PukeOnABook

Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html Rahan. Episode Eighty. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Valley of Torments. What a strange trap. Curious about everything, the son of Crao observed the butterfly trapped in the spider's web. Alerted, it rushed towards its prey. When the hoarse and powerful roar of a lion sounded not far from there. You also hunt, “long mane”! Oh! As cries of terror arose, he rushed off. And. Page Two. Attacking an old woman is easier than catching a "Two-horned", aye, "long mane"! Ra-ha-ha! Rahan's combat clamor drowned out the roars of the beast, which left its victim to face. Accustomed to these confrontations since his early childhood, the son of Crao knew how to dodge and feint. You are not lively enough, "Long mane"! Page Three. He had jumped on the back of the lion, which reared up, plowing the air with its formidable claws Ra-ha-ha! The ivory blade sparkled in the sun, plunging into the beast's throat and reappearing in scarlet. Cutting the vein, or "Life-flow," Rahan only struck once. Ra-ha-ha! His long cry had another accent, that of victory. Page Four. Her body lacerated, the old woman was dying in the grass. Tall and yellow grass such as Rahan had never seen before. You. You are. The first Hunter that I. Have seen from. Since all the. Mine perished in the valley of torments. Ten times ten seasons ago! You are. Brave, but. You cannot do anything anymore. For the old Cereha. Take me. Me to the cave where I have. Still, lived! It is. That I would like. Leave for the territory of shadows! Moved, the son of fierce ages granted this wish. He reached the cave when two eagles burst out. Back, “Hooked Beaks”! Do not be afraid! I collected them. There are from moons and moons ago. They are. They were my only companions! The birds of prey did not in fact attack. Page Five. And they contented themselves with observing Rahan. How could an old woman like you survive so many seasons alone in this land!? Oh! I forgot the taste a long time ago. Of meat. But herbs. Magical herbs, spared me the sufferings of hunger! Eating herbs!? A slab of slate was placed on top of cold ashes. On this plate a whitish thing had hardened. Since it is on this slate, maybe it is good to eat!? Rahan nibbled on the thing, which crumbled beneath his teeth. It was bland, but it seemed nourishing to him. Never venture into it. The Valley of torments, my son! You would experience thirst and hunger there. Which gnaws at the insides! Every moment of the day and night, you would know. Fear you would be. Threat of death is lurking everywhere! Page Six. Exhausted by this warning, the old woman panted. She found the strength to hold out a bag of skin. My son, take it! Take! Thanks to these magic grains. The, the hunters could. Could. Could. Argh! Cereha! Cereha had just died without revealing her secret. Rahan was respectfully covering her with the strange yellow weeds when a rustling alerted him. An immense troop of men, women and children was advancing through the savannah, heading towards the valley that Cereha cursed so much! Oh! It was not a clan. There were ten, a hundred clans. It was a horde! Sometimes, in these fierce times, "Those-who-walk-upright" thus gathered their forces to conquer new territories. Impressed, Rahan watched the human wave approach. Page Seven. It was then that the eagles attacked him! You think Rahan stole Cereha's life? You want to avenge her! It cost him to strike these birds of prey that demonstrated their loyalty to the dead woman. Protecting his face, he backed away from the pecks. Enough “Hooked Beaks”! Enough! Without even realizing it he found himself at the very edge of the rock. To parry a new assault he jumped back. And that was the fall! Escaping from the skin bag, the “Magic” grains swirled like yellow snowflakes. Inanimate at the bottom of the ravine, he did not hear the screams of the scouts of the horde who were rushing towards him. He was spying on the horde! If he is not dead, Urak will break his bones! Page Eight. Rahan, who was recovering his spirits, did not have time to ward off the attack of the colossus. This hunter had the strength of a great "Four Hands" and remained indifferent to the blows that the son of Crao threw at him! Ha-ha! Urak will finish you! He was suffocated under the embrace, his vision became blurry. The monster man will crush Rahan! Rahan must be cunning! Argh! Ha-ha-ha! No hunter, no matter how strong, can stand up to Urak! Rahan was crushed at the feet of the triumphant colossus. Page Nine. But it was only a feint! Oh!? You will learn that cunning can make strength fail, Urak! The son of fierce ages had unbalanced his opponent and paralyzed him with an implacable hold. Argh! Aie! Aie! Admiring clamors arose. Rahan could break your leg and make you a useless hunter! But Crao taught him generosity! Stand up Urak! Rahan forgives you! Bitter and vexed, the colossus joined his people. Where are you from brothers? Where are you going? We came together to discover the “Territory of Happiness”! The spirits told the great wizard Wahuk that we will find it beyond this valley! No, brothers! Do not risk yourself in the valley of torments! It is cursed! Page Ten. Thirst and hunger, cold and heat, fear and death await you! Rahan recounted the ordeals of Cereha to the clan. An rumble arose and Rahan understood that he could not convince them. But if all these dangers are real, why risk the fate of the entire horde!? But the sorcerer Wahuk, was indigent. This crazy woman was lying! The horde only believes the spirits who have promised it. Beyond the valley, the territory of happiness! Why not send a small group of scouts to reconnoiter? The spirits would undoubtedly see no harm in it! The irony of these last words escaped Wahuk. Approvals were heard from all sides. “Hair of Fire” speaks reason. Yes. Better to sacrifice a few of us than the whole horde! The horde will wait here for the scouts to return before venturing into the valley! Page Eleven. The horde split into five groups. Hunters, women, children, chiefs, and sorcerers. They will choose their scouts! While these groups consulted, Rahan once again entrusted his destiny to his weapon. Rahan will leave this territory without knowing the secret of the “Magic Grains”! The chiefs designate Daok the most valiant of them! Wahuk, who is trusted by the spirits, will represent the sorcerers! The women's assembly chose the courageous Inoo! And we, your sons, have chosen the bold Song! No one can represent the hunters better than Urak! Rahan will accompany these scouts! With a little resigned sigh, Rahan pointed at his knife, which pointed in the exact direction of the Valley of Torments! Suddenly screams broke out. The “Two-teeth”! The “Two-teeth”! A few mammoths were passing in the distance, towards which the hunters were already rushing. Page Twelve. The son of Crao appreciated the courage of these men who, a moment later, faced the monsters. Rahan will have to reckon with Song's temerity! Clinging to his fleece, the young Song had climbed onto a mammoth, that he was stabbing with his short spear! Die "Two-tooth!" Song wants it! Rahan saw no more. Breaking the circle of hunters a large Mammoth charged the frightened women. The one who had been designated to be part of the Clan-of-the-sacrifices had just tripped and hit a rock. No! No! Unconscious, she was right in the path of the mammoth! Her fate depended on Rahan's speed. Page thirteen. Ra-ha-ha! It was only a respite. Other mammoths rushed into the ravine! This way Inoo! Strain! Song will pay for his bravery with his life! The “Two-tooth” that Song was riding collapsed, dragging the child with it! Yes. And Rahan will join the territory of shadows without having discovered the secret of Cereha! Rahan felt the mysterious grains which had scattered around this stump when he fell. They arrive! We are lost! Igloo and the son of Crao saw the enormous brown wave of monsters rolling towards their precarious refuge. Nothing could save them! Page Fourteen. And then there was a miracle! The mammoth had collapsed in front of the stump and the others, by avoiding this obstacle, spared Rahan and his young companion! The “Two-tooths” are moving away! We are saved! But song is not saved yet! Stuck under the mammoth he had killed, the reckless child screamed. Courage Song! Courage! Ra-ha-ha! But the efforts of the son of Crao were in vain. If Urak hadn't rushed to the rescue. Under the traction of the two men the huge head rose, freeing Song. Thanks, thanks. I thought I was joining the territory of shadows! We would have missed you, little scout! Rahan and the colossus exchanged a long look and smiled at each other. Together they had saved the child, and erased the memory of their confrontation! Page Fifteen. Saluted by the entire horde, the “Clan of Sacrifices” entered the Valley of Torments the same day. It was made up of Inoo, Song, Urak, the sorcerer Wahuk, and Chief Daok. And the son of Crao. Never forget that I am the boss! If you want to eat, you will have to obey me! These words irritated Rahan. Rahan never had a boss, Daok! But he will not bother your clan. He will live on his own! He will hunt for himself! So be it. In the days that followed, in fact, Rahan lived on the fringes of the scouts. And sometimes macabre discoveries were made. “No one returns from the valley of torments” said old Cereha! Why leave Rahan aside Doak!? He. Shut up, Inoo! Decisions can only be made by Daok, and Me! Daok and Wahuk imposed all the chores on the other three. Page Sixteen. One morning, cries of fear alerted Rahan. Urak, who was returning from a watering hole, had a terrifying monster on his tail! Your spears! Your spears, quickly! What are you waiting for to help Urak!? Thinking only of their own safety, Daok and Wuhak hid in the rocks. Leave it to Rahan, let go! Over there, the colossus had just narrowly avoided the animal. The horned monster saw the man, who from the top of a rock, was throwing stones at him. Derisory projectiles, which aggravated him. Attack “Three-horns”! Rahan awaits you! The tricerotops did not attack, it approached heavily. And Rahan, firmly gripping his weapon, let himself fall on the monster! Ra-ha-ha! Page Seventeen. The son of the ferocious ages had relied on his weight to puncture the neck of the "Three Horns." It did not happen. The spear broke without even cutting the leathery skin! Run away, Rahan! Flee! No weapon can break the skin of this monster! You can't do anything against him! Yes! There is still an old trick left. It can Succeed! The triceratops stared with its little eyes at the man who, leaning against the rock, was teasing him again. He charged! Inoo and Song returned to camp screaming in horror. The monster was only twenty steps away from Rahan who still did not move! Oh! Rahan! Rahan! Ra-ha-ha! It is only when the frightening armored head obscured the sky that. Page Eighteen. The son of Crao dived sideways! The “Three horns” were smashed. The leather shield and back of his skull shattered. He could not resist the granite! The “Three-horned One” is dead, but others could come! We must break camp! That day, the son of Crao definitely won the esteem of Urak, Inoo and young Song. Chief Daok and sorcerer Wahuk, at last reluctantly accepted him into the “Clan of Sacrifices”. They plunged further into the valley of torment. They only allowed themselves rest at night. Rahan, then, enchanted his companions with a thousand stories, a thousand revels. How wonderful it is to know so much! But Daok and Wahuk's bitterness grew every day. “He” will soon have more authority than us! You have to find the opportunity to get rid of him! Page Nineteen. They were still moving forward but, one morning, there was discouragement. Is this the land of happiness that the spirits promised you, Wahuk!? The valley debouched onto an immensity of desert, on which an unbearable sun blazed! The territory exists! We will discover it behind this desert! So, before risking it we need water, lots of water! Rahan will find a source! Leaping into the foliage, the son of the wild ages was remembering the warning of the old Cereha. No one returns from the valley of torments! The cold, the heat. The thirst! While he scanned the surroundings, another danger threatened him. Daok! Daok who found the long-awaited opportunity! You have humiliated me too often Rahan! It is time for you to join the "Territory of Shadows" Page Twenty. The trickster was going to release his arrow. When. No, Daok! If you killed Rahan, Song and Urak would never forgive you! I will not tell them what you were going to do, because we have to stay united to reach the territory of happiness! But never do it again! Ignoring the danger he had faced, the son of fierce ages reappeared a long time later. The containers he had made from large bamboos were filled with water. We may not find another source for days and days! May the sun not strike us down first! The desert stretched as far as the eye could see, a hell of heat and light. Ah! If we could take a little of this shadow with us! Take away some shade? This is a wonderful idea, Inoo! Rahan knows what to do! Page Twenty-One We are going to build a hut. That walks! Cut bamboos and vines! Setting an example, Rahan was already reaping large palm fronds. The sun was still burning the sky when they entered the desert. But the shelter imagined by Rahan protected them from the relentless rays. A new ordeal began. The food brought at departure was exhausted. And, as the days went by, the water reserve diminished. “Thirst, hunger, death,” as Cereha predicted. One morning, however, in the gray of dawn. The “Long horns!” Do not move! As silent as a shadow, the son of Crao managed to approach the herd. Rahan does not like killing "Longhorns." But he has to! Page Twenty-Two. As soon as they smelled danger, the antelopes ran away. But. Ra-ha-ha! A little later. Extraordinary! I have never seen a hunter catch a “Long Horn" while running! You will get there one day, Song! This meat will keep us going for a while longer. As long as you save water! The precious water was, this night, to provoke a drama. Rahan was startled awake by cries of rage. Over there, near the overturned containers, Urak was manhandling Daok! I surprised Daok! He. He was stealing water! By wanting to prevent it, I have. I knocked them over. The colossus, overwhelmed, clawed at the sand into which pumped the spilled water! Page Twenty-Three. Without the water, it would be wiser to turn back! And Daok-the-selfish deserves that we abandon him in the desert! Turn back!? Never! The territory of happiness is now very close! The spirits have said it! Once again, Wahuk, the sorcerer, was able to convince the “Clan of Sacrifices.” And the odyssey continued. The “Walking Hut” was like a raft on an ocean of dunes, sailing under the light of the sun. The nights alone brought a little coolness. Then, Rahan meditated while observing the sky, which was a mystery to him. Why do they always shine in the same place? He began to think that other men under other skies were contemplating the same stars, and that gave him back his confidence. We will live! We will find the horde again! Page Twenty-Four. One morning, a howl erupted behind a nearby dune. Argh! Song! It was Song who shouted! The son of Crao rushed forward. But it was too late! The child had just been stung by a large black scorpion! You will never strike again, “Tail-of-death”! An instant later. Song, you are going to die, are you not? No Inoo, not yet! Quickly light a fire! As for you, little one, you will have to grit your teeth! The child did not flinch when Rahan cut his heel, and pressed on the wound to extract the deadly venom. You are brave like a true hunter, Song! Page Twenty-Five. He also remained stoic when the glowing embers made his flesh sizzle! This wound will heal very quickly. You are not joining the territory of shadows, Song! You saved me from the "Two-teeth"! You saved Urak from the "Three-Horned Monster"! You saved Song! Without you, our clan would already be decimated! It will be in a moment, Inoo! Look! The son of Crao had turned pale. It was impossible to escape the new danger that presented itself! As if springing from the sand, scorpions arrived from everywhere! Countless like the leaves of a tree, they slowly approached. The “tails-that-kill” are surrounding us! We are lost! The horrible black sheet of scorpions was indeed spreading around the “walking hut”. Impassable! The “Clan of Sacrifices” did not seem to be able to escape the frightening peril. The scorpions were approaching! Approaching! Page Twenty-Six. No! No! We still have a chance to ward off the "Tails-that-kill!" Rahan threw himself on the pillars of the "Walking Hut," dislocating it. A moment later he spread the bamboos, vines and palm fronds in a circle. The “tails that kill” fear fire! As soon as the flames rose, in fact, the mass of scorpions froze. But this ring of fire would quickly go out. What would happen then? The “Tails-that-Kill” are abandoning us! The black stream of scorpions was retreating towards the dunes from which they had sprung! And the path was clear! But the ordeal of the “Sacrifices” was not over! Without water and food, they were now without shelter! And the sun remained implacable. Page Twenty-Seven. That was why they screamed with joy when a green forest finally appeared on the horizon. The spirits told me so! The territory of happiness is there! Wahuk-the-sorcerer soon had a new song to sing. They now faced an inextricable jungle! We will find water and game here! But the dangers remain just as great! Rahan had barely finished these words when he and his companions fell into a ravine hidden by the bushes! Huge snakes immediately attacked them! Although not venomous, these reptiles were formidable! Ra-ha-ha! You will not strangle Rahan, "Boak!" Freeing themselves first, Rahan and Urak went to the aid of the others. The strength of the colossus was marvelous! Argh! Page Twenty-Eight. We have to get out of this Ravine as quickly as possible! Other snakes were arriving, ever more numerous and the wall of the ravine was almost vertical! Look, Rahan is abandoning us! I knew he was a coward! With the agility of a “Four-hands,” the son of Crao had scaled the wall, and disappeared. But he reappeared a moment later. Hold on to these vines! Rahan will help you get out of the "Boaks" lair! A little later. Rahan could have abandoned you in the ravine, Daok! Do you still think he is "Cowardly"? Hum. Bravo, Rahan! Bravo! The Clan of sacrifices continued their exhausting march. Water and game no longer posed a problem. Page Twenty-Nine. But this jungle was infested with wild animals. How many times did Rahan have to intervene to save his companions? No one knows. Ra-ha-ha! His devotion to the small clan did not outweigh the hatred that Daok and Wahuk bore him. He is great, he is very useful to us! But one day we will not need him anymore! So. To cross this green hell, it was sometimes necessary to enter swamps, the kingdom of caimans. Back, “Skin of Wood”! We are not coming to steal your territory! On the contrary, we would like to flee it! Urak's force completed Rahan's address. Could not the colossus, with his hands alone, dislocate the jaw of a saurian! Page Thirty. The yellow-leaf season was approaching when they discovered the high mountains. The territory of happiness is behind these mountains! We are saved! Let us hope for that Wahuk! Inoo and Song are at the end of their strength! The fantastic trek into unknown territory had been going on for too long. All were exhausted. In the ravine in which they entered, shortly after, an icy wind blew which added to their torments. Harassed and chilled, they took refuge in the first cave that came along. Rest, Rahan will light a fire. A little later. If wild animals want to compete with us for the cave, this fire will keep them away! Oh! Worn down with fatigue, everyone else was sound asleep. Page Thirty-One. If Rahan falls asleep too, the fire will go out! And what will happen if a danger shows up? Oh! Rahan has an idea! He remembered a distant memory. That of a spider alerted by the vibrations of its web! In the ravine he discovered enough vines to weave a coarse net at the entrance to the cave. Shortly after, with one of these vines tied to his wrist, he fell into a deep sleep. The fire was still glowing when a shock woke him. The “Web” was moving! Something wanted to enter the cave! Page Thirty-Two. Rahan scattered wood to rekindle the fire. And. The “Balouas!” Breaking the "Web," a couple of grizzly bears burst in. Ra-ha-ha! Neither his cry nor the growls of the bears woke the others! He would fight alone! Oh! He did not have time to cut the line which hindered his movements. A paw whipped the vine, throwing him to the ground. He had let the firebrand escape and, in the returning darkness, he glimpsed the grizzly bears rushing towards him. Ra-ha-ha! It was not Rahan's battle cry that startled Urak awake. But the burn from the torch that had rolled under his thigh! Page Thirty-Three. Stunned, the colossus saw the son of Crao struggling with the two bears. That. What. Oh! Hold on Rahan! I am coming! I am coming! With the intervention of Urak the confrontation took place. A new trick. Rahan was able to deliver a devastating blow. Ra-ha-ha! He was going to help Urak. But it was unnecessary. The second grizzly's bones cracked under the colossus' grip. Crack! The others finally woke up. Oh! What. What happened? If Rahan had not been awake, these Bears would have torn us to pieces while we slept! Two more long days the "Clan of sacrifices" marches in this defile, crossing the mountain range. Page Thirty-Four. And it was, after so much torment, the overwhelming, the desperate discovery. Is this the territory of happiness that you promised the horde, Wahuk!? The gully opened onto an endless ocean! For two seasons we have faced death. For nothing! Not for nothing, Inoo. If we survive, our experience will serve the horde! They will not venture out in search of a territory that only exists in the mind of Wahuk! The wizard said nothing, but. The horde must never know that my predictions were wrong! These must die! All of them! The same ordeals awaited the clan of sacrifices on the way back. They had to go back through the mountain and the marshes. Page Thirty-Five. The green-leaf season returned when they had re crossed the desert. But how can you find your way back, Rahan!? Rahan is guided by the stars, Song! He knows under what star leads us to the horde. Every night, this star shows him the direction to take! Song was astounded. This revelation defeated the sinister project of Wuhak and Daok. Since he knows the language of the stars, only he can bring us back to the horde! We cannot kill him first! The heat was less oppressive and the crossing of the desert looked less difficult returning than going there. Rahan had imagined a way to carry water and food in abundance. Pretexting on their title, the chief and the sorcerer were reluctant to attend to the travoi. If you do not do your part. Page Thirty-Six. We will abandon you here and the “Hooked-Beaks” will take care of you! A flock of vultures had been escorting the “Clan of the Sacrifices” since daylight. And pull, hard! We will arrive faster! The raptors were on the lookout for failure. Faced with this threat, Daok and Wahuk complied reluctantly! One night, the son of Crao exclaimed, pointing to the starry sky. We will soon find the horde! She is in that direction! Daok and Wuhak were astounded. And indeed, at dawn. We are back in the “Valley of Torments”! The horde is without doubt somewhere behind these mountains! But all the dangers are not yet over! Inoo and Daok will scout with Rahan! Page Thirty-Seven. Shortly after, the three scouts climbed towards a summit. Rahan did not notice Chief Daok's looks of hatred. They were walking along a deep precipice when. Look! Over there! It is the horde! It is time to end this, Rahan! We do not need you anymore, "Hair of Fire"! Nor you either, Inoo! This brutal and vicious attack was unpredicted, unexpected. But the son of Crao, in an instinctive reflex, was able to grab a projection and the wrist of his companion. I was tired of putting up with your authority, Rahan! You will die! Suspended in the void, Rahan and Inoo could not escape the rock that Daok-the-deceiver was going to throw! Page Thirty-Eight. Argh! But Daok's laughter became a howl of terror. He, in turn, had just been pushed into the void by. Wahuk-the-sorcerer! And you will soon find it again at the bottom of the abyss! All I have to do now is eliminate Song and Urak! Ha-ha-ha! The sorcerer disappeared. Rahan felt as if the nerves in his wrists were going to rupture! Hold on to Rahan's legs, Inoo! With both hands, Rahan might be able to. However. This. This. It is horrible! Rahan has lost his balance on the edge of a precipice! He dragged Inoo and Daok into his fall! They. They are dead! The lie did not fool the child. Rahan is more agile than a two-horned-mountain-goat! He could not have fallen! You lie Wahuk! You Lie! Page Thirty-Nine. You dare to insult Wahuk-the-sorcerer! Your Blasphemy deserves immediate death! The sorcerer did not have time to throw his assegai. Urak lifted him off the ground! Why did you follow Rahan and the others, fiend? We want the truth, Wahuk! You hear? The truth! The son of fierce ages now held on with both hands, his strength deserting him. Without me you could still save yourself! I am going to let go of you, Rahan! I will never forget, in the land of the shadows, everything you did for us! Determined to sacrifice herself, Inoo was going to let go! No, Inoo! Do not do that! Look! The child and the colossus who had just appeared were about to throw down a solid line! Page Forty. An instant later. Daok wanted to kill us. And he was in turn thrown into the abyss by Wahuk! We did not know, Inoo. Wahuk confessed everything to us. Song pointed to the flock of vultures which, over there, were fighting over the sorcerer's flesh! I. I. I did not want to kill him! But I. I had to squeeze a little too hard. The colossus, overwhelmed, looked at his powerful hands with a sort of disgust. Wahuk was not a good wizard, Urak. He always lied to us and wanted us dead! We will tell the horde! Shortly after, in front of the rediscovered horde, Inoo recounted the odyssey of the "Sacrifices", denouncing the perfidiousness of Wahuk, and exalting the self-sacrifice of Rahan. It is thanks to Rahan that we came back! It is thanks to "Fire Hair" that we know that beyond the valley of torment, the "territory of happiness" does not exist! Page Forty-One. Insensitive to this praise, the son of Crao observed the cliff from which he had fallen months before with the bag of "Magic Grains." At the foot of this cliff tall yellow grass had grown, like he had seen near the cave of the old Cereha. He remembered the charge of the mammoths. The paws of the "Two-tooths" have buried the "Magic-grains"! And this yellow grass grew, giving other grains! If a grain produces a cluster of seeds, all these grains could cover an entire plain with yellow grass! He had shucked the ear between his fingers. He wiped out some winnings. When he blew gently, only a white powder remained on the rock. A magic powder? Is this the secret that Cereha did not have time to reveal to Rahan? Page Forty-One. He tasted cautiously on his tongue the powder that had become like a paste. The same taste as the “Thing” that Cooked on the Cereha fire! Rahan wants to know! He climbed onto the cliff, at the foot of which a carpet of yellow grass rippled in the breeze. Moved, he approached the cave. The “Hooked-Beaks” had to search for another home! No, the faithful eagles were still there! But they did not flinch when the son of fierce ages respectfully saluted the skeleton of old Cereha. Rahan is not coming to violate your secret, Cereha, since you wanted to confide it to him! In the darkness, he discovered armfuls of "yellow herbs", jars of water, and containers filled with white powder. And balls of dough, hardened by time. Rahan understands! The powder of the “Magic Grains” with water forms this paste which, when cooked well, can feed “Those-who-walk-upright!” Page Forty-Three. You had a wonderful secret, Cereha! As you wished, Rahan will reveal it to all his brothers! Thanks to you, when the game is rare, they will no longer know hunger! Rahan, in fact, revealed to the horde the secret of the “Magic Grains.” Who knows, Inoo? Perhaps the horde will no longer have to look elsewhere for the “Territory of Happiness!? In enthusiasm, they mowed the "Yellow Herbs", they pounded the ears of the "Magic Grains", and they kneaded their white powder. But when the dough cakes began to cook, a religious silence ensued. What shall we call this food, Rahan? I do not know. Was the secret of wheat discovered in the night of wild ages, by the old hermit Cereha? No one will ever know. The son of Crao, forgetting all the bad memories of the valley of torments, turned and remembered with delight to what men, thousands of centuries later, would call "Bread"!

