, and which, with the aid of Loyse,his wife, he had succeeded in filing off with wet sand andthe sword that he took along in his flight. On that fragmentof his collar could still be seen, engraved in the iron, theLatin words "Servus sum—"—•"/ am the slave—.""My son," said my grandfather to me, "I feel it, my sparkof life is going out. Before dying I wish to fulfil a sacred

EPILOGUE. 191duty. Although still very young, you are old enough toknow the value of a promise. Promise me that after youshall have read these accounts of our family you will carryout the supreme wish of our ancestor Joel, the brenn of thetribe of Karnak, a wish that you will find expressed in theseparchments. Also promise me, my son, that you will zeal-ously keep our family relics—this little gold sickle, this littlebrass bell, and this fragment of a slave's collar that I woreduring the most cruel days of my slavery. Until now, at

least, my poor child, you have known of slavery only thearduous toil and shame that accompany it—aye, the shamealso. I know not why, but your nature is humble, timid andeven fearful. I do not notice in you that 'Gallic fury' thatthe Eomans spoke of when they described our race. This maycome from your being weak and frail. Oh! my son! Racesdegenerate in slavery, both in the strength of character andin the strength of the body. My grandfather Joel and myfather Guilhern were both over six feet high; few men couldhave overcome them hand to hand. My size did not reachtheirs; nevertheless, before I was bent by labor and years,I was tall and robust. Already your poor father, my son,smitten by slavery in the womb of his mother, boththrough her condition in the factory and our subsequenterrant and fugitive life, had degenerated from the one-timevigor of our race; and you, my poor child, you are stillsmaller and feebler than your father. The sedentary habitcf your trade as a weaver and the insufficiency of the nourish-ment doled out to slaves debilitate you still more. Mayyour character suffer no further decline! May you recoverthe energy of our race, when the hour of justice and deliv-erance shall sound, if at all it sound in your lifetime! You

192 THE IRON COLLAR.will at least learn from these writings the sufferings that yourgrandparents have undergone. The knowledge and con-sciousness thereof may, perhaps, rekindle in you the ardor01 the old Gallic blood, and may impart to you the necessarycourage to break the odious yoke that, to-day, you bear—you, the descendant of a free race—and wreak vengeanceupon the Eomans, our hereditary oppressors, for the wrongdone to you and to your grandfathers. I had joined to thenarratives that you will read one of my flight with my wifeLoyse, a flight of which I spoke to you more than once. Inthat narrative I retraced the sweet enjoyments of the onlydays of freedom that I ever tasted during my long bondage.I also described my meeting with one of our valiant and ven-erable druids, a slave like myself and my companions, whenwe labored on the aqueduct of Marseilles. These two narra-tives are lost. But the most important of the three I stillpreserve. It is the one that I hand over to you together withthose of my own father and grandfather. Swear to me, mychild, zealously to preserve the deposit. If you do not be-lieve that you can safely hide it somewhere, carry it aboutyou in this belt under your clothes, as I have often done,

myself. Adieu, my child. Be faithful to your gods, and keepbut one hope alive in your breast, one aim—the deliveranceof our beloved Gaul! Only one remembrance—that of thewrongs that our race has suffered \"I made to my grandfather the promise he demanded of me,and following his advice I put the belt around my waist un-der my clothes. I embraced my grandfather once more andleft him.I was never to see him again. I was then fifteen years old.Genevieve, my foster-sister, became my wife a few years later.As to my own life, it was like that of all the artisan slaves,

EPILOGUE. 193neither better nor worse. For the rest I must admit it, mygrandfather judged me right. I have not inherited, great isthe pity, the 'fury' and daring of our old Gallic race, norits savage impatience towards slavery. Servitude has weighedupon me as it has upon all others, but I could never thinkof breaking the shackles by a resort to violence. My characterlias remained as meek as my body, and when I occasionallyread over the frightful battles delivered by the warriors ofmy race and the dreadful perils that my grandfather es-caped, I shudder with horror, the perspiration stands out onmy brow, and I make the pledge to myself never to exposemyself, at least not voluntarily, to such dangers and to fulfilmy tasks as best I can in order to please my masters. Throiighmy resignation I have at least gained some better treatmentthan is accorded to my companions, although I have, likethem, made the acquaintance of the whip and the switch, de-spite all my mildness and good behavior. But masters havetheir whims and their moments of anger. Insolence canonly be followed by worse treatment. Accordingly, I havepatiently borne my yoke, and limited myself to rubbing my^shoulder when the yoke galled me. Despite my grandfather'sexample and the solicitations of some of my companions,who imagined I was endowed with great energy, being of thestock of Joel of the tribe of Karnak, I have never desired tojoin the secret meetings of the Sons of the Mistletoe, al-though the meetings continue to be held. The tortures of theslaves who were crucified for rebelling inspired me with dread,and I, weakling as I am, shuddered at the bare thought of anarmed revolt against my masters.Moreover those ventures seemed insane to me. And, in-deed, towards the beginning of the reign of Augustus, thesecret societies of the Sons of the Mistletoe, and other Gallic