Most Reverend in Christ, Father and Lord, Lord Cuthbert Tonstall, Bishop of Dunelm in England, John Cochleus, S P D. Most Reverend Father and Lord in Christ, after you have successfully returned from London to your country, increased by your goodness and power and the results of affairs, it was not permitted to me as frequently as before, to perform any of my duties of gratitude and respect to your most reverend lordship safely by letters, mainly because of the larger space distance made on both sides. However, I have written several times to Mister Ridley, as well as to R D T, but since I do not know what of my letters has reached R D T within five years, whence I suspect that some of the intercepted letters have perished, I decided at last to seek the public to intercede, and he was neither a Jew nor a contemptible blachteron, but the pious and learned pontiff Innocent the Third, highly praised by all historians and chronographers alike, and also approved by the public in decretal epistles by the authority of canon law, so that it exists publicly as a witness of my love and reverence for R D T. I hope that this will be far more agreeable to you, and safer from the snares of interceptors, than private letters have been or will be; for many things, and good for many, whom God has not given to a reprobate sense, or whom his own iniquity has not blinded or hardened. For those who are exalted either by the splendor of their birthdays, or by knowledge inflated, or by the success of things rise into exaltation, the precepts of humility from the sacred letters He lays healthily before the eyes, and by declaring the misery of the human condition, deters all from pride. Of course, this admonition seems extremely necessary at this time, in which the shadow of knowledge and most of the ignorant is so inflated, so that our faith and religion are not only debated between cups in an unbelieving and irreligious way, but they are not afraid to decide on new precepts and to give light to the uneducated and illiterate, tailors and furriers. But Innocent says that there is scarcely anything so cheap or so easy that a man fully understands, unless perhaps it is perfectly known, for nothing is perfectly known. However, from this an insoluble redargument immediately follows. Such was the ancient saying of Socrates: I do not know one thing that I do not know. And far more anciently and more religiously it was said by the great and holy man Job: I truly know that it is so, and that it is not Man is justified in comparison with God, if he wills to contend with him, he will not be able to answer him one for a thousand. Thus the wisest Solomon says: I have found only this, that God has made man upright, and that he himself has mixed himself up with infinite problems. Irreligious therefore is this rashness of the wise, by which they thus transgress the ancient boundaries which our fathers have established. The chief of whom, of course, and the originator or founder of all impious innovations, is so swollen with pride that he thinks that more has been revealed to himself than to all the ancient fathers and councils. Truly a wretched man, to whom the Lord says in the Apocalypse: He who says that I am rich, and enriched, and need no one, and you do not know that you are wretched, and pitiable, and poor, and blind, and naked. And Pliny, an ethnic man, rebukes those who are so vainly and arrogantly proud of knowledge. Some animals feel their own nature, others perish to usurp, to fly one thing, to have another strength, to swim another thing; for a man to know that nothing can be done without learning, that he cannot enter, that he cannot eat; Our Innocent clearly explains this misery of man by adding many things which were unknown to Pliny and to all the ethnics. I therefore beg and implore you, most decorated prince, to bear with an equanimity the admonitions of such a pious pontiff under the watchful eye of your name at this time, in which the fear of God is growing cold and worldly avarice and irreligious conversation are growing stronger in all the luxury, pomp and pageantry of the world, into the light reproduced I know, indeed, how much the truly learned and the foremost of scholars and eloquence make you, the most illustrious luminaries of our age, John Fischer, bishop of Rouen in England, William of Budaeus in France, Erasmus of Rotterdam in Germany, so that he may tremble rightly and meritoriously. I am writing to you. However, I use your trust and clemency and kindness learned from you as an interlude for the edification of many who are now vainly proud of their high spirits and placed outside themselves, so that when they have returned to themselves, they may return to their hearts and know themselves. Good-bye to the excellent and unique herald, the protection of the church and the everlasting ornament of the country. From Dresden Misnia to Albi. III. the ninth of February In the year of Sunday's incarnation 1534. De Contemptu Mundi, Pope Innocent III, A Puke (TM) AudioBook Translated by PukeOnAPlate 2024 It begins with a book on the contempt of the world, or on the misery of the human condition, published by Lotharius, cardinal deacon of Saints Sergius and Bacchus, who was later called Pope Innocent the Third. And it is divided into three partial books. PROLOGUE. To the dearest father P. dei Gratia, bishop of Porto, Lotharius, an unworthy deacon, grace in the present and glory in the future. A little leisure, which, amid many troubles of late, which you know, I have taken occasion of, has not entirely passed me idle. But in order to depress pride, which is the head of all vices, I have described in any way the baseness of the human condition. And I have dedicated the title of the present work to your name, beseeching and demanding, that if your discretion finds anything worthy in it, the grace of God write it all down. But if your paternity has suggested, let me describe the dignity of human nature, favoring Christ, in so far as the exalted is humbled by this, so that the lowly is exalted by it. FIRST BOOK. Chapter one. On entering the wretched human condition. Why did I come out of my mother's womb, to see labor and pain, and my days to be spent in confusion? If he, whom the Lord sanctified in the womb, spoke such things of himself, how shall I speak of myself, whom my mother bore in sins? Alas, I would say, my mother, why did you give birth to me, the son of bitterness and pain? Why did I not die in my mother's womb? Did I not immediately perish when I came out of the womb? Why was he born at the knees, suckled at the breasts, and born to burn and eat fire? I wish he had been killed I would have been in the womb, so that my mother would have been my grave and her womb an eternal conception. For I would not have been born, having been transferred from the womb to the grave. Who, then, will give my eyes a fountain of tears, that I may weep over the pitiable entrance of the human condition, the culpable progress of human conduct, the damnable exit of human dissolution? I then considered with tears what man was made of, what man does, what man is going to do. Of course, formed from the earth, conceived in guilt, born for punishment, he does evil things that are not lawful, base things that are not proper, vain things that are not expedient, he will become fuel for fire, food for worms, a mass of rot. I would explain it more clearly, I would eat it more fully. Man was formed from dust, from mud, from ashes, and that which is baser, from the most impure sperm: conceived in the itching of the flesh, in the fervor of lust, in the stench of lust, and that which is worse, in the decay of sin; born to labor, pain, fear, and everything more miserable is, to death. He does bad things, he offends God, he offends his Neighbor, he offends himself. He does disgraceful things by which he pollutes his reputation, pollutes his conscience, pollutes his person. He acts vainly, which he neglects the serious, he neglects the useful, he neglects the necessary. It will become fuel for the fire that always burns and burns unquenchable, food for the worm that always gnaws and eats the immortal, a mass of rot that always stinks and stinks terribly. Chapter two. Of the cheapness of man's own material. Therefore the Lord God formed man from the clay of the earth, which is inferior to the other elements, as is clear from Genesis 2. He made the planets and stars from fire, the winds and air from air, the fish and birds from water, and men and animals from the earth. Therefore, considering the watery man will find himself low, considering the airy he will recognize himself as lowly, considering the fiery he will consider himself very lowly, and will not be strong he will make himself equal to the heavenly ones, and will not dare to prefer himself to the earthly ones, because he will find himself equal to beasts and will recognize his likeness. For the destruction of men and beasts is one, and the condition of both is equal, and man has nothing more than beasts. They came from the earth, and they will return to the earth as well. These words are not of any man, but of the wisest Solomon. What then is man but dust and ashes? For hence man says to God: Remember, I pray thee, that thou hast made me as clay, and shalt return me to dust. Hence also God said to man: You are dust, and to dust you shall return. I am compared (says Job) to clay, and I am likened to embers and ashes. Clay is made of water and dust, both remaining; but ashes are made of wood and fire, both failing. Expressed mystery, but otherwise better expressed. So what is dirt? Are you proud? What dust are you raising? whence dost thou boast of ashes? Chapter three. On the defect of conception. Or perhaps you will answer that Adam himself was formed from the clay of the earth, but you were created from human seed? But he was formed from the earth, but from a virgin, but you were created from seed, but unclean. For who can make the world out of an unclean seed? Who is man, that he should appear blameless and righteous, born of a woman? For behold, I was conceived in iniquities, and in sins my mother conceived me. Not in just one iniquity, not in just one transgression, but in many iniquities and in many transgressions. That is, in the offenses and iniquities of one's own, in the offenses and iniquities of others. Chapter four. Of the shame of the child. For there is a twofold conception, one of seeds and the other of natures. The first takes place in commissions, the second takes place in contracts. For the parents commit themselves to the first, and the children contract to the second. For who does not know that even conjugal intercourse is never committed at all without the itching of the flesh, without the fervor of lust, without the stench of lust? Whence the seeds conceived are foul, stained, and corrupted, from which the soul finally infused contracts the blemish of sin, the stain of guilt, the filth of iniquity, just as liquid infused from a corrupt vessel is corrupted, and the polluted contiguous is polluted by its very contact. For the soul has three natural powers, or three natural powers: the rational, to distinguish between good and evil; irascible, so as to reject evil; concupiscible, so as to desire the good. These three powers are originally corrupted by three opposite vices; the power of the rational through ignorance, so that it does not distinguish between good and evil; irascible power through anger, so that it rejects good; concupiscible force through concupiscence, so that it desires evil. The first begets wrongdoing, the last gives birth to sin, the middle begets wrongdoing and sin. For it is a crime not to do what ought to be done; sin is not to be acted upon. These three vices are contracted from the flesh corrupted by three natural temptations. For in the carnal intercourse of reason the intuition is fenced off, so that ignorance is sown, the itching of lust is irritated, so that anger is propagated, the affections are satisfied with pleasure, so that concupiscence is contracted. This is the tyrant of the flesh, the law of the members, the fuel of sin, the languor of nature, the fodder of death, without whom no one is born, without whom no one dies, who, if he ever passes away in guilt, yet always remains in effect. For if we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. O great necessity and unhappy condition. Before we sin, we are bound by sin, and before we sin, we are bound by sin. Through man one sin entered into this world, and through sin passes through death to all men. Have not the fathers eaten sour grapes, and set their children's teeth on edge? Chapter five. What kind of food is the conception nourished in the womb. But take heed with what food the conception is nourished in the womb. Indeed, with the menstrual blood, which ceases from the woman after conception, so that the conceptions from it may be nourished in the woman, which is said to be so abominable and unclean, that from its contact crops do not sprout, shrubs wither, herbs die, trees lose their fetuses, and if dogs eat them , are brought into a frenzy. The conceived fetus contracts the vice of the seed, so that lepers and elephantiasis are born from this corruption. Hence, according to the Mosaic law, a woman who suffers menstruation is considered impure, and if whoever comes to menses is ordered to be put to death. And because of the impurity of the menses, it is commanded that if a woman gives birth to a male child, she should cease entering the temple for forty days, if a female child, eighty days. Chapter six. Of the infirmity of the child. Why, then, is light given to the wretched, and life to those who are in bitterness of soul? Happy are those who die before they are born, feeling death before they know life. For some are born so ugly and prodigious, that they are seen not as men, but rather as abominations, for whom perhaps it would have been better provided for, if they had never come to be seen, since they are pointed out and exhibited to the public as monsters. But most of them are born with diminished limbs and corrupt senses, the sadness of their friends, the infamy of their parents, the shame of their relatives. I would say this in particular about some, when in general we all perish without knowledge, without words, without virtue? weepy, feeble, infirm, a little distant from the brutes, nay, having less in many? For as soon as they have arisen, they step, but we not only do not walk with erect feet, but also do not crawl with bent hands. Chapter seven. Of the pain of childbirth and the crying of the child. We are all born crying to express our misery. For a male newly born says A, but a female E. Saying E or A, as many as are born of Eve. What then is Eve, but alas ha? Both are painful interjections, pain expressing Indignity. For these things, before the sin of the cross, after the sin Eve deserved to be called, from whence she heard it said to her: you shall wallow in sorrow. No for there is pain like that of a woman in childbirth. Whereupon Rachel, in great pain, gave birth, and as she was dying she called the name of her son Benoni, that is, the son of sorrow. The wife of Phineus gave birth to sudden pains as soon as she died, and at the very moment of her death she called her daughter Ichabod. But a woman, like a shipwrecked woman, when she gives birth, has sadness, but when she has given birth to a child, she no longer remembers the pressure for joy, because a man has been born into the world. Therefore it conceives with uncleanness and stench, it gives birth with sorrow and pain, it nurtures with distress and toil, it guards with insistence and fear. Chapter eight. Of the nakedness of man. He goes out naked, and comes back naked. The poor go, and the poor go. Naked, says Job, I came out of my mother's womb. and return thither naked. We brought nothing into this world, no doubt because we can take nothing away. But if any man enter clothed, let him pay attention to what kind of clothing he wears. It is a disgrace to say, a disgrace to hear, a disgrace to see. A disgusting film covered in blood. This is that wall, of which Thamar says in his speech: Why is the wall broken for your sake? And for this reason he called his name Phares, which means division. Chapter nine. What fruit does man produce? O base indignity of human condition, O unworthy condition of human baseness. Look for herbs and trees. They produce of themselves flowers and leaves and fruit, and alas, you bring forth lice and earthworms. They pour oil, wine, and balm from themselves, and you from yourself spit, urine, and dung. They are about themselves they breathe the sweetness of the fragrance, and you return from yourself the abomination of the stench. As the tree is, so is the fruit. For a bad tree cannot produce good fruit. For what is man according to form, but a kind of inverted tree? whose roots are the hair, the trunk is the head with the neck, the log is the peg with the belly, the branches are those with the pipes, the leaves are the fingers with the joints. This is the leaf that is carried away by the wind, and the stalk that is dried by the sun. CHAPTER Ten. On the disadvantages of old age and the brevity of man's life. At the beginning of the human condition, men are read to have lived nine hundred years and more, but as man's life gradually declined, the Lord said to Noah: My spirit shall not abide in man forever, for he is flesh, and his days shall be one hundred and twenty. of years This can be understood both about the term of life and about the space of repentance. For from that time it is very rarely read that men lived longer, but when human life declined more and more, it was said by the Psalmist: The days of our years are seventy years. But if in the potentates eighty years, and more their labor and pain. But will not the fewness of my days end in a short time? Our days are passing faster than the weaving of the web. A man born of a woman, living a short time, is filled with many miseries, who comes forth like a flower and is crushed, and flees like a shadow, and never remains in the same state. For few now reach the age of forty, and very few reach the age of sixty. Chapter eleven. On the disadvantages of old age. But if a man has advanced to old age, his heart is at once afflicted and his head throbbed, his breath faints and his breath stinks, his face is wrinkled and his stature is bent, his throat is dimmed and his joints wobbly, his nose runs and his hair falls out, his touch trembles and his actions fail, his teeth and ears rot. they are deaf The old man is easily provoked, difficult to recall, quick to believe and slow to disbelieve, tenacious and fond, sad and complaining, quick to speak, slow to hear, but not slow to anger, praises the ancients, despises the moderns, reproaches the present, commends the past, sighs and worries , becomes numb and weak. Listen to the poet Horace: Many troubles surround the old man. Moreover, let not the old boast against the young, nor let the young be insolent against the young old man, because what we are, he was, we shall be some day what he is here. Chapter Twelve. Of the labor of mortals. A bird is born to fly, and a man is born to work. All his days are full of troubles and sufferings, and his mind does not rest during the night. And what is this but vanity? There is no one without labor under the sun, there is no one without failure under the moon, there is no one without vanity under time. Time is the way things change. Vanity of vanities, says Ecclesiastes, and all things are vanity. Oh, how diverse are the studies of men, how diverse are their practices. Yet the end of all is one, and the result is the same, labor and affliction of the spirit. A great occupation was created for all men, and a heavy yoke upon the children of Adam, from the day of their coming out of their mother's womb, until the day of their burial in the grave of all. Chapter Thirteen. Of the study of the wise. Let the wise examine, investigate the heights of the sky, the breadth of the earth, the depths of the sea, and argue about each, discuss about all, always learn or teach. And what will the spirits find out of this occupation but labor and pain and affliction? He knew by this experience that he had said: I gave my heart to know the prudence of algae, doctrine, errors and folly, and I recognized that it was labor and affliction of the spirit, because in much wisdom there is much indignation, and he who adds knowledge adds pain. For though it behooves the searcher to sweat with many vigils and watch with toil and sweat, yet there is scarcely anything so cheap, scarcely so easy, that a man fully understands and grasps at a liquid level, unless perhaps it is perfectly known, for nothing is perfectly known, even though it is inscrutable from this will result in redargument. To anyone the body that decays burdens the soul, and the torrential panting detracts from the thinking mind. Hear what Solomon thinks about this: All difficult things, man cannot explain them in words. There is a man who does not sleep with his eyes day and night, and cannot find any reason for their work. And the more he labored to seek, the less he would find. Therefore those who search for scrutiny fail, because man will come to a deep heart, and God will be exalted. For the searcher of majesty is overwhelmed by glory. For he who understands more, doubts more, and he seems wiser to himself, who loses more. Therefore, part of knowledge is to know what one does not know. But the god did the right thing, and he involved himself in infinite questions. Chapter Fourteen. Of the various studies of men. Let mortals run and run through fences and paths, climb mountains, cross hills, fly over rocks, fly over the Alps, cross pits, enter caves, explore the bowels of the earth, the depths of the sea, uncertain rivers, dark forests, impassable solitudes, they expose themselves to winds and rains, thunders and lightnings, waves and tempests, ruins and precipices. They forge and fuse metals, carve and polish stones, cut and mold wood, spin and weave cloth, cut and sew clothes, build houses, plant gardens, cultivate fields, tend vineyards, burn furnaces, build mills, fish, hunt and hunt. They meditate and think, counsel and organize, complain and quarrel, rob and steal, deceive and bargain, contend and fight, and do innumerable such things in order to accumulate wealth, to multiply their gains, to make gains. they are followed, that they may acquire honors, that they may exalt their dignities, that they may extend their powers, and this also is labor and affliction of mind. If I am not believed, let Solomon be believed: I magnified, says he, my works: I built houses for myself and planted vineyards for myself, I made gardens and orchards, I planted them with trees of every kind, I built for myself cisterns of water to irrigate the forest of sprouting trees, I owned servants and maidservants. and I had a large family, also herds and large flocks of sheep, beyond all who had been before me in Jerusalem. I amassed for myself gold and silver, and the substance of kings and provinces. I made for myself singers and songstresses and the delights of the children of men, cups and pitchers in the service of pouring out wine, and I surpassed in wealth all who were before me in Jerusalem. And when I had turned to all that my hands had made, and to my labors, to whom I had sweated in vain, I saw in them all vanity and affliction of mind, and nothing lasting under the sun. Chapter Fifteen. About different concerns. Oh, how mortals are troubled by anxiety, afflicted by care, troubled by care, terrified by fear, shaken by trembling, taken away by horror, afflicted by pain, disturbed by sadness, saddened by confusion. The poor and the rich, the slave and the master, the married and the free, finally, the good and the bad, all are afflicted with worldly afflictions and are tormented by worldly afflictions. Trust the teacher after experience. If (says he) I do wickedly, woe unto me. And if it is just, I will not raise my head saturated with suffering and misery. Chapter Sixteen. Of the misery of the needy and the poor. For the poor are oppressed by hunger, tormented by hardships, hunger, thirst, cold, nakedness, they are despised, scorned, scorned, and scorned. O miserable condition of the beggar, and if he does not ask, he is ashamed, and if he does not ask, he is consumed by want, but to beg, he is compelled by necessity. God is caused to be unjust because he does not divide justly. The neighbor is accused of evil, which does not fully help. He is indignant, he murmurs, he curses. Notice the wise man's opinion on this: It is better (says he) to die than to be in need. He also goes out to hate his poor neighbor. All the days of the poor man's evil, the poor man's brothers hate him. Moreover, his friends also withdrew far from him: because when you are happy, you will count many friends, but if the times are bad, you will be alone. Therefore, shame is considered according to the person's fortune, rather than fortune is to be valued according to the person. He is considered as good as the rich, as bad as the poor, and rather he should be considered as rich how good, how poor, how bad. But the rich man is freed from excess, and his rashness is restrained, he runs at will, and rushes at what is unlawful. They also become instruments of punishment, which had been entertainments of guilt. Toil in acquiring, fear in possessing, pain in losing, always wearies, strains, and afflicts his mind. For where your treasure is, there is your heart. But we shall speak more fully of this in what follows. Chapter Seventeen. Of the misery of servants and lords. A servant serves, is frightened by threats, wearied by hardships, afflicted by plagues, robbed of riches: which if he does not have, he is forced to drink, and if he has, he is forced not to have. The fault of the master, the punishment of the servant: the fault of the servant, the prey of the master. Whatever the kings rave about, the Achives placate. The hunting of the lion onager in the desert, as well as the pasture the rich and the poor O extreme condition of slavery. Nature gave birth to children, but fortune made slaves. The slave is forced to suffer and no one is allowed to sympathize, he is forced to grieve and no one is allowed to sympathize. So he himself is not his own, so that no one can be himself. Miserable are those who follow the camp, because it is miserable to live as the prey of others. But the Lord, if he is cruel, must be feared because of the wickedness of his subjects; if he is gentle, he may be despised because of the insolence of his subjects. Fear, then, afflicts the severe, and the lowly despises the meek. For cruelty breeds hatred, and familiarity breeds contempt. For the care of one's family is tiring, and the anxiety of the household is troublesome. For it is necessary for him to be always ready, everywhere fortified, so that he can prevent the intrigues of the malicious, repulse the injuries of the assailants, crush the enemies and protect the citizens. Nor is the day sufficient for its malice, but day after day it belches up labor, and the night of the night indicates concern. Therefore the days are laborious, and the nights are spent without sleep. CHAPTER Eighteen. Of the misery of the continent and of the married. If fire can not burn, flesh can not lust, because no matter how much he is punished, that Jebusite can never be expelled. You drive out nature with a pitchfork, yet it still returns. Not all (says he) understand this word, but he who can understand it, let him understand it. Hence, when God himself had ordered certain pontifical garments, that Moses and Aaron should clothe their sons, he did not command only the feminine ones, but said that they themselves should wear feminine ones when they entered the tabernacle of testimony. But the apostle also says: Do not deceive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a time. that you may rest in prayer and return again to the same thing, lest Satan tempt you because of your intemperance. For it is better to marry than to burn. Therefore, the angel of Satan fights against self-control, who carnally stimulates and violently slaps, kindles the fire of nature with the breath of suggestion, supplies matter, gives ability, and serves opportunity. He fights, and species which is suddenly seen, is easily coveted. Therefore, when David was walking in the afternoon in the palace of the royal house, seeing from opposite Bathsheba washing herself, he sent and took her and slept with her, for she was a very beautiful woman. Moreover, he who is with his wife is anxious about the things of the world and is divided. For he is distracted by many straits and divided into various cares, in order to seek and provide for his sons and wife, servants and maidservants. Therefore the tribulations of the flesh they have such The wife strives to have precious ornaments and various furniture, so that her worship is often more valuable than her husband's income; moreover, through the nights and days he weeps and sighs, chatters and murmurs. For there are three things which do not permit a man to remain in the house, smoke, dripping, and his main wife. She (says he) goes more gracefully and is honored by all, but I, the most miserable one, alone in the assembly of women, am despised, despised by all. She only wants to be loved, to be praised by the sun, another's love she claims to be her hatred, another's praise she suspects her shame. Everyone who loves is to be loved, everything that is hated is to be hated. It is worth winning, but it is not worth winning. He does not suffer to be tamed, but tries to dominate. He wants to be able to do everything, but not to be able to do anything. If she is beautiful, she is easily enamored; if ugly, not easily coveted. But what is loved by many is hard to keep, and it is difficult to possess what no one is worthy to possess. The form of another, another with wit, another with humor, another with liberality; and from some part it is captured, that which is approached from all sides. The horse and the ass, the ox and the dog, the garment and the bed, even the cup and the pitcher, are first tried, and afterwards compared. But the bride is scarcely shown at last, lest she should be displeased before she is taken away; yet, whatever chance may befall her, she must always be held. If she is ugly, if she is smelly, if she is sick, if she is foolish, if she is proud, if she is hot-tempered, if she is in any way vicious, a wife cannot be put away by her husband except for fornication alone. But he who divorces cannot marry another, nor can another be joined to a divorced one. For whoever he who divorces his wife, except for the cause of fornication, causes her to commit adultery, and he who marries a divorced woman commits adultery. If the wife has left her husband, she must remain unmarried or be reconciled to her husband. In the same way the husband, if he has left his wife. The weight of the couple is too heavy. For (says Solomon) he is a fool and an impious man who commits adultery, and he is a patron of indecency who conceals the crime of his wife. But if he divorces adultery, he is punished through no fault of his own, since he is forced to keep it while he is alive, for which reason the disciples of Christ also said: If such is the case of a man with his wife, it is not expedient to marry. Who could ever withstand a rival with equanimity? The mere suspicion afflicts the zealot greatly. For although it is written: they shall be two in one flesh; but the jealousy of two men in one flesh is not tolerated. CHAPTER Nineteen. Of the misery of the good and the bad. It is not for the wicked to rejoice, he says to the lords, because by what a man sins, he is tormented by it. For the worm of conscience never dies, and the fire of reason is never extinguished. For I saw those who work iniquity and sow sorrows and reap them, perished by the breath of God, and were consumed by the spirit of his wrath. Pride inflames, envy gnaws, avarice stimulates, anger inflames, gluttony torments, lust dissolves, falsehood binds, murder stains. So also the rest of the marvels of vice, and which are the amusements of man's piety, are the instruments of God's punishment. Envious of another's possessions, he perished in his riches. But the envy of the Sicilians did not find a greater cannon for the tyrant. For vice corrupts nature, as the apostle testifies, who says: Because they have disappeared in their thoughts, the foolish man is darkened their car For this reason God gave them over to the desires of their hearts, to impurity, so that they might insult their bodies, and as They refused to have knowledge of God, so God gave them over to a reprobate mind, so that they would do those things which were not agreeable to them. But even those who want to live godly in Christ suffer persecution. For the saints have experienced mockery and scourging, besides chains and prisons; They went about in sackcloth, in sheep's skins, needy, distressed, distressed, some of them were not worthy of the world. Wandering in deserts and mountains, in caves and caverns of the earth, dangers of rivers, dangers of robbers, dangers from the tribe, dangers from the nations, dangers in the city, dangers from false brothers In labor and suffering, in many vigils, in hunger and thirst, in many hardships, in cold and nakedness. For the just man denies himself, crucifying his members with vices and lusts, so that the world may be crucified to him, and he to the world. He does not have a permanent citizenship here, but he is looking for a future one. He endures a century as an exile, shut up in the body as in a prison. Inhabitant, he said; I am in the land and a stranger like all my fathers. Allow me to cool off before I go and be no more. Alas for me, because my sojourn was prolonged, I dwelt with the inhabitants of Cedar, my soul was much a sojourner. Who is weak, and I am not weak? who offends, and I do not burn? for the sins of our neighbors are the reproaches of the righteous. This is the watering-place which Caleph gave to his daughter Axa as a dowry. CHAPTER Twenty. Of the enemies of man. Therefore, warfare is the life of man on earth. Is it not true warfare, when multiple enemies are always lying in wait on every side to capture, to pursue to destroy, demon and man, world and flesh? The devil with vices and lusts, man with beasts, the clean with the elements, the flesh with the senses. For the flesh lusteth against the spirit, but the spirit against the flesh. It is true that our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against spiritual wickedness in the heavenly realms, against the rulers of this darkness. For your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. The fiery weapons of the wicked are kindled. Death enters through the windows, the eye preys on the soul, the world fights against the world senseless. Nation against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be great earthquakes throughout the land, pestilences and famines, and terrors from heaven and storms. The earth produces thorns and thistles, the water storms and waves, the air storms and thunder, fire flashes and lightnings. Cursed, he says, the ground will sprout thorns and thistles for you in your work. In the sweat of your face you will eat your bread until you return to the earth, because you are earth and now you will go to earth. A wild boar ambushed him from the forest, and a singular beast devoured him, the wolf and the bear, the panther and the lion, the tiger and the onager, the crocodile and the gryphon, the snake and the snake, the basilisk and the wasp, the dragon and the scorpion, the scorpion and the viper, but also the snakes and lice, ants and fleas, gnats and flies, hornets and wasps, fish and birds. For we who were created to have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and every living thing that moves on the earth, we are now given to them as a prey and given to them as food. For it is written: I will send the teeth of beasts upon them, with the fury of those that drag on the earth, and of serpents. Chapter Twenty One. Of the prison of the soul which is the body. I am a miserable man, who will deliver me from the body of this death? surely he does not want to be brought out of prison, who does not want to come out of his body. For the prison of the soul is the body. About which the Psalmist: Bring my soul out of prison. Nowhere is peace and tranquility, nowhere is peace or security, everywhere fear and trembling, everywhere toil and pain. As long as the flesh lives, it will grieve, and the soul will mourn over itself. CHAPTER Twenty-Two. Of the brief happiness of man. Who has ever led a whole day in his pleasant enjoyment, which was not disturbed in some part of the day by the guilt of conscience, or by an attack of anger, or by the impulse of concupiscence? Who has not been vexed by the bruise of envy, or the ardor of avarice, or the swelling of pride, who has not been moved by some loss, or offense, or passion, who has not been offended by some sight, or hearing, or act? A rare bird in the world, very similar to the black swan. Listen to the wise man's opinion on this: From morning to evening time will change. Vain thoughts succeed him, and the mind is carried away into different things. They hold the drum and the lyre, and rejoice at the sound of the organ. Chapter Twenty Three. Of unexpected pain. For worldly Jaetism is always followed by sudden sadness. And what begins with joy ends in sorrow. For worldly happiness is sprinkled with many bitternesses. He knew this who had said: Laughter will be mingled with sorrow, and joy will occupy the extremes of grief. The children of Job experienced this, for when they were eating and drinking wine in the house of their first-born brother, suddenly a strong wind rushed from the desert country and shook the four corners of the house, which fell and crushed them all. Rightly then did the father say: My harp is turned to mourning, and my organ to the voice of weeping. For it is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of rejoicing. Pay attention to the healthy advice: In the day of the good you are not oblivious to evils. Remember your last words, and you will not sin forever. CHAPTER Twenty-Four. On the nearness of death. The last day is always the first, and the first day is never considered the last, although it is always appropriate to live as if it were always necessary to die. For it is written: Be mindful, because death does not delay. Time passes, but death approaches. A thousand years before dying, as if it were yesterday, which has passed. For the future is always born, the present always dies, and all that is past is dead. For we die while we live forever, and only then do we cease to die when we cease to live. It is therefore better to die of life than to live to death, because mortal life is nothing but living death. Hence Solomon: I praised the dead more than living, and I judged the one who had not yet been born to be more fortunate than both. Life runs fast and cannot be held back; but death occurs instantly and cannot be prevented. This is the wonderful thing, that the more it grows, the more it decreases, because the more life progresses, the more it comes to an end. CHAPTER Twenty-Five. On the terror of sleepers. The time which is allowed to be quiet, is not allowed to be quiet: for dreams are frightening; disturbing visions. And although they are not in truth sad, or terrible, or laborious, what they dream when they dream, yet in truth they are sad, frightened, and tired to such an extent that sometimes they weep while sleeping, and when they wake up they are very often troubled; they have lost it. Notice what Eliphas the Themanites says about this: In the horror of the night vision, when Sleep is wont to take hold of men, terror seized me and trembling, and all my bones were terrified, and when the spirit passed over me, the hairs of my flesh shuddered. Consider Job saying: If I speak, my bed will comfort me, and I will be revealed, Joking with myself on my bed; You will frighten me by dreams, and by visions you will shake me with horror. Nebuchadnezzar saw a dream that greatly frightened him, and the visions in his head troubled him. Many cares follow dreams, and where there are many dreams, many vanities. They have caused many to err in their dreams, and they have given up hoping in them. For there frequently appear in dreams indecent images, from which, through nocturnal illusions, not only the flesh is polluted, but the soul is also stained. Wherefore the Lord in Leviticus says: If there be among you a man who is defiled in his night's sleep, let him go outside the camp, and not return until he in the evening he is washed with water, and after the sun sets he must return to the camp. CHAPTER Twenty-Six. On the sympathy of friends. Oh, with how much pain we are troubled, with how much trembling we are shaken, when we feel the losses of our friends and fear the dangers of our parents! More than once healthy in fear, quarn weak is disturbed by illness. Here the volunteer is more afflicted by the feeling of pain than by the sight of the effect of fatigue. It is true in poetry: Love is full of anxiety and fear. Whose chest is so iron, whose heart is so stony, that it does not express a groan, does not shed tears, when it looks at the disease and destruction of a neighbor or a friend, that it does not sympathize with the patient, and does not sympathize with the sorrowing? When Jesus himself saw Mary and the Jews who had come with her to the tomb weeping, he was troubled in spirit, troubled himself, and burst into tears. it is, perhaps not because he died, but rather because he recalled the dead to the miseries of life. But let him know that he is culpably hard and grievously guilty who mourns the bodily death of his friend and does not weep for the spiritual death of his soul. Chapter Twenty-Seven. Of sudden misfortunes. Suddenly, when it is not suspected, misfortune happens, calamity rushes in, disease invades, death intercepts, from which no one escapes. Therefore do not boast about tomorrow, not knowing what the next day will bring forth. A man does not know his end, but as a fish is taken with a hook, and as birds are caught in a snare, so men are caught in the evil time when it suddenly comes upon them. Chapter Twenty-Eight. Of innumerable kinds of sickness. Until centuries ago, physical energy could track down as many types of illnesses, as many types of passions, as human frailty could tolerate. Should I say intolerance of diseases is tolerable, or should I say tolerance is intolerable? it is better to combine both. For it is intolerable because of the bitterness of passion, and tolerable because of the necessity of suffering, day by day human nature becomes more and more corrupt. In this way, since most healthy experiments were once made, which today are deadly due to their lack, both the worlds have grown old, both the macrocosm and the microcosm, that is, the greater world and the lesser world. And the longer the old age of both is produced, the worse the nature of both is disturbed. CHAPTER Twenty-Nine. About the different types of arms. What shall I say of the wretched, who are punished by innumerable kinds of tortures? they are slaughtered with clubs and swords; Those to death, to death, those to the sword, to the sword, those to famine, to famine, and those to captivity, to captivity. A cruel judgment, a terrible execution, a sad spectacle, are given as food to the birds of the sky, the beasts of the earth, and the fish of the sea. Alas, alas, poor mothers, who gave birth to such unhappy children. Chapter Thirty. About a certain horrible fascination, such as that a certain woman eats her own child. I would therefore like to recall the horrible deed that Josephus describes of the Jewish siege: A certain woman of noble means and lineage, together with the rest of the multitude, which had flocked to Jerusalem, bore the common fate of the siege. The rest of his resources, which he had transferred from his house to the city, were completely invaded by the tyrants. If anything had been left of the great riches, with which she could lead a meager daily subsistence, the robbers' henchmen rushed in and snatched it away, for which the immense labor tired the woman out of a kind of indignation as if insanity, so that sometimes she incited the robbers to murder by her curses and insults. It is true that he was not irritated no one would have pitied her, and if there had been any food that she might have sought from her, it would have been sought from others, and there would no longer be any more to be desired; already armed against the very laws of nature. For she had a little son under her breast, whom she brought before her eyes. O most unfortunate son, in war, famine, and raids of robbers, to whom shall I reserve you? For even if life could be hoped for, you would still be bound by the yoke of Roman servitude. I have come now, O my son, be food to the mother, fury to the gods, legend to the ages, which was the only thing missing from the destruction of the Jews. And when he had said this, he immediately strangled his son, and then threw them into the fire when it is placed, it roasts, and consumes half of it, but keeps the half covered. And behold, immediately the robbers rushed in, having received the smell of burnt flesh, and threatened him with death, unless he showed without delay the food, which they felt was ready. Then she said: I have reserved the best part for you, and immediately she uncovered the remaining parts of the child. But they were suddenly seized with a great terror, and their limbs were unable to direct themselves, and as if by hardness of heart their voice was stopped in their throats. But she, with a fierce countenance, and more savage than the robbers themselves, says she, is the birth of mine, the son is mine, the deed is mine. Do not make yourselves more pious mothers, or softer women; that if your pity overcomes you, curse my food, which I have already fed on such, I will feed on them again. After this they were terrified and dismayed they depart, who have left this alone, of all their resources, as food for the poor mother. Chapter Thirty-One. Sometimes the innocent is punished and the guilty is acquitted. Let no one trust himself who has experienced punishment, who knows himself to be immune from guilt. He who stands must see that he does not fall. For the innocent is often condemned, and the guilty is acquitted: the pious is punished, and the impious is honored. Jesus is crucified, and Barabbas is freed. Today a just and quiet man is considered useless, a religious man a hypocrite, a simple man foolish. For the simplicity of the righteous is mocked. Lamps despised by the thoughts of the gods. THE SECOND BOOK. dissuading from the sinful progress of human conversion. CHAPTER One. Which people usually affect in common. Men are most wont to be affected by three things: riches, pleasures, and honors. They proceed from corrupt wealth, from base pleasures, from vain honors. For hence John the Apostle says: Love not the world, nor the things that are in the world: for whatever is in the world is the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. The lust of the flesh belongs to pleasures, the lust of the eyes to riches, the pride of life belongs to honors. Riches breed lust and avarice, pleasures breed gluttony and luxury, honors breed pride and boasting. CHAPTER Two. Of desire. There is nothing therefore more wicked to the miser, and nothing more wicked, than to love money. It is the word of the Wise, which the Apostle confirms, saying: Those who wish to become rich fall into temptation and into the trap of the devil, and into many and useless and harmful desires, which plunge a man into destruction and perdition. For the root of all evil is covetousness. He commits blasphemies and steals, commits robberies and plunders, wages wars and murders, sells and buys fraudulently, demands and receives unjustly, negotiates and lends unjustly, He insists on tricks and threats of fraud, dissolves the agreement and violates the oath, corrupts the testimony and perverts the judgment. CHAPTER Three. Of unjust duties. Consult the evangelical prophet Isaiah. All (says he) love gifts, follow retributions, do not judge the orphan, the cause of the widow does not enter into them. They do not precede retributions, because they do not judge from the love of justice, but retributions precede them, because they point to the love of money. For they always follow a gift, a promise, or a hope, and therefore they do not judge by the pupil from whom the gift is given, or promised, or hoped for. O unfaithful princes, companions of thieves, whosoever loves gifts, follow retributions, never shake your hand from a gift, unless you have first eluded the covetousness of the peotor. The prophet says of you: I will snatch away its princes like wolves, and snatch away the gains in pursuit. Its princes judged in gifts, and the chosen priests taught for a fee, and its prophets divined in money. And the Lord through Moses commanded the contrary in the law: You shall appoint judges and magistrates in all your gates, that they may judge the people with just judgment, and not incline to the other side. You shall not accept a person or gifts, because gifts blind the eyes of the wise and change the words of the righteous. But you will pursue just what is right, and you will live. He says two things, just and just. For some pursue just what is just, others unjustly what is unjust: again, some unjustly pursue what is just, others justly what is unjust. Chapter Four. On the reception of persons. Woe unto you who pray or praise the corrupt, who, driven by love or hatred, say good and evil and evil and good, putting light to darkness and darkness to light, mortifying souls that do not die, and quickening souls that do not live. For you do not consider the merits of causes, but the merits of persons, not rights, but gifts, not justice, but money, not what reason dictates, but what the will affects, not what the law enjoins, but what the mind desires. Not inclining your mind to justice, but inclining your mind to justice, not that this may please, but that this may be permitted. The eye is never so simple in you, that the whole body is bright, but you always mix something with the leaven, by which you corrupt the whole mass. You neglect a poor cause with delay, but promote a rich cause with urgency. You show rigor in them, when you dispense with them out of meekness. You regard them with difficulty,. treat these evacuees with favor. hearing them carelessly, listening to them with precision. The poor man cries and hears the poor, the rich man speaks and everyone applauds. The rich man spoke, and all were silent, and the clouds will carry his rod even as far; the poor man spoke, and they say, who is this man? and if he stumbles, they will overthrow him. He who suffers violence cries out and no one listens, he cries out and there is no one to tell. But if you happen to take up the cause of the sparrows, you encourage them with ease, but if you take up the cause of the rich, you persevere in persuading them. The poor are despised, the wicked are honored; you rose reverently against them, and despised them despicably. If a man enters your meeting with a golden ring in a white garment, a poor man enters in a dirty garment, and you look at him who is dressed in a fine garment, and you say to him, sit here well; my feet, are you not mocking among yourselves and become the index of unrighteous thoughts? For the prophet says about you and against you: They were magnified and rich, fat and oppressed; You will accept the truth of each person, it is God's judgment. For there is no acceptance of persons with God. Chapter Five. Of the sale of the just. But you neither give grace gratuitously, nor return joy justly, because unless it comes, it does not proceed, and it is not given unless it is sold. often You postpone justice so much that you take more than the whole thing away from the litigants, because the cost of the expense is greater than the result of the