194 THE IRON COLLAR.conspiracies, after having long waited for an opportune mo-ment to revolt, decided, upon the advice of the druids, toundertake a general uprising. They were crushed.Sacrovir, a Nivernais Gaul, was the soul of that insurrec-tion. He visited all the secret gatherings and by means ofemissaries whom he sent around in concert with the druids,tried to show that Italy herself bore but impatiently theyoke of Tiberius. He believed the hour had come. It was thenor never with the recovery of the freedom of the Gauls.1 Anextensive conspiracy was organized. Sacrovir was its chiefand directed its operations with consummate circumspection.He was of the opinion that no hasty step should be taken,and that no move should be made until all the cities in theconspiracy were ready to act. Unfortunately, the slaves ofAnjou and of Touraine rose prematurely. Their attempt notbeing seconded, it was speedily smothered in its own blood.The rich Gauls, who rallied with the Eomans, joined thesein punishing, as they put it, the ingratitude of the rebelswho had the audacity of revolting against the august Em-peror Tiberius, the protector of Gaul. Sacrovir alwaysfought in the front ranks, his casque open and chest unpro-tected. But his partisans, being crushed by superior num-bers, speedily disbanded. Dragged along by the fleeing massof the slaves whom he had summoned to revolt, he took refugein Autun and sought to induce the city to rise against theEomans. The people and the magistrates being discouragedby previous failures, and fearing the vengeance of Tiberius,threatened to deliver Sacrovir to the Eomans. Sacrovir there-upon repaired with several of his friends to his country homethat lay not far from the city. They set fire to its founda-1 Tacitus, Annals. See, also, Amedee Thierry. Htitorv of theQault. TOl. Ill, p. 289.

EPILOGUE. 193tions, and mounting to the terrace above, sat down to table,emptied a last cup to the deliverance of Gaul, of which theydid not yet despair; and when the conflagration began to in-vade the terrace where they were assembled and drinkingwith Sacrovir, all stabbed themselves and dropped into theflames, offering, as our forefathers did, their own blood asa holocaust to Hesus.As a Gaul myself, I deplored the death of those brave men.

The prospects of our country's freedom were consumed inthe flames together with them. Beginning with the Chiefof the Hundred Valleys, who once was the guest of my an-cestor Joel, all those heroes, too numerous to mention, spilttheir blood in vain.Beside me, my wife Genevieve is a veritable warrior. Sheis worthy, by reason of her courage and virtue, to be enrolleda member of our family that numbers among its ancestressesHena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen; Meroe, the wife of themariner; and Margarid, the Gallic matron. I had Genevieveread the parchments that my grandfather transmitted to me.Their narratives have exalted her. How often has she nottenderly reproached me for my lukewarmness and despon-dency, saying:"Ah! If I were a man! If I were a descendant of thebrenn of the tribe of Karnak! That stock so fruitful ofbrave men and women! At the first insurrection of theGauls I would rush into the fray, even if I were killed—""I prefer to live peacefully, near you, Genevieve," I wouldanswer her; "patiently endure the ills that I can not pre-vent, and ply my weavers' shuttle as well as I may in mymaster's interest."THE END,

THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATESTAMPED BELOWAN INITIAL PINE OF 25 CENTSWILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURNTHIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTYWILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTHDAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAYOVERDUE.APR 29 1934MAY 12 1940fMT 17 193*jin ni.UL *? 1943Vlfl »« ' JOGT 361934JAN 31 1936APR 21 1936£ fLj ^ *4 f945AUfc ia 1936OCT 4 1938

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