decision. But what will you be able to answer in the district judgment, who commands: You have received freely, freely give? Lureum in the box, loss in the conscience, you capture the money, but you capture the soul. But what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but suffers the loss of his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? A brother will not redeem, man will redeem, he will not give to God his appeasement, nor the price of the redemption of his soul, he has labored for ever, and he will still live to the end. Hear, O Gods, what the Apostle James says against you: Act now, you rich, weep and howl in your miseries that will come upon you, your riches are rotten, and your clothes are eaten by moths, your gold and silver have rusted. and their pride will be a witness to you, and will eat your flesh like fire. You have stored up wrath for yourselves in the last days. Behold, the wages of the laborers who harvested your fields, which has been defrauded by you, cry out, and their cry entered into the ears of the Lord of hosts. Therefore the truth commanded: Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where rust and moth destroy, where thieves dig up and steal. Chapter Six. Of the insatiable desire of lovers. O unquenchable fire, O insatiable desire. Who has ever been satisfied with his first wish? When he obtains what he had wished for, he longs for abundance, and always ends in having and never in having. The eye of the covetous is insatiable, and not in the part of iniquity will be satisfied The greedy will not be filled with money, and he who loves riches will not enjoy them. Hell and perdition are ever filled, so are the eyes of man insatiable. But it is usually the daughters of bloodsuckers who say: bring, bring. For the love of money increases as much as the chest itself increases. CHAPTER Seven. Why the greedy cannot be satisfied. Do you want to know, oh desire, why you are always empty, why you are never filled? Be warned: it is not your full measure, which, no matter how much it contains, is still a bigger catch. But the human mind is capable of God, since he who adheres to God is one with God. However much it contains, it is never full unless it has God, whose it always is capable If you want to be satisfied, O greedy person, stop being greedy, because while you are greedy, you will not be able to be satisfied. For there is no meeting of light with darkness, nor of Christ with Belial, because no one can serve God and mammon. Chapter Eight. Of false name of riches. O happy false riches, which truly make a rich man an unhappy son. For what is more unhappy than the riches of the world, which are called riches? For the rich and the needy are the opposites of the sun. But they do not take away the wealth of the world, but bring want. For, says Solomon, a little is more sufficient for the poor than for the rich, because where there are many riches, there are many who eat them. How many and how much the magnates need, he frequently himself I try. Riches therefore do not make a man rich, but needy. CHAPTER Nine. Examples against desire. How many have been deceived by desire! how many has greed destroyed! Balaam drew back the ass and rubbed the feet of the one who was sitting, because he had been seized by the desire of the promised people and had planned to curse Israel. Achan was stoned by the people because he had taken gold and silver from the curse. Naboth was interrupted so that Achas could take possession of his vineyard. Gezi was struck with leprosy because he asked for and received gold and silver and clothes under the name of Eliseus. Judas hangs himself with a snare, because he sold and betrayed Cbristus. Ananias and Sapphira died suddenly because they defrauded the apostles of the price of the land. Tire built her fortifications, and amassed silver like the earth, and gold like the mud of the streets, but behold, the lord will possess her, and will smite her strength in the sea, and these will be devoured by fire. Chapter Ten. Of the superfluous solicitude of lovers. Why does anyone insist on gathering, when he who gathers cannot stand? For like a flower it comes forth and is crushed, and flees like a shadow, and never remains in the same state. Why should he desire much, when a few are sufficient? Having, he says, food and clothing, let us be content with these. Why should he seek the necessities with much solicitude, when they themselves offer themselves without great difficulty? listen What does the truth say about this: Do not be anxious, saying: What shall we eat, or what shall we drink, or with what shall we be covered? For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. Therefore seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and these things will be added to you. For I have never seen a righteous man forsaken, nor his seed seeking bread. CHAPTER Eleven. Of avarice. Tantalus thirsts for waves, and is greedy for riches, for he is as much what he has as he is what he does not have, because he never uses what he has acquired, but is always eager to acquire it. Solomon: He is like a rich man when he has nothing, and he is like a poor man when he has many riches. Avaras and hell both eat and do not digest, take and do not give back. The miser does not sympathize with the suffering, nor does he help or pity the poor, but offends God, he offends himself, he offends his neighbor. For he withholds what is due to God, he denies what is necessary, and takes away what is convenient. Ungrateful to God, impious to his neighbor, cruel to himself. To a covetous and tenacious man substance is without reason, and to a livid man what good is gold? He who is wicked to himself, how will he be good to others? And he will not delight in his possessions. He who has the substance of this world, and sees that his brother is in need, closes his bowels from him, how does the charity of God remain in him? For he does not love his neighbor as himself, whom hunger destroys and want consumes, nor does he love God above all things, who prefers gold and prefers silver. Chapter Twelve. Why is avarice the servitude of idols? The apostle rightly defines: Covetousness is the servitude of idols. For as the idolater serves the image, so also the greedy treasure. For he diligently amplifies the worship of idolatry, and he gladly increases the heap of money. He worships the image with all care, and he guards the treasure with all care. He places his hope in idolatry, and he places his hope in money. He fears to mutilate the image, and he fears to diminish the treasure. Chapter Thirteen. On certain properties of avarice. Greedy ready to ask, slow to give, proud to deny. If he spends anything, he loses a lot, sad, bitter and so on the morose sighs and worries, doubts and spends unwillingly. The Magnificat is given, but it debases what is to be given, it gives that it may be gained, but it is not gained that it is given; It empties the appetite to fill the chest, thins the body to extend profit. His hand is folded to give, but extended to receive, closed to give, but open to receive. Moreover, the substance of the unrighteous will dry up like a river, because he who gathers badly quickly scatters. a judgment of lust, but let what proceeds from evil come to evil, and let it not come to good that does not proceed from good. The avaricious, therefore, drinks the damnation of the life that is now, and that which is to come. Chapter Fourteen. On the unjust possession of shares. It is true, then, that the wise man protested, he lost many gold and silver. He who loves gold will not be justified. Woe to those who let it be followed. Behold, the very sinners and the rich have obtained riches in this age. Hence the truth itself commanded the apostles: Do not possess gold, silver, or money in your belts, because just as a camel cannot enter through the eye of a needle, so it is difficult for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. For narrow is the way and narrow is the gate that leads to life. The apostle therefore, following the rule of truth, said: Silver and gold are now mine. Woe to you, therefore, who join house to house, and field to field to the border of the place. The earth is full of silver and gold, and there is no end to its treasures. I was angry because of the iniquity of his greed, and I struck him. Chapter Fifteen. Of lawful resources. Moreover, Abraham was rich, and Job rich, David wealthy, and yet the scripture says of Abraham, because he believed God and it was counted to him for righteousness. And of Job, because there was none like him in the earth, a simple and upright man, fearing God, and shunning evil. As for David, because the Lord found a man after his own heart. But they were as if they had nothing and possessed everything, according to the words of the Prophet: If riches flow in, do not set your heart on them. But we are possessors of all things as if we had nothing, according to the words of the Psalmist: The rich ate and were hungry. For you will find it easier for him who loves riches and does not have, than he who has and does not love. As it is difficult to be in the fire and not burn, it is more difficult to possess riches and not love. Hear the prophet Jeremiah: From the least to the greatest, all seek covetousness, and from the prophet to the priest, all commit deceit. Chapter Sixteen. Of the uncertainty of riches. Everyone who is covetous and avaricious works contrary to nature. For nature brings the poor into the world, nature brings the poor back from the world. For the earth received him naked, and it will also receive him naked. But cupid desires and cares to become rich in the world. (says he) I will destroy my barns, and make them larger, and gather there the multitudes that have been born to me, and all my goods. But it was said to him: O fool, this night your soul will be taken from you, but what you have prepared, whose will they be? You hoard and do not know to whom you are hoarding. For they slept their sleep, and all the rich men found nothing in their hands. The rich when he sleeps, he brings nothing with him, he will open his eyes and find nothing. Do not be afraid, then, when a man has become rich, and when the glory of his house has been multiplied, because when he dies, he will not receive all these things, nor will the glory of his house descend with him, but will leave his riches to strangers, and their tombs, their house forever. From this also the Wise is attested: He who accumulates from his heart unjustly, gathers it up for others, and in his possessions another will luxuriate. Unfortunately, the enemy he had had let go of the heir. CHAPTER Seventeen. Of gluttony. The beginnin

Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html Rahan. Episode Seventy-Nine. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Island of the Living Dead. As if emerging from the sea, the skeletons ran towards the islet. Carried away by one of them, a man screamed in terror. And fear paralyzed the son of Crao. The Living Dead! Could the “Endless River” have thrown Rahan into the territory of shadows!? It was at dusk that his raft broke apart. But he had been able to reach this beach littered with human bones. The skeletons had disappeared into the darkness and wild laughter rose from the top of the island. The dead are happy to have captured a hunter! But they will not take Rahan! Rahan wants to live! Page Two. It was only at daybreak that he was able to abandon the islet that a rocky strip connected to the neighboring island. This is where the living dead have gone! No. It is impossible. Rahan must have had a nightmare! He was observed from the nearby shore. He comes from the “Rock of the Dead”! Let us run away, Jahang! No Eloa! If this Dead Man took on the appearance of a hunter to deceive us, it will cost him! A volley of fine sand blinded him. The man's club did the rest! Argh! I, I think we were wrong, Jahang! A little later. No, Rahan is not a “Living Dead”! It was the endless river that threw him onto the island! You seem sincere! Watch out Jahang! Ra-Konda is coming! If this hunter told the truth we cannot abandon him to this savage! Men approached, probing the thickets with their spears. Page Three. Jahang returned Rahan's knife and rushed towards the forest. His companion fled in another direction. Rahan might do well to imitate them! The men approached. He came from the "Rock of the Dead." His hair is the color of fire. Search! Search! He must be hiding somewhere! The son of Crao, in fact, was taking refuge in a cave. It is strange! It looks like they do not dare approach this cave! They are moving away! Ra-Konda's small troop had just disappeared when screams arose. At an arrow's distance a man was grappling with a sawfish. Without weapons, he will not kill the "Nose of teeth"! Rahan must come to his aid! A remarkable swimmer, it only took him a moment to come to the aid of the stranger in difficulty. Page Four. Ten times the sawfish charged him, circled around him, and charged again. Ten times, he avoided the dreaded “nose-of-teeth.” Finally, he managed to grab onto this “Nose” to deliver the fatal blow. You will never disembowel anyone again, "Nose-of-teeth"! Oh! What? What? The man Rahan had just saved had had his leg amputated. He nevertheless swam decently. I am Paoni, Chief of the River clan. I hoped to bring back some fish to mine, but the "Nose-of-teeth" attacked me! Who are you? A little later. Our clan will be happy to welcome you Rahan! This is my daughter, Eloa. The son of Crao was going to say that he had already seen Eloa and her companion Jahang. Page Five. But she discreetly assumed supplication. If Eloa has a secret, Rahan will not betray her. That night on this island, Rahan saw one thing. Terrible. Yes. The “Living Dead” kidnapped one of our old men. But talking about them aroused their anger! Never speak of them again! Rahan did not insist, under the intrigued gaze of the clan he began a curious task. You will soon be able to walk alone, Paoni. Rahan is preparing a leg for you! What? The chief was enthusiastic when he was able to take a few steps on this pylon. With a little practice, you will almost be able to run like you used to! I will never forget what you did for my father! How can I thank you? By revealing your secret, Eloa. Who is Jahang? Why did you and him flee Ra-Konda? Page Six. Jahang is the son of Quiwah, the leader of the forest clan. We love each other. But Ra-Konda, the sorcerer of our two clans, forbids marriages between those from the shore and those from the forest! If Ra-konda learned that Jahnag and I loved each other, He would order the great mountain to become angry! That is stupid Eloa! No wizard can. Rahan did not have time to acknowledge. Ra-Konda! If he captures you, he will have you thrown to the “blue-skins”! Run away, Rahan, run away! The son of Crao launched himself towards a water hole. Clinging to a ledge, he heard the sorcerer and the hunters approach. And suddenly. Ah! A “Head-with-eight-arms”! The archers of Ra-Konda. The octopus. Two dangers threatened Rahan! Page Seven. Between these two dangers Rahan chose the most immediate. But barely had the ivory blade severed the tentacle. A hunter silhouetted against the sky, his bow drawn. He stared at the son of Crao for a moment. And. No! “Hair of Fire” is not in this hole! Let us look further! Take refuge on the great mountain, Rahan. Only there will you be safe! The man who had come to his aid was none other than Jahang, Eloa's companion. As the hunters moved away, Rahan followed his advice. He reached the side of the volcano without being disturbed. Very few fish. Very little game. Why do “Those-Who-Walk-Upright” not abandon this territory!? Page Eight. He soon dominated the island. The sea had covered the rocky strip, isolating the islet of the “Living Dead.” No! It is impossible! The dead cannot live again! The terrifying vision of skeletons kidnapping a man came back to him. Rahan cannot believe it, and yet he saw these dead people move, jump, and leap! A rustling in the thickets suddenly put him on alert. But it was only Eloa and Jahang. We were looking for you, Rahan. My father decided that the shore clan would welcome you despite Ra-Konda's interdict! So Paoni no longer fears that Ra-Konda will make the Great Mountain thunder? Page Nine. He soon became very serious. Rahan will only stay with you for a few days. As soon as he has built a new raft he will leave this island! Ah! If we could run away with you! Find a land where we would be free, Eloa and I, to meet as we please, to get married! The man who was spying on the young people had lost nothing of what they said. Well! This is a project that Ra-konda will be delighted to learn about! Eloa and Jahang separated sadly. See you tomorrow, Eloa! Near the “Cave-of-the-Heads-with-eight-arms”! But be careful! What is this cave, Eloa? This one, it is infested with monsters. None of the men dare to approach it! This is where we find ourselves with Jahang! Rahan will not betray your secret! Page Ten. They had barely arrived on the shore when La-Konda appeared. The spirits told me that Eloa and Jahang met secretly, violating the law which prohibits marriages between those of the shore and those of the forest! And they are preparing to abandon their clans with the complicity of Rahan! Rahan must be delivered to the "Living Dead"! Men threw themselves at the son of Crao. But he was on his guard. Crack! Argh! He rushed towards the cave of the “Heads-with-eight-arms.” Stop! Do not kill Rahan! It was me who asked him to leave the island with him! The men stayed cautiously away from the cave to which Rahan had just rushed. But if Rahan comes out of here, he will be riddled with arrows. Page Eleven. Save Rahan Ra-Konda! Spare him, and Jahang and I will give up our love! No! Rahan will die! The sorcerer looked at Paoni, the chief of the shore clan, and Quiwah, the chief of the forest clan. Next night will be another full moon night. The sea will recede and the “Living Dead” will start hunting! Would you prefer that they kidnap one of yours, or would you prefer to deliver Rahan to them as an offering? The son of Crao had heard. The men remained on the lookout! Rahan only had one more chance. Discover another way out! He went deeper into the darkness, and suddenly he understood why the clans never ventured there. This cave was a huge den of octopuses! Page Twelve. Their tentacles shot out in all directions, lashing the rocks and the wall. Rahan has never seen so many "Heads-with-eight-arms"! Argh! Cutting, slicing, sectioning, Rahan progressed painfully along the underground vein of the sea. Ra-ha-ha! Never had his ivory knife struck so much! A light finally appeared at the end of the gully. An issue! Rahan may be saved! The octopuses became rarer and he soon found himself in a vast cavern. Under the roof which fell from a gap in the vault, a lake spread out. He was suddenly frozen in stupor. What he saw in this cave was extraordinary. Incredible. Oh! What? What? Page thirteen. On the other side of the lake a gigantic skiff could be seen! The first occupants of the island undoubtedly arrived on this Raft. But the "Heads-with-eight-arms" have made the cave their lair, and this raft has become inaccessible! The seasons have passed, more numerous than the leaves on a tree, and the memory of the raft has disappeared into the night of time. Today, the shore clan and the forest clan are unaware of its existence! The son of Crao soon reached the gap. And. When he emerged into daylight it was halfway up the slope of the volcano. The sea, over there, lashed the disturbing island of the “Living Dead.” Rahan does not want to be handed over to the Undead! He must flee this island as quickly as possible! Page Fourteen. At night he crept to shore and began building a raft. Rahan will not have time to finish it. He will have to come back next night! He was camouflaging the unfinished skiff when screams of fear broke out. The Living Dead! The sea had receded and, coming to the islet, two skeletons jumped on the hard rocky strip. If Rahan has not lost his mind, he must admit that these dead people really live! Taking refuge on the slope of the volcano, he soon saw the undead return to the island. This time, the men have made their escape! Rahan can get some sleep! Clamors of rage awakened the son of Crao. On the shore his raft was blazing! Ra-Konda has discovered it, and he seems to be accusing Jahang and Eloa! Page Fifteen. And Indeed. Rahan would not have dared to risk coming here! These are the two traitors who were preparing their escape! Let them be thrown to the “Blue skins”! Rahan had not heard. But he saw that the hands of Eloa and Jahang were tied, that they were pushed towards a cliff. Rahan will save them! We will die together, Eloa, as we would have liked to live! Our love will not die, Jahang! We will find each other in the territory of shadows! Descending the rocks, the son of the fierce ages arrived at the foot of the cliff. He dived at that very moment. That the couple were thrown into the void by the sorcerer himself. Page Sixteen. Rahan saw the two bodies break the surface. Sharks were already rising from the depths. The ivory blade cut Jahang's bonds. But he did not know how to swim! And the sharks were coming! If Eloa does not know how to "Crawl on water," Rahan will not be able to help them both and face the “Blue Skins!” But Eloa, as a daughter of the shore clan, swam perfectly! As soon as her hands were freed she went to Jahang's aid. As she brought her companion back to shore. The Son of Crao ensured their protection. Page Seventeen. From the top of the cliff, Ra-Konda had seen. Rahan saved these two traitors! Chase them! Kill Them! Kill Them! But Jahang and Eloa rushed towards the volcano. No! We will not pursue them on the Grand-Mountain! You always told us that those who risk it are lost! Caught in his own lies, Ra-Konda raged I will deal with these traitors myself! You, you will capture Rahan! Exhausted by his fight with the sharks, out of breath, the son of fierce ages had climbed onto the rocks. He did not have the strength to resist the men of Ra-Konda. Rahan saved our lives, But he is going to lose his own! Page Eighteen. A little later. Last night the forest clan and the shore clan did not lose a single man. But, tonight, the “Living Dead” will return! May this offering that we make to them appease their anger! Firmly tied up, Rahan had been abandoned on the shore, facing the islet of the living dead. With the night, the sea retreated again, clearing the rocky strip. All of Rahan's efforts to break his bonds had been in vain. The two clans had taken refuge at the foot of the volcano. And suddenly the son of Crao felt his health go cold while wild laughter rose from the island. Two undead were advancing on the narrow tongue of rock! Rahan had no chance of escaping these nightmare creatures! Page Nineteen. Your son will join you, Crao! Rumbling strangely, the undead stared at Rahan. Terrified, he knew he was lost! And then there was the miracle. Leaving this man to their mercy, the creatures rushed towards the forest. Rahan was confused. Another miracle followed. We will never know why they spared you, Rahan! But you have to flee the shore before they come back! In the forest, there was panic. Disabled by his wooden leg, Paoni was going to be caught by the Living dead! Page Twenty. Jahang and Eloa had just released Rahan when. Oh! Look! They captured my father! Carrying away their inanimate victim, the creatures returned to their island. Father! Father! My Father! Father! Distraught, Eloa rushes onto the rocky causeway as the waves begin to whip again. But she suddenly slipped on the rock, disappeared under a wave and reappeared. Eloa! I am coming, Eloa! I am coming! The son of Crao had not had time to hold back Jahang who, although not knowing how to swim, was rushing to his companion's aid! He was grabbing Eloa's hand when a strong wave overwhelmed the causeway, carrying them both towards the island of the Undead! Page Twenty-one. At that moment Ra-Konda appeared, followed by the two clans. If the "Living Dead" spared Rahan, it is because he is one of them! Kill him! Kill him! Cornered, the son of fierce ages had only one chance to escape from these men. The tongue of rock which accessed the island! As he jumped into the rocks beaten by increasingly violent waves, the arrows whizzed around him. Thrown back on the island, still panting, Eloa and Jahang had seen. Why is Ra-Konda so cruel! Why is he attacking Rahan like this! Oh! In his turn, Rahan had just been carried away by a wave, which carried him towards the sea! No! You will not swallow Rahan, River-without-end! He will fight with you! Page Twenty-two. He will fight as long as he has a breath of life left! Anyone else would have given way in this unequal struggle against the raging waves. But Rahan never gave up! Unimaginable efforts allowed him to reach the island. Ra-ha-ha! Between this one, and the island now surged an impetuous current. And it will be like this until the next round moon! We are at the mercy of the “Living Dead”! The situation of the trio, isolated in the very lair of the creatures, was dramatic! And Ra-Konda was jubilant! Eloa and Jahang want to be united despite my wishes. They will be, but in the territory of shadows. If The Sorcerer did not arouse any enthusiasm it was because of what the shore clan had lost. That night, Paoni and Eloa, and those from the forest had lost Jahang, the son of his leader Quiwah! Page Twenty-three. Screams and wild laughter rose from the top of the island. What strange rites did the “Living Dead” have to perform? Perhaps they have already killed my poor father!? Rahan will know soon, Eloa! Rahan no longer wants to know fear and dread! He wants to see these creatures closer, in their own lair! I will go up there with you, Rahan! No, Jahang. Your duty is to watch over Eloa! Stay with her. A moment later, the son of Crao climbed up the rocks. The cries and laughter that now reached him more clearly were not human. It seems normal for the "Undead" to have another language! What will Rahan discover in their lair? Page Twenty-four He suddenly noticed the sound of moaning. They came from a niche that was carved out of a large rock. To move such a heavy rock the undead must have ten times the strength of Rahan! But Rahan had once discovered the way to overcome this kind of obstacle. The rock moved, rolled. Eloa's father lay in this cave, moaning as if coming out of a terrible nightmare. Oh! Paoni! Where are the “Undead” Paoni? What did they do to you? Speak Paoni! Speak!? Still under the influence of fear, the chief of the shore clan could not respond! And suddenly! Page Twenty-Five. In the darkness Rahan suddenly felt as if the claws of death were gripping his shoulder. He struck the source! Ra-ha-ha! His blow was successful, because the “Living Dead” jumped back and fled the cave. Let us run away from Paoni! Let us flee before they come back in numbers! Up above, the wild laughter had ceased. But nothing happened as Paoni went back down towards the beach. Father! Father! I thought they killed you! Who are they Father? I do not know, Eloa. Because I lost consciousness as soon as they captured me! Who are they? No doubt the dead, Eola! Dead people who have found life again and want revenge on the living! No, Paoni! That is impossible! Page Twenty-Six. The son of Crao rejected this idea of a resurrection of the dead. These scars that Rahan wears on his shoulder were not made by a dead man! And we know that "Those who walk upright" after their death lose flesh and blood! It is true. Look, Rahan's knife! When Rahan struck he felt flesh, and blood remains on his blade! Which means that these creatures that frighten us are not "Dead." But beings of flesh and blood! Daylight returned and the mist dissipated around the island. But the shore remained inaccessible. Ra-Konda united the two clans. He must, as always, threaten them with the thundering of the “Grand Mountain”! Page Twenty-Seven. The undead will not worry the clans for a long time, since Paoni, Eloa, Jahang and Rahan are at their disposal! You forget that Jahang is my son, Ra-Konda! He only made the mistake of loving Eloa, A Girl from the Shore! The sorcerer must have felt the hostility rising, because he threatened. Never speak such words again, Quiwah! Otherwise, the fire from the great mountain will sweep over the island! It will only spare Ra-Konda, your sorcerer to whom you owe respect and obedience! However, on the island. Oh! Look down there! A “Four-hands”! This is the first one Rahan has seen on your island! The very young monkey disappeared into the rocks. As soon as daylight falls Rahan will go back up there! If the undead surprise you, throw yourself into the water. Since they seem to fear it! Page Twenty-Eight. Night found Rahan climbing the islet. Jahang had, this time, been allowed to accompany him. Listen Rahan!? They do not laugh anymore! They growl with anger! “They” rage because you have been taken from them, Paoni! Oh, Look! Two living dead descended into the rocks, towards the strip barred by the sea. A moment later they came and went, gesticulating in front of the waves. Rahan was right! They would like to look for another victim on the island. But they fear water! There! Another! A luminescent skeleton, strangely contorted, was about to emerge from a cave. Do not move, Jahang! Eloa will need you! You must live. For her! Knife in hand, the son of Crao rushed towards the cave. Page Twenty-Nine. At the very bottom of the cavern, the wall of phosphorus emitted an unreal, greenish light. Oh! Suddenly! Greek! The young monkey seen during the day burst out from a corner, and slipped between their legs. Rahan and Jahang froze at the entrance to the cave. The undead, coming up from the shore, rushed towards them. You have to find out where he is going! Oh! They are only men, Jahang! We will face them! The strange creatures came bounding forwards. They burst into the luminescent cavern. And. Oh! Contrary to what Rahan had thought. They were not men! Page Thirty. They were not men, but "Four-hands," of the most feared species! Gorillas! Argh! Unaccustomed to fighting, Jahang was immediately disarmed, and thrown against the wall. And the son of Crao found himself alone, facing the monsters! The unequal fight was nevertheless fiercely contested. His ivory knife opened a chest, but he could not resist the second gorilla. Half unconscious he was dragged to another cave. The one from which mysterious and wild laughter arose. Page Thirty-One. He discovered his spirits in this cave but thought he would faint again, so horrible was what he saw. The ground was littered with the bones of humans. The eaters of men! Ominous beings stared at Rahan. Ghark! Garok! The gorilla obeyed, and it was stationed at the entrance to the cave. These beings were undoubtedly the wildest and most primitive that the son of Crao had ever encountered. Haork! Haork! They do not know how to speak, but they knew how to train the "Four Hands"! They never leave this cave but they send the "Four Hands" to hunt for them. To hunt for men! Rahan considered the countless bones at the foot of the cliff. And he shuddered as he imagined the terrible events that took place in this den of wild men! Page Thirty-Two. However. The “Undead” are just “Four-hands”, Paoni! One of them knocked me out. And Rahan is missing! Those monsters probably killed him! Jahang's fears were not far from being justified! If Rahan does not escape the wild men, he will be slaughtered, torn to pieces and devoured! The beings had abandoned the ivory knife, the use of which they must have been ignorant of. But the “Four hands” watched over the entrance! Rahan only has one chance to escape. The river without end! Ra-ha-ha! The son of Crao dived towards the weapon, and pushed back some beings who intervened. And rushed towards the breach which opened onto the ocean. If Rahan does not dive far enough, he will crash onto the shore! Page Thirty-Three. With prodigious suppleness, he projected himself forward. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan! He has escaped from the “Living Dead”! We need to get to the island! What is happening there is too terrible! Quickly. Quickly. Rahan will explain later! The sea was still rough. But Rahan and Eloa supported Jahang and Paoni, and managed to reach the shore. Tell us, Rahan. What did you discover? At the very top of the island lives a small clan of wild beasts who feed on human flesh! These men-monsters have a sort of reverence for human bones, since they paint them in their caves. Page Thirty-Four. It is high time to put an end to it! Spare Paoni, But kill the other three! Fleeing under the flights of arrows, Jahang led his companions towards the forest. A little later. We are safe here! No man from our two clans will dare to venture as far as the "Mouth of the great mountain”! The surroundings of the crater were littered with trees felled by lightning. We cannot live hunted until the end of time! We must reconcile the clans, and convince them that Ra-Konda is deceiving them! And Rahan knows what we are going to do! If the face of the son of Crao lit up, it was because a magnificent idea had come to him. A marvelous idea. Page Thirty-Five. Rahan let two days and two nights pass before acting. Bring together those from the shore and those from the forest! Tell them that Ra-Konda has decided to end things and is going to let them talk! We will speak to them together, Ra-konda! The sorcerer and his few followers believed that a demon was falling! Oh! Zlang! Ra-ha-ha! It only took the son of Crao a few seconds to take control of the situation! Do not move, you people! Otherwise Ra-konda will join the territory of shadows sooner than expected! Page Thirty-Six. Bring the two clans together on the beach! Do as Ra-Konda said! While Rahan restrained him, Ra-Konda struggled in vain. A little later. Kill Rahan! Kill this blasphemer who dares to humiliate your wizard! Paoni's men and Quiwah's men came running. Some brandished their assegais. But Rahan used Ra-konda as a shield. Do not listen to the orders of this false sorcerer anymore, brothers! Ra-Konda was unable to clarify the mystery of the “Living Dead”! So he is not a clairvoyant wizard! And he always lied to you by claiming to dictate his will to the Grand-Mountain. Here is the proof. He does not even foresee that the great mountain would thunder just today! A clamor of fear erupted. Page Thirty-Seven. The smoke rose, more and more dense. The anger of the Grand-mountain will be terrible! It will vomit its entrails on the forest, on this shore! Everything will be destroyed! Everything! But Rahan can still save you if you agree to follow him! But keep your weapons! You will need them! Rahan rushed towards the great mountain! Rahan never deceived us! You have to believe him! You have to follow him! Overcoming their anxiety, the two clans undertook the expedition. And Rahan guided them to the gap he had discovered. And my daughter. Where is my daughter? You will find her soon, Paoni! Everyone, go down into this cave! It was astonishment for everyone. To discover an underground lake and this immense raft on which Eloa and Jahang were already standing! We will be able to flee the anger of the great mountain and this cursed island! But we must face the “Heads-with-eight-arms”! Page Thirty-eight. It was safe and sound that your grandfathers' grandfathers arrived on this island! They formed only one clan! But bad beings like Ra-konda divided them to impose their will! It is time to feel like you are part of the same clan, brothers! I think it is done, Rahan! Yes, it is done! Paoni and Quiwah competed in earnest, each encouraging his men. The big raft slid down the narrows, making its way through the horrifying mass of octopuses. Be careful, Paoni. Thank you, Quiwah! And that was the great day. The sea had calmed down but the great mountain exhaled ever denser smoke. Page Thirty-nine. Left alone on the shore the sorcerer shouted imprecations. Let us go back and get him. No! Ra-konda has divided us for too long! Paoni is right! From now on we will only be one clan! We will discover a territory where life will be good! And these young people will have the right to love each other, like Eloa and Jahang! And to think that we would never have abandoned the island without the anger of the great mountain! Rahan, Eloa and Jahang exchanged a mischievous look. A few flames rose from the volcano, but it would not roar. And they knew he would not growl! This fire would undoubtedly burn until nightfall, but then the island would no longer be in sight. And the two clans, reconciled, would never know. Page Forty. That over the course of two days, applying Rahan's idea, they had filled the crater with trunks of shrubs and brushwood. As agreed, Jahan had lit this gigantic blaze at the very moment Rahan brought the two clans together on the shore! And so, now, a sorcerer who had so often threatened others, was watching in terror for an eruption that would never take place! And why would some wild men, forever deprived of human game, sooner or later give up cannibalism? The island of the living dead, the island of nightmares disappeared on the horizon. The son of Crao had already forgotten it. He only thought of leading the reconciled clans to a new land and the happiness of Eloa and Jahang whose love had triumphed over all! Because love could, even in these fierce times, triumph over everything!

Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html Rahan. Episode Seventy Eight. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The clan of Gentle men. The territory is now ours! Death to those who would try to take it back from us! Warlike clamors punctuated each sentence of the harangue of Rawang-the-chief. They did not reach Rahan who tried in vain to flush out a prey sheltered under a stump. But the son of Crao heard other rumors, very similar ones. It was a series of long and sad petitions. It is when misfortune strikes them, that “Those-who-walk-upright” thus invoke the spirits! Page Two. Those he discovered shortly after were prostrate around an old man, a woman and an adolescent. Why are you distressed, Brothers? Perhaps Rahan can help you? Rahan can do nothing for the clan of gentle men! No one can resist Rawang-the-savage, who stole our territory. A territory so full of game that our hunters had no need for weapons! Their traps are enough! But Rawang, Alas, was jealous of our happiness! The son of Crao learned how this clan, guided by a loyal leader and the "Council of Three Voices," representing the elders, the women, and the children, led a happy and peaceful life. Until this very morning when they were chased from their territory by the warriors of Rawang. Page Three. While the gentle man fled their leader had tried to parley. Why so much hatred Rawang! We can share game and water sources! We. Rawang does not share! Argh! Rahan hates fights between "Those-Who-Walk-Upright". But he despises cowardice! Why did you not defend your territory, your happiness, your happy life? What could we have done against savages? Ours have long since lost the habit of combat! The resignation of these men irritated the son of Crao. The fate of your clan depends on the courage of its members and the will of the "Council of Three Voices". Rahan, in fact, can do nothing for you! Farewell brothers! Page Four. The sun was still high when he was surprised near a spring. This water belongs to us, “Fire hair”! Follow us! Since Rawang killed the leader of the gentle men, he thinks he is the master, does he not? He is the master! And he decides your fate! A little later. The “Fire Hair” hunter is called Rahan. Here is his weapon! If we do not make an example, tomorrow others will come and steal our water! The verdict of Rawang-the-savage fell from the top of the immense trunk. Kill him! And hang his corpse at the entrance to the forest! The first lances fluttered towards the son of Crao, who was surrounded on all sides and had no chance of escaping! Rahan is lost! Unless, unless. Page Five. Rahan will not reach the territory of the shadows without his knife! With the agility of a “Four-hands” he climbed the rungs that allowed access to the niche platform of Rawang. As he rose, the spears became less dangerous. He was soon beyond their reach. But, above him, Rawang was watching for him! You will not avoid this one "Fire Hair"! Rahan must get up there before Rawang grabs another weapon! Clinging to the last rungs, the son of fierce ages hoisted himself onto the platform. Rawang emerged from his strange hut, brandishing a head breaker! Page Six. Rahan will not let you steal his life! By projecting this vine lasso into the leader's legs, Rahan wanted to break the assault. But the result was more decisive! Argh! Rahan has killed Rawang! To death! To death! A few warriors were already hoisting themselves onto nearby trunks. They were quickly up to the son of Crao, but the latter, taking refuge in the hut of Rawang, had nothing to fear from their spears. With this water and this meat, Rahan will be able to last several days! But after? The vigilance of the hunters did not relax! And if they could not reach Rahan, he could not flee his refuge! A long wait began. Page Seven. At daybreak, the son of Crao saw them scrambling around, piling up brush and branches. A pyre! These savages have decided to burn Rahan! Very quickly, a circle of high flames surrounded the large trunk! Rahan, sooner or later, would perish in this inferno! The heat was already unbearable. Rahan could gain time by taking refuge on another trunk. But he will not be able to stick the spear deep enough, for it to support his weight! The flames rose higher and higher. And while the warriors tirelessly fed the pyre. The clan of gentle men, lying in ambush on a height, observed. Rahan is alone! And he dares to resist those of Rawang! Page Eight. Between the curls of smoke, the son of Crao could still see the other trunks. How to stick in this spear? Oh! Rahan knows what he has to do! He saw himself again, leaning on his bamboo lever stuck between two branches. Thrown into the wood, the spear would not hold! But Stuck under the bamboo. She will support Rahan! Although weighed down by the long vine, the spear rose, described a curve and fell back on the nearest trunk. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan had aimed with remarkable skill. The spear, locked between two rungs, held securely. Abandoning his refuge that had been reached by the high flames, he let himself fall into the blaze and flew over it. Page Nine. And found himself on the ground, outside the circle of fire! But he was not saved because the surprised warriors reacted Once again he only had the resource of a totem trunk. There were a few men, who climbed up behind him. One after the other, they had to give up the game! Argh! Argh! Rahan knows that this path leads him nowhere! But he will resist as long as he has a breath of life left! Splach! Argh! He found himself on the top of the trunk, towering over the vociferous warriors of Rawang. Devoured by the flames, his first refuge was nothing more than a gigantic torch. Page Ten. This respite that he had just won would be short-lived. The men started a fire, underneath a new pyre! You are as cowardly as you are cruel! Rahan is alone. With only his knife! And none of you dare come and confront him! Ha-ha-ha! Fire is a much safer weapon against demons of your kind! The flames roared below Rahan, who knew he was lost. But that always animated the fierce will to “hold on until the last breath of life.” Rahan can save a little more time! Two trunks of the "Council of Three Voices" were still spared by the fire. The jump was risky. But he gathered himself like a beast. Page Eleven. And plunged into the void. The clamors of rage from Rawang's men mixed with others that he did not hear. Ra-ha-ha! He missed the rung. Another broke under his weight. And that was the fall! He did not hear the cries that resounded from all sides. He did not see the meek men who, armed with simple arms. Threw themselves on those of Rawang, and shoved them with such ardor that a stampede ensued. The first vision that the son of fierce ages had when he regained his senses was that of serious and resolute faces. Your example has given us confidence, Rahan! We have chased the wild men from our territory! Page Twelve. The large totem trunk was still burning and would probably be consumed for several days. What will become of the clan without our leader? The “Council-of-Three-Voices” is he not there to guide them? The voice of the ancients. The Women's voices. That of youth. Which clan would not envy such a wise leadership!? Continue to hate fighting, brothers! Stay the clan-of-gentle-men! But never forget that. Gentleness and kindness do not mean weakness! We will remember it! The trio consulted for a moment. And. You can stay with us as long as you desire, Rahan! This unanimity touched Crao's son. Yes, he would stay for a while. But it would only be a step in his adventurous discovery of men.

Rahan. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html The son of the fierce ages. Episode Seventy Seven. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The “Four Legs.” Screaming and shooting their arrows, the men forced the herd into the ravine. A few wild horses rushed there. The son of Crao had never seen horses, but he had once known a clan which domesticated similar animals, the "Zebras". Why kill the "Four Legs"! They are harmless to “Those Who Walk Upright”! The herd and the hunters were now far away. Rahan cannot do anything more for you! His throat pierced by an arrow, the foal was dying. And suddenly. Page Two. A solitary horse appeared, rushing towards Rahan, who understood. No, No! It was not Rahan who stole your little one's life! It was. Argh! He thought his skull was bursting! Your head is as hard as the “star-throwing stone” Fire hair! Who are you? When he came to, the moon was shining in the sky. I am Rahan, the son of Crao! When we discovered you, in the ravine, you were as good as dead! But since life has not left you. You will be able to take revenge on this cursed "Four-legged" who almost sent you to the "Territory of Shadows"! No! Rahan does not take revenge! Page Three. The “Four Legs” Wanted to defend his little one! Rahan cannot blame him! You have some curious ideas about the “Four Legs”! We hate these beasts! We hunt them as soon as they venture into our territory! My brothers are wrong! These beasts can be useful to “Those-who-walk-upright”! The son of Crao spoke of this clan he had once known. He spoke of the fast and docile “Zebras” that he himself had ridden. Yes, brothers. The “Four-legs” can save hunters from fatigue! They can take them very far, very quickly! Ha-ha-ha! Ride on the back of a “Four-legs”! That blow to the head made you lose your mind, Rahan! We never believe such things! Page Four. The skepticism of this hunters irritated the son of fierce ages. Rahan will prove to you that he is telling the truth! He will capture a "Four-legged"! It will be very easy! At dawn, Rahan returned to the ravine. As he hoped, the horse was still roaming not far from the dead foal. Do not flee, "Four-legs"! Rahan means you no harm! Rahan forgot that he had only known "Zebras”, that were already domesticated. Oh! Argh! Do not get mad “Four legs!” Ten times he tried to approach the animal. And it would run away, frightened. Or else, put up a fight. Ha-ha-ha! And this fool hopes to make us believe that hunters can subdue these demons! But. What is he doing? Page Five. The son of Crao had just climbed into the tree, just above the foal. Since Rahan cannot get closer, he will surprise you, "Four-legs"! When the horse came back, once again, to smell the foal, he let himself fall. Ra-ha-ha! The echo of his cry had not died down before a kick threw him to the ground! He had not remained on the beast's spine for even a few seconds. Who was already running away at full gallop. You will not succeed in discouraging Rahan "Four Legs"! He will catch up with you sooner or later! The most extraordinary chase began, which lasted until night, when Rahan lost track of the wild animal. Page Six. He only found it again at dawn. The “Four-legs,” scared, was backing away from a puma! The son of Crao sprang forward at the same time as the beast jumped. No, Pumak! You will not slaughter the "Four-legs!" It belongs to Rahan! Ra-ha-ha! The horse remained motionless and Rahan thought the game was won. You see, "Four Legs" Rahan is your friend! He saved you! Let us go. Let us go. Let him approach! He walked around it cautiously and. You will see. You and I will prove to the hunters that. Page Seven. Argh! The son of the ferocious ages once again found himself on the ground! The indomitable thoroughbred had resumed its course. But he was unable to outrun Rahan who pursued him with increased ardor. The animal, returning to the ravine, finally showed signs of fatigue. His gallop became slower. And Rahan was able to reach his height. And hold on to his long mane, and put one leg over his back. The men of the clan witnessed the miracle. A Miracle that only lasted an instant! Oh! Page Eight. Rahan is as stubborn as you, "Four legs"! He found a way to stay on your back! Exhausted by his race, the horse remained motionless. He did not flinch when the man approached slowly, a vine in his hand. A vine that he had tied to one of his ankles! When he reacted, it was too late. Rahan had whipped the line against the underside of the belly, and caught the end over its spine. And mount the beast! Rah-ha-ha! Once again, she kicked and reared to get rid of the burden. But Rahan had quickly circled the vine around his other leg! This time Rahan will stay on your back, “Four legs”! Page Nine. Indeed, thanks to this underbelly, the son of Crao could no longer be thrown to the ground. But the horse, as if taken mad, rushed towards the cliff! You. You will kill us both! Rahan could no longer remove the vine without the risk of stabbing the animal. Stop it! “Four Legs” Stop! Finally realizing the danger, the horse reared up a few steps from the granite obstacles. Oh! But it was to launch into a hellish gallop towards the gorge where the torrent roared! No! No! No! The men of the clan heard the howl of Rahan's terror when the mad horse threw itself into the void! Argh! Page Ten. The son of Crao no longer had time to free himself. He saw the foaming swirls rising towards him. Fizoom! And the flood closed around him! He drew his ivory blade! He noticed with amazement that the “Four Legs” was returning to the surface! The “Four Legs” also know how to “Crawl on Water”! His mount, in fact, was swimming. And even swam very well! Amused, and terrified for the first time by this sensation, Rahan allowed himself to be carried away by the animal. Is it the torrent that made you so calm? Or Rahan's will? Page Eleven. Rahan cut the vine and jumped to the ground. His heart was beating very hard. Was the horse going to escape from him once again, and disappear into this scree? The thoroughbred reared but it was to shake itself off. No! Do not do it again! Then he began to trot around the man. Are you not running away? That is right! Very good! Here "Four legs." Eat! Eat! We are friends now! The horse only hesitated for a brief moment, Then started to chew the tuft of herbs. The son of Crao knew he had triumphed. The “Four Legs” was as calm, as docile as the “Zebras” that he had known! Page Twelve. When Rahan appeared to the clan, peacefully riding the “Four-legs” there was astonishment. Do you believe Rahan now? You will no longer kill the "Four Legs"! You will make them your friends, your companions! You gave us a great lesson in courage and will! How can I thank you brother!? Oh. Quite simply by preparing for Rahan the drink which calms the pain and. The herbs that heal wounds! While the hunters surrounded the "Four Legs" who obediently allowed himself to be petted, Rahan felt happy. His limbs were certainly sore, but had he not had a wonderful experience? Perhaps he had just tamed the first horse, which five thousand centuries later would be said to be "man's noblest conquest"? who knows?

Rahan. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html Episode Seventy-Six. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The cave of deception. Even on the verge of death, a “Spotted Skin” was still defending himself! So what was wrong with this one? Curiously enough, the big cheetah did not resist the hunters who dragged it into the clearing! Intrigued, Rahan did not reveal his presence. But these men, who were now freeing the beast, suddenly saw him. Who are you? Where do you come from, you who spy on us? But it is not important! You are not going to tell your people what you just saw! The long assegai flew towards the son of Crao. Page Two. Who dodged it and suddenly fell on the two men. Rahan Does not like the way you ask questions! And here is his answer! Ra-ha-ha! The response of this “Four hands with white skin” had been so rapid, so vigorous, that the hunters did not insist. These cowards do not even care about their "Spotted Skin" anymore! Strangely indolent, the beast had stretched out. His almost lifeless gaze did not seem to see Rahan. And Rahan stroked him without him reacting. When. The great spirit of the hunt did not lie to us in guiding us to this clearing! The “Dappled Skin” is here! Page Three. Back "Fire hair"! This game belongs to us! The spirit of the hunt promised us! These men were not from the same clan as those whom Rahan had put to flight. As they were going to strike the beast, he became indignant. A hunter worthy of his name does not kill a defenseless beast! Look at this one, she is sick and. If you do not move away, it will be you who will become game, "Hair of Fire"! The man who raised his spear did not have time to bring it down. Argh! Rahan will not let you slaughter this "Spotted Skin!" It was not the spirit of the hunt that brought her here. But two hunters! The son of Crao related what he had seen a moment earlier. Page Four. And here is proof that Rahan is not lying! The son of fierce ages pointed to the shield abandoned by one of the fugitives. The hunters seized their shield and their faces expressed astonishment then anger. You have to bring it to Ergong! Without another word, they turned about and disappeared. Rahan does not understand any of this "Spotted skin!" But he hopes that you will regain your vigor soon! The son of Crao never resigned himself to a mystery. Abandoning the somnambulant cheetah, he followed in the footsteps of those who had dragged it here. However, in a nearby cave. And the man with the “Fire Hair” saw us untie the “Spotted Skin,” father! Then he attacked us like a demon. You fled like cowards! You must repair this mistake, my son! Page Five. The “Fire Hair” man must die before he reveals what he saw! Find him! Do not return to the cave until you have killed him! In ambush on the outskirts, Rahan recognized the two hunters. Maybe they will look for the "Spotted Skin"? What will Rahan discover in their cave? He carefully crawled to the cave, and slipped inside. Everything was silent but suddenly, in the light of the torches. Oh! The “Flat beasts”! An old man applied a blood-colored paste to the rock. From his agile hands was born a new “Flat beast.” The son of fierce ages had already seen such sanctuaries, where certain clans believed they would find the favors of the gods of the hunt. The old man is alone. Rahan has nothing to fear from him! Page Six. Rahan suddenly showed himself. Rahan salutes the one whose skillful hands generate such beautiful “flat Beasts”! Oh! You, You made my old heart jump! But. But. The old man's eyes shone. Once the surprise passed, he recognized the man described by his sons, the man with the “Fire Hair”! He made himself very welcoming. Welcome to this cave brother! Are you hungry? Are you thirsty? My name is Yahoka. Yes, the son of Crao was hungry and thirsty. Eat and drink, brother! there is no shortage of food here! At the bottom of the cavern were piled up countless wedges of dried meat. And even living animals dozed in cages! Yes, there was enough here to feed an entire clan for two seasons! Page Seven. While Rahan ate and drank Yahoka spoke of the "Flat beasts" and said he was inhabited by the "God of the hunt." All the hunters come to consult me! Everyone trusts my predictions! Rahan saw two come out of this cave. He. He. The. Had. Met. The son of Crao suddenly felt a strange uneasiness. Ha-ha-ha! Here you are at the mercy of Yahoka! The flat beasts on the wall could only be distinguished very vaguely. He felt his limbs go numb, his strength abandon him. Rahan's vision returned. He heard and could speak, but he was unable to react. You. You did. Rahan drank a. Drink that kills. Who kills? No, the drug only deadens the energy, the vigor. It is Yahoka, who will kill you! The son of fierce ages allowed his ivory knife to be confiscated without flinching! Page Eight. Ha-ha-ha! You are as stupid as all those hunters who believe in the power of Yahoka! You must see them, these hunters, who come to consult Yahoka and his sons! You have to see them prostrate themselves before the “Flat beasts”! Supplicating to the “Flat beasts” does not bring game under the hunter’s spear! Of course! My sons and I know it! But we know how to keep the hunters' confidence! From time to time, I predict to them the exact place where they would discover this or that game. And my sons go and release the promised game there, drugged so that it does not stray too far! This is what they did this morning, with a “Spotted Skin.” Page Nine. When the hunters discover and kill their game, they worship Yahoka even more. The great spirit of hunting! Why these lies? Why this deception? How naive you are, “Fire hair”! Look at this meat, all this meat! Every time a man comes to consult the "Flat Beasts" he undertakes to offer us a share of his hunt! And so, Yahoka and his sons never lack food! Without ever taking any risks! Rahan finds it odious to abuse his fellow human beings in this way! The son of Crao could only express his indignation in words. And he could only stagger back in front of Yahoka, who was taking all his time before striking. And to think that you put my sons to flight! Ha-ha-ha! You are the one who is scared now, are you not? Page Ten. Oh! Ha-ha-ha! Rahan had grabbed a torch but it escaped his fingers, that were without strength! Leaning against the “Flat beasts”, the son of fierce ages sagged limply. And Yahoka, at that moment, took on the appearance of death. Come to me, Rahan, come! The ivory blade, strong and sharp, was about to fall! It is time for you to join the land of shadows! Do not move Yahoka! We just heard part of your confession! But it is useless! The shield of one of your sons, found near the "Spotted Skin," is proof that you have been lying to us for many moons! What we thought was your power was just a ruse! Page Eleven. But you will not abuse ours anymore! The clan banishes you until the end of time Yahoka! Go and find your sons! Flee this territory and never return! Otherwise. While the “Great Spirit of the Hunt” found the legs of his youth to flee. Rahan felt his strength returning little by little. Seeing death arrive without being able to make a move! Rahan has never been so scared in his life! Rahan thanks you brothers! We are the ones who thank you! If you had not faced the sons of Yahoka, we would not have found this shield. And the deceptions of this cheat could have deceived our hunters for a long time! Will you stay with us? Perhaps Rahan will come back when he has found his knife! Page Twelve. Yahoka had indeed fled with the ivory weapon. But Rahan was not able to follow in his footsteps until much later, when all the effects of the drug had worn off. And it was the next day that he discovered two corpses. The sons of Yahoka had been victims of a beast. Oh! The “Spotted skin”. The big leopard was lurking a little further away, near another lifeless body, that of Yahoka himself! You took revenge, “Spotted Skin”! You, like Rahan, have regained your vigor! The “Great spirit of the hunt” still clutched the ivory knife, with which he had not had time to strike. When Rahan retrieved his weapon, the feline growled, then began to purr. He recognized the man. He remembered. And the son of Crao, who knew how to read the eyes of wild animals, knew that he had nothing to fear from this one.

Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html Rahan. Episode Seventy Five. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Children of the River. The son of Crao, who had slept on this sandbank to escape the threat of wild animals, was for this moment facing another danger. A fifth, arrow stuck a few steps from him. We will avenge our own, “Fire hair”! The little girl who shot these arrows was not fifteen years old and her companions were even younger! She showed great awkwardness, but risked waiting to long for him! He dove into the troubled waters. Page Two. You missed him, Fahina! He is rejoining his cursed clan! I will not miss him next time! But what is he doing? He is not a fish after all! The children were watching offshore for the man's reappearance, when a whirlpool appeared in the water, very close to them. What? Oh? What? Rahan does not like serving as game! You are going to explain to him why you wanted to steal his life! While Rahan disarmed the surprised little girl, the panicked children returned to the bank. But wait, little men! Rahan means you no harm! Oh! Watch out for the “Two noses”! A huge pachyderm burst out of the thickets and was about to charge the two children, who were petrified by fear. Help Fahina! Help! Save us! Quickly! Quickly! Page Three. The son of Crao was already aiming at the only organ of the "Two-nose" that he knew was vulnerable. The eye! Rahan hopes to be more skillful than Fahina! But! He stretched this bow too hard, and it was too frail for him! Misfortune! My brothers are lost! Not yet Fahina! Rahan leapt forward. He only had a few seconds to get between the children and the monster! He achieved that. Attack “Two-Nose”! Rahan knows you have more muscle than brains! Attack! Taking refuge on a low branch, the children witnessed the strangest of clashes. Rahan excited the Rhinoceros, and allowed himself to be charged. Page Four. And led him towards the river, where he dived in! And the pachyderm had to stop its course. Ten times he repeated this maneuver! Ha-ha-ha! Ah! You get tired of this little game before Rahan! The hunter with “Hair of Fire” is called Rahan. He is brave! But why is he helping us, Fahina? I do not know. You finally give up, “Two-nose”! Furious to see this man constantly escaping from him, the rhinoceros abandoned the area. He disappeared The son of Crao was rejoining his proteges, when. Vengeance! Vengeance! No! No! Do not strike him! Rahan just saved our lives! Because of his hair, we thought he was part of the river clan! Page Five. Rahan learned how, two seasons earlier, the parents of all these children had been kidnapped by the feared warriors of the river clan. With the departure of the adults, these children had to ensure their subsistence! Fahina, the oldest, had become their “Chief.” Rahan imagined the terrible life these little men had been leading for two seasons! Perilous hunts. Nights of anxiety. But we know that those of the river do not kill their captives! They make them their slaves! For moons and moons we have been following the river to find our loved ones! The son of fierce ages could not remain insensitive to the distress of these children You will find your mothers and fathers! Rahan will help you! Page Six. In the following day he directed the construction of a raft. We will go faster by the river than through the jungle, Fahina! And if, as you say, the "Blonde Hunters" live ten days' walk from here, we will soon discover their territory! One morning, the skiff took Rahan and the sons of the woods to the unknown. Why are you devoting yourself to us Rahan? Because Rahan once lived as you have been living for two seasons! The son of Crao remembered his wild childhood, his fierce struggles to survive, Rahan does not like it when men's little ones are separated from their own! Oh! Look over there! Huge hippos yawned in the sun. Page Seven. The “Flat tooths” are not to be feared, Fahina! The "Skin of Wood" is much more dangerous! A large saurian had just emerged. A terrible blow from the tail almost overturned the skiff. If Rahan does not kill him, he will break the raft! Those who do not know how to "Crawl on water” will be devoured! The son of Crao had faced crocodiles many times. He knew how to strike at the vital point. This was the only incident of this raid on the river. And, two days later. The boats of the “Blond Men”. Their village must be close! And indeed, a little later. Over there! They are ours! Men and women were prostrate in an enclosure, and only three hunters were guarding them! Page Eight. The others probably hunt in the forest! This will be easier than Rahan thought! Wait for him here, little men! The son of fierce ages knew how to be as silent as his shadow. The sleeping guards did not even feel that their spears were being confiscated! But the third saw the intruder, and suddenly hammered on his big tom-tom. If his people hear Rahan is lost! He cannot take on an entire clan! But he couldn't dodge the mace blow! Argh! Page Nine. Stunned, he was at the mercy of the guards who woke up with a start. One of them had already recovered his spear. Your audacity deserves death! But! Chtok! What. I. I. You hit him, Fahina! You hit him! You did not miss your target for once! The two guards scanned the foliage, looking for the invisible archer. Rahan took advantage of this diversion to jump towards the enclosure. And threw up the trunk barricading the door. A clamor resounded. The time has come to end it, brothers! Forward! Ahead! Page Ten. You are li. The son of fierce ages could say no more! Through the wide open gate the stream of captives surged. He was overwhelmed, grabbed by ten hands, dragged along the ground, struck from all sides. Vengeance! Vengeance! The “Blond Men” made us suffer too much! But suddenly. No! No! Stop! Rahan is not an enemy! It is he who delivered you! Oh! Fahina! Fahina! Kohic! Akar! All the others! Look! All our little ones are here alive! Emotion filled the throats of the freed captives. How were you able to survive? How did you get here? Later brothers, later! For now we must flee! Listen! Page Eleven. “Those of the river” have heard the tom-tom! They are returning! And they are armed and you are not! As the screams quickly get closer. It was a rush towards the shore. A moment later, captives and children boarded the raft and the boats of the “Blonde Men.” When the latter appeared, the flotilla was out of arrow range! We are saved! Will you forgive our mistake, “Fire hair”? We had decided to escape for a long time. When the enclosure opened and we saw your hair. We thought you were one of them! Rahan has known generous blond men and others without pity! He met some very good brown men and others who behaved like wild beasts! Page Twelve. It is not their hair but what they have in their hearts and minds that make “Those-Who-Walk-Upright” what they are! You are right, brother. We thank you for. It is Fahina that we have to thank! Fahina who knew, over two seasons, how to replace the mothers of these young men! Who knew how to protect them! The fast current carried the clan to a new territory. Fahina, who never lost hope of finding her loved ones! All these men were happy, all these women were happy, all these children were happy. And the son of Crao felt as happy as they did. If he still had difficulty smiling, it was quite simply because the “Misconception” of those who would become his companions had left some traces!

Rahan. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html Episode Seventy Four. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Worshipers of the Dead. The son of Crao knew how "Those Who Walk Upright" end up, after having reached the territory of shadows. But this skull that he saw amazed him to such an extent that he forgot the cruel horde that had been stalking him since dawn. As he climbed the steps cut into the rock, his amazement grew. This. This. Is not possible! Rahan must dream! No! No! Hunters of this size do not exist! They cannot exist! But the proof was there! This skull that glowed under the moon had belonged to a gigantic, fantastic being! Page Two. This skull, which dominated the gorge as if from the top of an altar, seemed to prohibit access to the cliff. It was so big that a man could have entered it through the eye sockets! No! No! It is impossible! Rahan knew how to control his apprehensions and fears. He approached and. Oh! Rahan was right to doubt! The skull was not made of bone, but carved from a chalky rock. As he made this astonishing observation, clamors arose. Profanation! The enemy dared to lay his sacrilegious hands on death! Page Three. Rahan is not an enemy! It was to flee those of the cruel horde that he came to your territory! Shtok! Chotk! Shtok! A rain of stones fell on the son of fierce ages. Who jumped towards the skull, and hoisted himself towards the orbit. The rain of stones stopped immediately. You have just committed the most heinous sacrilege, “Hair of Fire”! The men remained at a distance, as if petrified by this new desecration. It was the fathers of the fathers of our fathers who, in the dawn of time, paid this homage to death! And no man has ever defiled the Queen of Shadows! We will not kill you because you are not worthy of death! Page Four. But we will not let you run away! When hunger and thirst deliver you to us, you will be tortured every day, until the leafless season! The clan surrounded his strange refuge without daring to approach it. They revere this totem too much to throw their stones! But Rahan will not be able to escape! We will watch around the queen of shadows day and night "Hair of Fire" and you will have to surrender sooner or later and pay for your sacrifice! Usually Rahan respects the customs of “Those-who-walk-upright”! But he finds yours very stupid! Because you have to be stupid to worship death! Death! Death that has pursued Rahan since dawn! The son of Crao pointed out the few men of the cruel horde who climbed the monumental stone staircase. Page Five. We captured "Fire hair", but he escaped! Deliver him to us! Worried, those on the cliff retreated towards their cave. But the chief and the sorcerer faced the newcomers. "Fire hair" belongs to us! Our clan will punish his sacrilege! He is ours! And we will bring him back to ours! Men from the cruel horde were already rushing towards the skull-totem. Although unarmed, the chief and the sorcerer tried to oppose the others. In vain. Argh! Kroan and Laiyar will join you, queen of shadows. They. They. Will be. Soon near you! They. They are happy. Happy. Page Six. Appalled by the useless sacrifice of the two men, Rahan stood his ground. Stealing the life of a disarmed opponent. Is worthy of the Cruel clan! Zlanc! But you will not steal Rahan's! Argh! Braced in the orbit, the son of Crao fiercely resisted his attackers. Crack! And he parried all of their blows with surprising reflexes and vivacity. Argh! Go back to your own! Striking with his fist, his foot, or his knee, he was unassailable. Ra-ha-ha! Page Seven. Advance! Let us chase away this sacrilege! More angered by the outrageous desecration of the queen of shadows than by the death of their leaders. The men on the cliff finally reacted! Those of the cruel horde had to flee under their projectiles. We will come back! We will wipe out your clan! We will kill all of you, your women and your children! It was only a reprieve for Rahan. Those on the cliff once again surrounded the queen of shadows! They gave themselves a new leader. Yako vows to loyally guide the clan, until the day death calls him on. To the happy territory of shadows! Page Eight. No one is ever kept from this territory, brothers! Because death continues until the end of time! It is not death that must be venerated but life! Life is the sun! Forests! The rivers! Why do you prefer darkness to all these wonders? For a very long time the son of Crao harangued these hunters, who had never heard such words. The young people were more sensitive to his arguments than the old ones. See. Rahan has “Outraged” “the queen-of-shadows” but he is still alive! He wants to be alive! The tree does not uproot itself! The animal does not throw itself away. Under the Hunters spear! Everything that is alive repels death! Why did “Those Who Walk Upright” search for it? Your life is sacred, brothers! You must not offer it to these savages, as did Kroan and Laiyar! “Those-of-the-Cruel-Horde,” ten times more numerous, had just reappeared! Page Nine. They rushed towards the staircase, the only way of access to the cliff. Until today, they were content to ban us from the game-filled valley. But today because we did not deliver "Fire hair" to them, they want to decimate our clan! These beings are the cruelest that Rahan has ever encountered! You are defenseless in front of them and they will massacre you if you do not flee! We will not run away! We will repel them! So, let Rahan fight alongside you! Oh! No! Do not do that! Yako and a few elders, armed with simple sticks, were rushing down the stairs that those of the cruel horde were beginning to climb! This disregard for their lives was going to be fatal to them. Page Ten. They collapsed under the arrows. It was not bravery, but madness! They gave their lives needlessly! The young hunters no longer cared about the son of Crao. They reacted finally! “Fire hair” is right! We are too young to join the Queen of Shadows! We must be alive! Alive! You are alive brothers! Under the deluge of stones, the cruel horde flowed back. But those on the cliff soon ran out of projectiles! And the attackers invaded the staircase for a new assault! No more stones! No more Rocks! We will not push them away! Yes! You still have the queen of shadows! Help Rahan! Page Eleven. Setting an example, the son of fierce ages arched his back against the enormous skull-totem. The elders cried out. Sacrilege! Sacrilege! But all the young people rushed forward, and gathered around Rahan, and pushed, and pushed. So many of us have sacrificed their lives to the Queen of Shadows! She must help us! The chalk skull slid slowly towards the staircase which those of the cruel horde were climbing. Oh! And they suddenly saw it silhouetted against the sky, oscillating for a moment, to fall over! Argh! They did not have time to flee. The skull swept over them, crushing or bruising some, throwing others into the void! Page Twelve. Their cries of fear and pain were drowned out by a terrible noise. The gigantic skull had just burst open at the foot of the cliff. Crash! They would have cut our throats without mercy! But they will not come back! Thanks to you, Rahan! The survivors of the cruel horde, still terrified, fled the gorge. Where lay the pieces of this sinister totem that the “Adorers of Death” had venerated for too long! By sacrificing the "Queen of Shadows", you saved your clan! You knew how to defend your lives! You have not resigned yourself to dying and that is good! If some elders still gave Rahan hostile looks, most of the hunters contemplated the valley, the forests, the sun, the distant river. For the first time they seemed to appreciate the life that rustled everywhere around the waters. The son of Crao was happy, he had helped them win this victory over themselves!

Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html Rahan. Episode Seventy-three. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Blue Eye. Yes it is Rahan! It is him. The son of fierce ages, or the reflection of Rahan in the blue pupil of Toungna, which had made him “Undead”! It was at the beginning of the "Season-of-Green-Leaves" that Rahan was surprised by fishermen, while he was practicing throwing his knife. Look at his hair! At his eyes! They have the color of the sky. Like the ones of Tougna! See! It is natural that he is twice as skillful as Tougna, since he has two blue colored eyes! That his skill was attributed to the color of his eyes greatly amused the son of Crao. Rahan has known countless hunters who had blue eyes! Some were skilled, others were not! A little later. We have captured a hunter, Tougna! He is capable, at thirty paces, of throwing his knife. In a bamboo smaller than this Finger! The leader of the fishermen had the curious peculiarity of having one brown eye and the other blue! Which gave his face an unusual and worrying appearance. No man is more skillful than Tougna! Page Two. In anger, Tougna threw his javelin, slicing right through a fish that was drying in the sun. See what Tougna can do with his clear eye! Rahan can do better. If you wanted to land this fish. It has to be done this way! The knife flew away and his ivory blade cut the fine vine! You want to humiliate me in front of mine, “hair of fire”! You deserve to die! No, Tougna! Clan law forbids us from taking the lives of “Those Who Walk Upright!” Eh? It is true. But it does not forbid us from keeping this hunter captive. Until his natural death! Let us throw him into the Cave of the forgotten! Page Three. The son of Crao was dragged onto a low cliff, and pushed into a gully. A fall followed. From which he only emerged unscathed by a miracle. This underground tomb well deserved its name “Cave-of-the-forgotten” It offers no other way out than the opening from which the daylight faintly fell, but this hole was inaccessible! A narrow crack in the granite wall allowed him to see the village of the fishers. This vision would henceforth be the only one the captive would have of the outside world. Thus began his terrible torture. Rahan will never escape! His bones will rot in this cave as these have rotted! Page Four. And days follow days. Sometimes, through the narrows, a few fish were thrown at him, and a little water was poured over him. Gently. Once he tried to hold on to this vine. But it was brutally torn from him. Do not do that again, "Fire Hair"! Ever! Otherwise, food will be scarce! The world of the son of Crao was now limited to the skeletons lying in the darkness. And the opening. And the fissure. The crack! Every Morning, Tougna came to observe his Captive there. You are Strong, Rahan! Maybe your body will resist for a long time! But reason will abandon you! Tougna is convinced, and he has persuaded his people that his skill comes from “His blue eye!” And that stupid monster is jealous of Rahan who has two! Page Five. One day the tormentor went so far as to return his precious knife. You can always try to dig through the cliff! Ha-ha-ha! The weapon only served to eliminate his beard, which irritated the son of Crao. If this knife was useless to him. He found with it, a sort of companion. Turn. Turn. Alas, Rahan will never be able to obey you like before! Obsessed by the eternal darkness of his grave, he imagined the golden landscapes. The wonderful skies that he would never see again. And the “Season-of-yellow-leaves” followed that of the “Green-Leaves”. The resistance of the captive astounded the fishermen, and amazed some. Page Six. This is perhaps why, one day, the vine which was lowering the calabash of water did not come back up! Does Rahan have an ally? Will he soon be free? He no longer dares to believe it! His throat tight, he hoisted himself towards the opening, rising towards it. That was when Tougna's laughter rang out! Ha-ha-ha! Tougna was right to be wary. A traitor wanted to help you “Fire hair.” But Tougna arrived in time! And Rahan fell back into the “cave of oblivion”! The anger of Tougna was great that day. “Hair of Fire” never begs for our pity and yet you admire his courage, do you not! But since some deceivers want to help him, it will be Tougna who will now bring the food to the captive! The torture of the son of fierce ages was going to become even more terrible! Page Seven. To get out of his grave he had imagined everything, tried everything. The bones from which he had thought he could make steps had collapsed under his weight. And the opening offered no hold for the grappling hook he had made. He marked each day with a sign on the rock. And his signs were now innumerable. How long has Rahan been here? How many days and nights? As numerous as rushes in a marsh? The trees are beginning to become bare, heralding the “leafless season." Faced with Rahan's resistance, Tougna's jealousy became hatred. Betraying clan law without his people being aware, he more and more often abandoned the pittance on the cliff instead of throwing it to the captive! Page Eight. Many more days passed. Tormented by hunger and thirst, the son of Crao. Felt himself weakening and his reason wavered sometimes. And he found himself more and more often confiding in his ivory knife. Do you remember the happy times? When we were both free? He then saw himself in the green valleys, free! The idea of killing himself had sometimes crossed his mind. You will end Rahan's suffering! No! Rahan must last until the end! Until his last breath! Page Nine. As the storms increased, the clan of fishermen abandoned the shore and retreated to a plateau. But Tougna continued his visits! You no longer have the strength to stand up, “Fire-Hair”! Ha-ha-ha! Your end is near! But one morning the tormentor did not come. And Rahan heard the "Great River" roar. He saw the waves rising towards the sky. The clan took refuge on a height to escape the fury of the waves. The tidal wave surged with fantastic violence, submerged the shore, and launched an assault on the cliff. And suddenly. Oh! Rahan may be saved! The water cascaded through the crack, seeped through the ground, and rose, and rose, and rose. Page Ten. The innumerable marks, each of which represented a day of suffering, disappeared. The water was still rising! Rise again great river! Rise! Rise! Nature, so often hostile to Rahan, came to his aid! He soon swam under the opening. “Freedom” was up there. Liberty was at the end of this long inaccessible opening, into which he now rose. The water suddenly stopped rising. But it did not matter to him. The grappling hook that had been prepared for many days could finally be used. And. Ra-ha-ha! Never had the clamor of victory thundered with such force! He finally saw the sky again! And the horizon! And the great river! Page Eleven. The flood was already receding. And the fishers there screamed at the miracle. Since nothing got the better of Rahan, you will have to fight him, Tougna! We will finally know if one eye the color of the sky is worth two! The tormentor hesitated. But the harpoons of his people spurred him towards the cliff from which the son of fierce ages descended, still dazzled by the day, and staggering a little. They were soon face to face. You are going to die, "Fire hair"! Rahan has never killed a man before, but the one who stole three seasons of his life is no man! The tormentor raised his harpoon and the hatred in his blue eyes gave way to fear. Rahan too, was also ready to throw his ivory knife! He thought of these three seasons of suffering. No Tougna did not deserve the title of man! So? Should he let himself be killed by this monster? The color of his eyes would have nothing to do with it. But Rahan knew he would be the quickest and most skillful.

Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html Rahan. Episode Seventy Two. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Mud that Devours. The strong smell of mud that floated over the marsh he had just crossed had hidden from him that of the hunters who lay in ambush. That was why the son of Crao had no time to react. Do not resist, "Fire Hair"! This spear will open your heart! But the faces of these three men surprised him even more than the ambush itself! Age alone differentiated these faces whose features were identical. As if each face was a reflection of the two others! Perhaps the stranger with the “Fire Hair” does not come as an enemy? Why capture him? All those who come from beyond the Troubled Waters are enemies! Let me kill him! You are not wearing the "Sacred Bracelet", Queha! Only Nahor has the right to decide the fate of this man! Page Two. Entering the nearby village, Rahan felt like he was living a strange dream. All the children looked the same! All the teenagers looked the same! All adults looked alike! And all the women looked the same too! The same features, the same looks, and the same smiles! In fact, it was impossible to distinguish one from the other! The son of Crao quickly understood that the members of this strange clan recognized each other by their voices! Their leader appeared. And Rahan noticed the heavy vertebra that encircled the man's wrist. By the "Sacred Bracelet" which gives him all powers, Nahor orders. The death of the one who came from the “troubled waters”! He will be delivered at dawn to the “Muds-that-devour”! Nahor has spoken! Some hunters cheered the brutal verdict. Page Three. But others protested. You are very cruel, Nahor! Why steal the life of a hunter we know nothing about!? Because Nahor hates those who do not have our face! And as long as he wears the “sacred bracelet” he must be obeyed! This is the law of the clan! Suddenly screams arose! Gahur! Gahur just fell into the green water! He is going to be eaten! The whole clan rushed towards the pond, uttering cries of anguish, and helplessness. They do not know how to "Crawl on water"! If Rahan saves Gahur, maybe he will gain their trust! Believing that his prisoner had escaped, Nahor wanted to cling to Rahan. He found himself on the ground. You will not get far, "Hair of Fire"! We will find you! Page Four. On the shore the masses of women imploring the spirits. The men, resigned, looked at the child who, a few stones throw away, was going to drown. Step aside! Step aside! Rahan will save Gahur! A clamor of astonishment greeted the plunge of the son of fierce ages. Down there, the child had just sunk! And Rahan was already joining him, bringing him back to the surface. Life has not yet left the little man! Throw your assegais! Kill him! Kill him! Hate blinds you, Nahor! You forget that he wants to save Gahur! On the shore, men were shouting. The “Bad” ones of the clan had no doubt. They will not be able to join Rahan on this island! The son of Crao swam vigorously towards the island, in the middle of the pond. Page Five. He had noticed the large vertebra attached to the child's wrist. This one was recovering his spirits. Gahur was playing on a stump in the middle of the green water. He slipped. What does this over-sized bracelet mean to you, Gahur? It means that Gahur, one day, will be the leader of the clan like Nahor is today! Gahur mentioned the custom of his clan, where every two “Seasons-of-green-leaves,” the one who one day would become the leader was selected. He was entrusted with a “Sacred Bracelet” which he was never to take off. Thus live together the future leaders of ten, twelve, fourteen, and sixteen "Springs." He, Gahur, was the youngest. And it is Nahor-the-cruel, the oldest, who currently reigns over the clan. Not all hunters approve of Nahor, but they must respect his law! Page Six. From the shore, men were still shouting threats. Rahan could easily escape them! But how would Gahur rejoin his people? The son of fierce ages waited for nightfall. Hold on to Rahan, Gahur! Rahan will take you back to your brothers! Returning to this shore carried great risks. Yet, with the night, a reassuring calm had settled on this shore. Perhaps the hunters convinced Nahor to let you live? Gahur had not expressed this hope that. Chtok! Argh! Ha-ha-ha! Nahor knew you would come back! It is the “Mud-that-devours” that is waiting for you! Page Seven. The son of Crao was taken into the village, near the totem topped with a "skin of wood" skull. They had left him his knife. But the way he was restrained prevented him from grabbing his weapon. When the sun rises over the green water, the captive will die! Let everyone return to their huts! An old man lingered. You saved little Gahur, and Nahor demands your death! It is cruel, but we cannot do anything for you! We cannot violate his law! When Nahor dies, Ro-A will succeed him. Ro-A is good. His law will be better. Why did you leave Rahan his knife? Because Nahor hates everything that lives elsewhere. And things made by men! The old man left grumbling. Page Eight. Abandoning the captive to his thoughts. The marshes shimmered under the moon and Rahan imagined himself getting bogged down in the “Mud that devours.” The idea of this atrocious death shook him. No! No! Rahan must flee! He undoubtedly has allies in this clan. But how would he know his friends from his enemies among all these hunters who look alike, like the “tears of the sky”! All his efforts to break his bonds remained in vain. But suddenly. The skull of the “wood skin”! His teeth! They will cut the vines! He dragged himself to the bamboo-totem. He shook it with his shoulders. If the skull falls next to Rahan, the noise will alert the hunters! Page Nine. After many shakes, the skull finally wobbled. Rahan, although hampered, tried to place himself under it’s landing point. But he did not succeed! Crash! A dull noise resounded which seemed louder than an “Angry cry from heaven." He leaned back. Because a young hunter came running, identical to all those of his age. Friend? Enemy? How to find out! A future chief! He is going to see the skull! The hunter was indeed wearing the vertebra on his wrist. Did you call, “Fire hair”? I am Ro-A. But I cannot do anything for you! This is the law of Nahor! When I am chief, my law will be very different. Yes, different. Ro-A retreated into his hut. Rahan was sure he had seen the skull on the ground, but had pretended to ignore it! Page Ten. Ro-A is therefore on Rahan's side! Ah, why do these men all look the same! Sawing on the crocodile's jaw, the vines gave way one by one. And the son of Crao, free, leapt towards the forest. But worrying shimmers stopped him. Mud! In the night, Rahan will throw himself into the “Mud that devours”! As he sought refuge in a tree, he wandered through the marshes which surrounded the village. Rahan will wait until daylight to flee! It was a little before daybreak that clamors alerted him. They were coming up from all sides. The whole clan is on the hunt! They are tracking Rahan! Oh! Howls of terror suddenly covered the clamors. A lone hunter was sucked into the mud! It is too horrible! Rahan cannot let him die! Page Eleven. The son of fierce ages tore the man from the devouring mud and dragged him onto dry land. Ra-ha-ha! And it was only then that he saw the “Sacred Bracelet.” He had just saved Nahor himself! Ha-ha-ha! This mistake will ruin you, “Fire hair”! Crack! Argh! The leader rushed like a beast. Rahan, dazed, caught a glimpse of Nahor lifting a huge stone above him to finish him off! Page Twelve. The instinct of self-preservation made him suddenly relax his legs. He avoided the stone. And still dazed, saw the other man quickly become engulfed in the mud. Argh! The wrist with the “Sacred Bracelet” was about to disappear under the mud when hunters appeared. Screams erupted. Cries of vengeance or cries of deliverance? Rahan never knew, as he preferred to escape. Come back “Hair of Fire”! Come back! Since Nahor is no more, Ro-A becomes our leader! His law will be just and good! Come back, you who saved Gahor, come back! Rahan was already too far away to hear. Jumping the pockets of "Mud-that-devours", he had only one goal. To flee this strange clan. Flee this clan where it was impossible to distinguish the "Good" from the "Bad", and the friends from the fiercest enemies.

Rahan. Episode Seventy-One. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Sacrifice of Maoni. With a pounding heart, and holding out the offering of pink water lilies, the son of Crao slowly climbed the staircase cut into the rock. Let all the hunters leave the cave! Only Rahan has won the privilege of seeing Maoni's face! Page Two. It all started the day before, in the heart of the mosquito-infested swamps. Rahan knows how to keep the “biting beasts” away! They fear the smell of “Sun Fruits”! The cloud of insects that harassed him actually moved away as soon as he coated his body with lemon juice. It is a wonderful secret that Crao taught Rahan! He thus crossed the marsh, no longer worrying about the terrible mosquitoes which swirled around him without daring to attack him. Here and there the water lily flowers had the color of the sky in the east. He finally hoisted himself onto dry land, when. Oh! Rahan did not want to interrupt your meal, "Long-tongue"! The son of Crao had never seen an anteater before. He preferred to flee this beast which, abandoning the anthill, suddenly charged him. Rahan is not an ant, "Long-tongued"! He is not! Oh! Page Three. Stumbling on a root, he did not have time to get up. The big anteater was on him. His claws were going to lacerate his face. The ivory blade disappeared into the thick fleece. The blow had been so precise. Ra-ha-ha! That the beast, as if struck by lightning, collapsed instantly. Rahan did not want to take your life "Long tongue"! But he could not let himself be torn apart! The son of fierce ages had not sheathed his knife when ten men burst out of the thickets. In this territory the “Tamas” are sacred, “Fire Hair”! Because they devour the ants that our hunters fear so much! But since you came to the aid of the “Beasts-who-gnaw”, we will see if they are grateful to you! Bury him up to his neck, brothers! Page Four. A little later. Ha-ha-ha! Before the sun returns, "The beasts-that-eat" will have devoured your eyes, your ears, and your tongue! Farewell, "Hair of fire"! Rahan's passage to the realm of shadows will be terrifying! All around the torture place, large red ants were swarming. Their circle tightened. Innumerable, the “Beasts-that-eat” attacked his face. No! No! As he screamed in pain, some rushed into his mouth! It was then that other men appeared. Quickly! Free this unfortunate man! Quickly! Chase away the “Eating Beasts”! Quickly! While the tide of ants ebbed before the torch fire, the son of Crao was released. Rahan did not know that the "Tamas" were sacred. He killed one to defend himself. And the hunters, to punish him, delivered him to the “Beasts-who-gnaw!” Page Five. You had the misfortune of meeting Wramm, the cruelest hunter of the cave clan. In other times, this clan and ours clashed constantly! Kill those from the forest! Kill! Kill! But one day Haika, the leader of those of the caves, and his daughter Maoni, lost their way in the swamps. Haika was swallowed up by the "Mud-that-devours”. Maoni was saved by her people, but her face had been eaten by the “Beasts-that-gnaw”! This face was so horrible that she now hid it under a hood of skin! Wramm had hoped to succeed Haika, but the cave clan chose the sweet Maoni, the faceless girl, as its leader! And the forest clan could only rejoice at this choice! Page Six. Because Maoni is good and loyal! Thanks to her, our clans live in peace! Where does the cave clan live? Rahan must take back his knife from Wramm! Wramm is dangerous! Beware of him. Rahan will take back his knife! Along with the necklace of claws left by Crao, the ivory weapon was Rahan's most precious possession! Look! The “Beasts-that-gnaw” have spared “Hair-of-Fire”! What? What!? Wramm's astonishment was very short. Wramm will kill you! With your own knife! The son of fierce ages dodged the first assault of the colossus. Ra-ha-ha! Page Seven. But was knocked down at the end of the second! The ivory blade was about to plunge into his chest. When. Stop Wramm! You must remember that I forbade all fighting between "Those Who Walk Upright"! What did this hunter do? He killed a big “Tama”! He is an ally of the beasts that ate your face, Maoni! He must die! Rahan had never seen a “Tama” before. He did not know. He killed to protect his life! Maoni Believes Rahan! She asks the clan to welcome him like a brother! Why does a leader as generous as you hide his face? Because it is too horrible! By designating me as leader, the clan swore that only those who brought me a bouquet of water lilies could see it! That is impossible. Page Eight. Since these water lilies grow in the middle of the marsh, everyone who tried to approach them had to back away from the “Stinging Beasts.” The venom of these “beasts” makes the body swell and sets the blood on fire! Some died! Rahan will bring you the pink flowers, Maoni! Ha-ha-ha! So you think you're a god!? Well go, Rahan, go. The land of shadows awaits you! Rahan is so sure he will return that he leaves you his knife Wramm! No, Rahan! Do not do that! Why risk your life? Because you deserve pink flowers, Maoni! The son of Crao disappeared under the foliage. No one saw him smear his face, torso and limbs with the juice of the “Sun Fruits”. Poor Maoni! Her face must be scary! But her heart is so generous! Page Nine. When the cave clan saw him again he was already in the middle of the swamp. The mists were dissipating. They could not see the myriads of mosquitoes. But they guessed they were there. Harassing the hunter called “Hair of Fire”. And the "biting beasts", in fact, swirled in clouds around the son of Crao. Who was now tearing off the marvelous pink flowers. And the cloud of mosquitoes surrounded him. Escorting him on the way home! After the “beasts-that-gnaw”, it is the “beasts-that-bite” who spare this demon! The cloud dissipated under the dry breeze coming from the mainland. Under her skin hood Maoni sighed. He succeeded. I must respect clan law. I have to show him. My face! Page Ten. When the son of Crao approached Maoni, Wramm could not control his rage. Die, All who have come to violate our laws! The thick armful of damp leaves saved Rahan. This time, Wramm the brute deserves to be punished! Wramm had the impression that lightning, choosing its target, was opening his stomach. Argh! Ra-ha-ha! Rahan did not violate any of our rules! He brought back the pink water lilies. He therefore has the right to see what remains of the face of Maoni, the daughter of Haika the cheif! A little later. Get out of the cave! Get out! May my face not haunt the nights of those who knew not how to bring the offering of pink water lilies! Page Eleven. As Rahan climbed the steps, the hunters respectfully slipped away. When Rahan has revealed to yours the secret of “Sun Fruits.” They could too, go and pick the pink flowers and earn the right to see your face, Maoni! The son of Crao placed the offering at the feet of Maoni. Keep your secret, Rahan! The clan has obeyed me from the day I was disfigured by the “Eating-Beasts.” I have got them to live in peace with those in the forest! If mine saw what you are about to see, their respect for me would disappear. The war with the other clans would perhaps resume. Maoni slowly raised her hood. And the emotion, the stupefaction, petrified the son of Crao. My people must never know, Rahan! Swear to me not to reveal my secret! Page Twelve. The face of Maoni was the purest, the most beautiful that anyone could see! Over time, my wounds healed themselves! But if the clan knew that I recovered my former appearance. I would lose my authority! Wramm would lead the hunters on the evil paths of war! Rahan will never betray your secret Maoni! Never! Never! During his long stay among this clan, the son of Crao kept his word. But he often had to lie. Maoni's face? A horrible thing Wramm! Bare bones. Bitten lips. Eyes without lids. When he consulted his knife before leaving for new horizons, Wramm himself seemed to regret his departure. You taught us so many things! And Rahan must teach them to others. And the son of wild ages bid farewell to those of the caves. He knew that he would never forget the alert face of Maoni, this young girl who sacrificed her beauty and her youth for the sole happiness of her own! Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Seventy. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The spirits of the night. The son of Crao had already seen mammoth cemeteries but the one he had just discovered was more impressive than all of the others. What mysterious instinct drives the “Two-tooths” to come and die in the same place? Suddenly! Crack! Ohh! The shock was very violent Argh. Rahan will not be able to run for a while! His leg was sore, but it was just a strained muscle. Page Two. It was with a limp that he approached the extraordinary tangle of carcasses eaten away by the rains and the winds. There was a sickening odor of rotting flesh floating there. Here, the bones had been crushed under the rocks that had been spat out by the volcanoes. Elsewhere, a lava flow had charred them. A fine dust of sand and bone ashes accumulated in the crevasses in the cracked ground. The son of Crao suddenly felt that he was being observed. And he saw the hyenas following him at a distance. He hated these disgusting beasts. You dare not attack Rahan, you corpse eaters. You wait for him to fall! The pack was indeed watching for the collapse of the man, whom they felt was handicapped. As Rahan had just jumped a small crevasse his bruised leg gave way. And. Argh! Page Three. He collapsed, falling flat on his back! With wild growls, the hyenas turned towards this prey, which they had at their mercy. Rahan is not dead yet! Back “Corpse Eaters!” The ivory blade cut the most daring of the attackers. And it cut the throat of their successor! Ra-ha-ha! A blow to the flank of the third had such a jolt, that the son of Crao felt his knife escape! Oh! But he no longer had anything to fear from the snarling beasts who left him to tear their fellow creatures to shreds! Back! Rahan wants his knife! Page Four. His ivory knife was still stuck in the side of the beast that the pack was fighting over, at the edge of a narrow crevice. Back! Back! Back! His disgust and anger were such that Rahan no longer felt the pain. Argh! And the Hyenas cowardly abandoned a fight that had became too difficult! The son of Crao returned to the rift to find the beast dead and. Oh! His knife, which had detached itself from the flesh, had disappeared! He saw it at the bottom of the crevasse, more than three meters deep, stuck in the bone powder. Inaccessible! Rahan needs a branch. Or a line. Shortly after, he had his first failure. The ivory weapon slipped on the fork and fell flat! It no longer offered a hold. Page Five. To the loop of the lasso that Rahan tried in vain to slip around the handle! Will Rahan have to abandon his knife!? This thought of losing his weapon forever was intolerable to him, but suddenly. The fork cannot grip the knife! Neither can the lasso! But both together!? Once again, Rahan's spirit of deduction worked wonders. Maintaining the slip knot, and using the forked hook. He was able to pass the loop around the weapon, gently tightening the loop. Which was impossible without the fork! Ra-ha-ha! He could recover his ivory knife! And his clamor of victory thundered on the cemetery of the “Two-teeth.” Page Six. He happily sheathed it when a long trumpet sound rose up. The “Two teeth” walks like Rahan! A young mammoth was walking, helplessly. He hesitated to place one of his hind legs on the ground. Since we have the same illness, we are brothers! Let Rahan come near you, "Two-tooth"! He might be able to do something for you! The mammoth stood still. Leaning on the carcasses of his ancestors. He did not flinch when the son of Crao revealed his heavy paw. A spear flint! In a moment you will feel better than Rahan! Extracting the spear point was easy. You are cured, "Two-tooth"! And now what are you going to do? Charge Rahan? Page Seven. The young pachyderm, relieved of the pain, observed the man for a moment. You do not charge? Rahan did not know that the "Two-Tooths" could be grateful! The mammoth fled, almost light on his feet. Jostling the bones where he had perhaps thought he would come to die. The son of Crao was happy. Even happier that the pain was finally going away from his leg. Before the moon comes, Rahan will be far away! He will have a sweet night! Rahan could not have known how tormented and fantastic this night would be. It all started with the hunters who emerged from the forest, surrounding him with a circle of hatred. Do not kill the enemy with the "Hair of Fire"! Capture him alive! We will sacrifice him to the moon! Page Eight. Assailed by a group of men, he resisted fiercely. But. Zlang! Argh! When he regains his senses, he noticed that he had been left with his knife. Rahan is not an enemy. He does not want to. Silence “Hair of Fire!” All those who do not belong to our clan are enemies! The son of Crao's rope was pulled unceremoniously. To the hunters' camp. Page Nine. When our mother the moon shines on the top of the great mountain we will offer her your life! He was firmly attached to a long flat rock, undoubtedly the altar where these moon worshipers sacrificed their captives! The clan leader harangued his people. Makawa will kill "Fire Hair" himself! May Mother Moon thank us by recalling to her of the “Spirits-of-the-Night”! What were these “Night Spirits” that these men seemed to fear? Rahan will never know! These bonds are far too strong for him to break! Welcome to our territory, “Mother-moon”! Your sons beg you once again to scare away the spirits of the night! In the rapidly darkening sky the moon appeared. In a moment, Rahan will join the “Territory of Shadows”! The moon was gliding across the sky, slowly approaching the top of the great mountain. Page Ten. When it shone like a crown at the tip of the mountain, Makawa approached. Your impure blood will not stain our weapons! Makawa will kill you with your own knife! Makawa offers you the life of “Hair of Fire,” “Mother-Moon”! The chief's hand closed on the ivory handle. Nothing could save the son of the fierce ages! He drew the knife. Brandished it to strike and. Screamed in fear! “Hair-of-Fire” is a spirit of the night! The blade was giving off a strange green light! Terrified, Makawa dropped the weapon and retreated towards his people who, in panic, were fleeing in all directions. Pardon “Mother-Moon!” Pardon! What a strange thing! Where does this power come from? Astonished, Rahan observed the blade which shone like a glowworm! Page Eleven. Unable to explain this miracle, he contorted himself to bring the weapon closer to his bonds, but his efforts were in vain. And his helplessness reassured the “Worshipers of the Moon.” A true “spirit-of-the-night” could be freed! His weapon is that of a "Night-Spirit.” But he is not a spirit! Let us kill him! The son of fierce ages, his throat tight with anguish, saw the hunters approach with their spears raised. Suddenly! If you kill this stranger, we will make you pay for his death! The clamors had resounded behind them. The warning reverberated into the night! Page Twelve. It was panic again! The spirits of the night! The Spirits of the night! And Rahan believed he saw ghostly greenish beings. Luminous as the blade of his cutlass, approaching the altar! Their axes cut through the bonds. Makawa and his people are savages! Flee this territory, brother! Only we can survive it! Run away and good luck! The son of Crao had no time to thank his saviors. The phosphorescent group was already moving away. And “were extinguished” in the dense thickets of the forest. Rahan has often seen strange things, but nothing more astonishing than these "Luminous Men"! Page thirteen. And you, faithful knife!? Did you never shine like that on other nights? As he had just stroked the blade with his fingertips. Rahan exclaimed. His fingers, too, glowed in the dark! Oh! Rahan Understands! It is the dust that glows. The dust of the “Two-Teeth”! He saw his knife again at the bottom of the crevasse, stuck in the bone ashes. Was not that the origin of the mysterious phenomenon? Perhaps the Night Spirits are just simple hunters who coat their bodies with this powder!? Rahan wants to know! The son of wild ages only returned to the mammoth cemetery in the early morning. The hyenas had been devoured. The vine with which he had recovered his weapon was still there. Page Fourteen. It allowed him to take some mysterious bone powder from the bottom of the rift. With which he carefully coated his torso, his limbs and his face. Why does the dust of the “Two-tooths” only shine in the darkness? Rahan could not know, he would never know, that natural and complex chemical phenomena had transformed this bone ash into the "Phosphor." He impatiently awaited the return of the night. When Makawa and his clan found him by chance. “Fire-hair” Is Not a “Spirit”! This time he will not escape us! Oh! Cornered against the rocky wall, the son of Crao could no longer escape! The first lances, thrown from afar, narrowly missed him. Zlang! Page Fifteen. When they are closer, they will not miss Rahan! Oh! Zlang! Zlang! Schtok! The “Two-Teeth”! The young mammoth he had come to the aid of was furiously charging at the "Moon Worshipers." Who had to face it! Taking advantage of this unexpected diversion, Rahan set off towards the forest. Brave “Two-tooth”! You gave your life to save Rahan's! His body riddled with spears, the young pachyderm moved away. He collapsed on his knees, and got up again. Would he have time to reach the mammoth cemetery? Rahan hoped so. Makawa and his wild pack immediately resumed their manhunt. They had seen the fugitive take refuge in the kingdom of the “Four-Hands” Page Sixteen. They pursued relentlessly, screaming with hatred as soon as they caught a glimpse of Rahan moving from line to line. Kill! Kill! And for the son of Crao it was suddenly a tragedy. The forest ended there! The tree into which he had thrown himself with a fantastic leap. Was the last! Unable to turn back he found himself on this isolated tree. At the mercy of the pack. Projectiles were already whistling from all sides! And the most daring climbed the trunk. Rahan hates killing "Those-Who-Walk-Upright." But he will be forced to defend his life. But this fight that Rahan feared so much did not take place. Cries of terror rose in the twilight. “Hair of fire” is a “night-spirit”! Flee! Run away! Page Seventeen. High above, in the shadow of the foliage, the son of Crao stood in a greenish halo! In an instant, he had become a “Luminous man”! A “Spirit-of-the-night”! It was a stampede. Mother Moon will never forgive us for chasing a spirit! Let us run away! Flee! Rahan was coming down from his refuge when the thickets parted in front of a few men of light. We are happy to see you alive, brother! When we heard the cries of these savages, we feared for you! It is the "Powder-that-Lights-At-Night" that saved Rahan! Yes brother! It is thanks to it that we survive in this territory! Makawa and his wild beasts think that we are "Envoys of the Moon" and "Spirits of the Night"! They fear us, and flee from us! Page Eighteen. The powder is the only way to protect us from these demons! Since you have discovered our secret, I hope you will not betray us brother! Rahan is always faithful. And he hopes that you will convince Makawa and his people not to behave like hyenas! Farewell, brothers! Rahan cannot wait to leave this territory! When the Son of Crao crossed the river, the greenish fluorescence stretched in his wake. He regained his appearance! It was rare that he did not fight bad deeds and actions himself. But he knew that the "Men of light" had no need of him. Arriving on the other bank, he saluted them one last time then left. Rahan will never forget that he too was a “Spirit-of-the-night”! But why? Why? In these fierce times, nature preserved its secrets! It was only tens of thousands of years later that man would discover phosphor, and its properties. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Scanned by Highroller. Proofed by Aunti. Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet. Reformatted for machine speech PukeOnAPlate2023. Under The Yoke by SM Stirling. CHAPTER ONE. Enlargement of our standard lines in domestic, supervisory and recreational Items for the intending settler in the new territories. Our Agency has had agents on hand for every auction of choice items; stock your kitchens and servants' quarters from the best hotels and restaurants of Europe. And while Settlement Directorate issue may do for field-hands and machine tenders, when it comes to the strawbosses, interpreters and drivers you will need for your plantation or enterprise, our breaking-and-training establishments are unmatched for price and quality. Why go to the expense of importing your serf cadre from the dregs of the Police Zone? And amusement? From the snowy blond of Sweden to the olive of Italy, the fruits of conquest are yours to pluck. From peasants to aristocrats, from the illiterate to the ballerinas and university students of Paris, wench or prettybuck, your fantasy is our reality. Whether your desire is sjambok-broken docility or a wild Finn you can tame yourself. Stevenson and de Verre has it! Chemo-conditioning and polygraph testing ensure unmatched reliability for our product, reared in and tailored to local languages and custom, from Seoul to Lisbon! Don't waste precious time and capital training your own, consult our brochures, and contact your local representative for further information. Advertising flier of Stevenson and de Verre. Labor Agents, included in: Settler Information Kit Number three. Settlement Directorate, European Area, 1948 edition. LYON, PROVINCE OF BURGUNDIA REGIONAL HQ. SECURITY DIRECTORATE DETENTION CENTER Seventeen. APRIL, 1947. "Pater Noster, qui est in caelis." "Shut up, slut-bitch!" The guard raked her hard-rubber truncheon along the bars in frustration, then stalked off down the corridor. Sister Marya Sokolowska lowered her head and fought to recapture the Presence; a futile effort, it could not be forced. Enough, prayer is more than feelings, she chided herself, while habit droned the sonorous Latin words and told the beads of her rosary. The words were a discipline in themselves; faith was a matter of the intellectual will more than subjective sentiment. And the others relied on her: even Chantal Lefarge the communist over in the corner was joining in; it helped remind them they were human beings and not animals-with-numbers, that they were a community, linked one with the other. Something easy to forget in the ten-by-twelve brick cube of cell 10-27, under the Domination of the Draka. Though she was the only Pole here, and the only religious. Covertly, her eyes followed the guard as far as the grill-door would allow. The building had not been designed as a prison; the Draka had taken it over when Lyons fell, back in forty five. Before then. A school, perhaps, or some sort of offices. Then the Security Directorate had come, and cordoned off as many square blocks of the city as need dictated; knocked doors and built walkways between buildings, surrounded the whole with razor-wire and machine-gun towers, put in bars and control-doors. It was a warren now, brick and concrete, burlap and straw ticking, the ever-present ammonia stink of disinfectant. Lights that were never dimmed, endless noise. The tramp-trampclank of chain gangs driven in lockstep to messhalls or to their work, maintaining and extending the prison-complex. Far-off shouts and screams, or someone in the cell across the corridor waking shrieking from a nightmare. Mornings were worst: that was the hour for executions, in the courtyard below their cell. The metal grille blocked vision but not sound; they could hear the footsteps, sometimes pleading or whimpering, once or twice cracked voices attempting the Marseillaise, then the rapid chattering of automatic weapons and rounds thumping into the earth berm piled against their block's wall. The nun finished the prayer and came to her feet, putting solemnity aside and smiling at the others. Together they rolled the thin straw-stuffed pallets up against the walls, each folding her single cotton blanket on top and placing the cup and pan in the regulation positions. There was nothing else to do; it was forbidden to sleep or sit after the morning siren. Conversation was possible, if you were careful and very quiet, a matter of gesture and brief elliptical phrases, and it helped break the terrible sameness of each day. Newcomers brought in fresh tidings from the world outside, and bits of gossip passed from hand to hand, on work details or at the mess hall, not as elaborate as she had expected, there were too many informers and turnover was too high. This was a holding and processing center, not a real prison; a place to sit and wait until they took you away. Terrible rumors about what lay beyond: factories, labor camps, bordellos, medical experiments such as the Germans had done during the Nazi years. But no real information. For herself, it was not so bad; she had much time to meditate, and the others to help, and what came after would be the will of God, Who would give her strength enough to meet it, if no more. Marya crossed herself and moved a careful half-pace closer to the bars. Good, the guard had gone around the corner. She was just a trusty, a prisoner like the rest of them, with no key to open cell doors. She could mark an individual or a whole cell down and inform the real guards, the Security bulls and retired Janissaries who ran Block D, Female Section. That could mean flogging or electroshock or sweatbox for all of them, you never knew. But the guard would be reluctant to do that; it was unwise to have more contact with the bulls than you had to. A prayer was not enough provocation; a real racket might be, because then she would be in danger of losing her position and being thrown back into a holding pen, which meant being quietly strangled one night. Seven to one was bad odds. God forgive them all, Marya thought. For them too the Savior died. She herself would probably get nothing more than a whack across the kidneys with the rubber truncheon at mess call. Not for the first time, she reflected that Central Detention was like being inside a machine. Not a particularly efficient one, more like an early steam engine that gasped and wheezed and leaked around its gaskets, shuddering with loose fittings and friction. But it used the Domination's cheapest fuel, human life, and it was simple and rugged and did its work with a minimum of attention; she had been here six months and rarely even saw the serf guards and clerks who did the routine management, much less one of the Citizencaste aristocracy of the Domination. There was an iron chung-chung from the landing down at the south end of the corridor; the main door to Block D, two stories up the open stairwell. A sudden hush caught the cells along the narrow passageway, an absence of noise that had been too faint for conscious attention, then a rustle as the inmates sprang to stand by their bedrolls. The nun moved to her own and assumed the proper posture, feet together, head bowed, hands by sides. She could feel the sweat prickle out on her palms, wiped them hurriedly down the coarse cotton sack-dress that prisoners were issued. Suddenly the familiar roughness itched against her skin, and she forced her toes to stop their anxious writhing in the sisal-and-wood clogs. A whimper. Therese; she had never been strong, or quite right in the head since they brought her and Chantal in. A slight girl, dark and too thin, who never spoke and slept badly. The nun had had medical training, but it was nothing physical; the abuse that had made the elder Lefarge sister strong with hate had broken something in Therese. Perhaps it could never be healed, and certainly not here. Eyes met across the cell, and someone coughed to cover the quick squeeze of the shoulder and whisper of comfort that was all they had to offer. Pauvre petite, Marya thought; then with desperation: much too early for the bulls to be down looking for amusement. And they had never picked cell 10-27. Holy Mary, mother of God, please. The guard pelted down the corridor and dropped to her knees by the stairs from the landing. Marya's bedroll was nearest the door; she could see boots descending the pierced-steel treads. Three sets, composition-soled leather with quick-release hooks rather than eyes for the lacings. Draka military issue, the forward pair black and the other two camouflage-mottled. Quickly, she flicked her eyes back to her toes. A Citizen! Could they have found out? Silently she willed the boots to pace by, on down the corridor. Not praying, because this could only mean bad trouble and the only words her heart could speak would be: somebody else, anyone but me. Marya swallowed convulsively, thick saliva blocking her throat. Even Our Lord asked that the cup pass from him. But he had not wished it on anyone else. Nor would she. The lock made its smooth metal sound of oiled steel and the cell door swung open. She could feel the breeze of it, smell leather and cloth, gun-oil and a man's cologne. "Bow, you sluts!" the guard barked, hovering nervously in the corridor. The eight inmates of cell 10-27 put palms to eyes and bent at the waist. "Up, stand up." A man's voice, cool and amused, speaking French with a soft slurred accent. "Present, wenches." Marya jerked erect and bent her head back to show the serf identity-code tattooed behind her left ear, one hand holding back the long ashblond hair that might have covered it. The position gave her a good look at the three men. Their armed presence crowded the cell, even though there was room in plenty with the inmates braced to attention. Two were common soldiers, Janissaries from the Domination's subject-race legions with shaven skulls and serf-numbers on their own necks. Big men, young, thick heavy-muscled shoulders and necks and arms under their mottled uniforms. Both carried automatic rifles; ugly, squared-off things with folding stocks and snail-shaped drum magazines; there were heavy fighting-knives in their boots, stick-grenades clipped to their harness, long machete-like bushknives slung over their backs. Dark men, with blunt features and tight-curled hair and skins the color of old oiled wood; Africans, from the heartlands of the continent where the Domination began. Their people had been under the Yoke for generations, and the Draka favored them for such work; they looked at the women with indifferent contempt and casual desire. The third was an officer, a Citizen. In the black tunic and trousers of garrison uniform, with a peaked cap folded and thrust through his shoulderstrap; Marya understood just enough of the Domination's military insignia to know he was a Merarch, roughly a colonel. A tall man, leopard to the Janissaries' bull strength. Tanned aquiline features, pale gray eyes, brown hair streaked with a lighter color, a single gold hoop-earring. No more than thirty, with white scar-lines on his hands and face, one deep enough to leave a V in his left cheekbone. A machine-pistol rested in an elaborate holster along his thigh, but it was the weapon in his hand that drew her eye. A steel rod as thick as a man's thumb with a rubber-bound hilt, tapering along its meter length to the brass button on its tip; a cable ran from the hilt to the battery-casing at his belt. An electroprod. The tip came towards her face. Sweat prickled out along her upper lip as she fought against the need to flinch. Marya knew what it could do; the 'prod was worse than a whip, as bad as the sweatbox. The Draka used it to control crowds; the threat was usually as effective as an automatic weapon, and less wasteful. Too many times and you could start having fits. Applied to the head it could cause convulsions, loss of memory, change you inside. She closed her eyes. Metal touched her chin. Nothing. Not activated. She opened her eyes, and the Draka nodded with approval. "Spirited," he said. "Sound off, wench." "Marya seven-three-E-S-four-two-two, Master," she recited, fighting off a flush of hatred that left her knees weak, on the verge of trembling. She would not show it, not when it might be mistaken for fear. The man in black flipped open a small leather-bound notebook with his left hand. "Ssssa; 34, literate, languages French, German, English, Polish."He raised an eyebrow. "Quite a scholar. Advanced accounting. Ah, category 3m73, religious cadre, that would account for it." The electroprod clicked against the crucifix and rosary that hung through the cloth tie of her sack-dress. Made from scraps of wood, silently at night beneath her blanket. "Nun?" "I am a Sister of the Order of Saint Cyril, Master." The Draka flicked the steel rod against her hip, hard enough to sting. "You were. Now you're 73ES422, wench." He read further, pursed a lip. "Suspicion of unauthorized education? Ah, that was six months ago; Security must have been dithering whether to pop you off or send you to the Yanks with the Pope and the rest." He shook his head and made a tsk sound between his teeth. "Headhunters, typical." Marya felt herself pale. "The. The Holy Father has been exiled?" Two more cuts, harder this time. "Master," she added. He turned without answering, scanning the others. "You," he pointed. "Chantal nine-seven-E-F-five-seven-eight, Master." Marya could see the film of sweat on the other woman's face, and knew it was rage, not terror. Calm, keep calm, she thought. Suicide is a mortal sin. The Draka stepped over and looked her up and down, smiling slightly. She had dark-Mediterranean good looks, long black hair and a heart-shaped face, a full-curved body under the coarse issue gown. "At ease," he said, and the inmates straightened and dropped their eyes again; the officer chuckled as he watched the dark woman glaring at his boots and consulted the notebook. "Twenty years, literate, numerate, French and English. Ex-bookkeeper, member of the Communist Party." He caught the hem of her gown on the end of the electroprod and raised it to waist height, and murmured in his own tongue: "Not bad haunches, but these Latins run to fat young." Marya understood him, with difficulty; the English her Order had taught her was the standard British form. The Domination's core territory in Africa below Capricorn had been settled by Loyalist refugees from the American Revolution, speakers of an archaic eighteenth-century southern dialect, and it had mutated heavily in the generations since. He paused, let the cloth fall, tapped the steel rod thoughtfully against one boot. "Shuck down, wenches," he said after a moment. There was a quick rustle of cloth as the inmates stripped; the prison gowns were simple cotton sacks with holes for arms and heads. Marya undid her belt, pulled the garment over her head, folded it atop her bedroll, slipped off the briefs that were the only undergarment and folded them in turn, stepped out of the clogs and stood in the inspection posture, hands linked behind the head and eyes forward. The dank chill of the place seemed suddenly greater, raising the gooseflesh on shoulders and thighs, making her wish she could hug herself and run her palms down her arms. When she had been arrested, it was only chance that the secret school was not in session and the children gone. All unauthorized education was forbidden, under penalty of death; they would have penned her and the children together in the room and tossed in a grenade. Alone, she would have died there and then if any evidence had been found. Two of the mothers had been with her, and there was no room in the police van; the green-uniformed Security Directorate officer had drawn her pistol and shot them both through the head as they knelt, to save the trouble of calling in for a larger vehicle. And inside Central Detention there had been no interrogation, no torture; only the cell and the endless monotony spiced by fear, until she realized that her gesture of defiance was not even worth investigating. There had been a speech for her batch of new inmates. Very brief: "This is a bad place, serfs, but it can always be worse. We ask little from the living, only obedience; from the dead, nothing." Beside her Therese was weeping silently, slow fat tears squeezing out from under closed lids and running down her face, dripping from her chin onto her breasts. Most of the others were expressionless, a few preening under the dispassionate gaze; the Draka nodded and turned to the guard. "This one and that one," he said, flicking the prod toward Marya and Chantal. "Put the restraints on them." Marya's stomach lurched as the guard's rough hands turned her around and pulled her arms behind her back. The ring-and-chain bonds clanked, fastening thumbs and wrists and elbows in a straining posture that (breed the shoulders back; you could walk in them if you were careful, but they were as effective as a hobble when it came to running. Not that there was anywhere to run; and anything at all might be waiting beyond the iron door. Cell 10-27 was a bad place; of cold and fear and a monotony that was worse than either, grinding down your mind and spirit. Now it seemed a haven. The one thing you could be certain of in the Domination was that there was always someplace worse. The guard shoved the two women roughly toward the door of the cell. Marya staggered, turned and bowed awkwardly. "Master," she said. "Our things?" "You won't be back, wench," the Draka said, stretching. The Janissaries chuckled; one reached out and grabbed the weeping Therese by the breast, pinching and twisting. She folded about the grip in a futile shrimp-curl of protection, mouth quivering as she sobbed. "Yo" be needin' us'n, suh?" he said. "Mebbeso we-uns stay here fo' whaal?" The officer laughed, and Marya could feel Chantal quivering behind her. Therese was her younger sister; they had been swept up together for curfewviolation. Distributing leaflets, probably, but they had been clean when the patrol caught them and might have gotten off with a light flogging if Chantal had not attacked the squadleader when he started to rape Therese. The nun forced herself between the other woman and the soldiers, pushing her back against the bars, hearing the quick panting breath of adrenaline-overload in her ear and a low guttural sound that was almost a growl. Madness to attack three armed men with hands bound, but a berserker does not count the odds. Even worse madness if by some freak she could hurt one of their captors; that would mean impalement, a slow day's dying standing astride a sharpened stake rammed up the anus. And not just for her; the Draka believed in collective punishment, to give everyone a motive for restraining the wilder spirits. Innocents would die beside her. The Draka laughed again, reaching out and playfully rapping the Janissary across the knuckles with the electroprod. "Na, no rough work with Security's property," he said. "Besides, I know you lads; once you had your pants down you wouldn't notice even if one of the others pulled the pin on a grenade and shoved it where the sun don't shine. Then think of the paperwork I'd have to do." The dark soldier released the woman and saluted. His officer returned the gesture, then grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "But no reason you shouldn't hit the Rest Center until we're due; consider yourselves off-duty until." He looked at his watch "Twenty-hundred hours. Report to the depot then. Off you go; I think I can handle the wild French wenches alone." "Yaz, suh!" the serf soldiers chorused. Their clenched right fists snapped smartly to their chests before they wheeled and left. It had been half a year since Marya last saw the main door of Block D; not since the night of her arrest, when she had been kicked through still bruised and dazed from the standard working-over with rubber hoses that all new inmates received. And she was nearly the oldest inhabitant; the others came and went, swept in off the streets for some offense too petty to merit an immediate bullet, processed through and vanishing to places unknown. A few found the courage to call farewell as they climbed the pierced-steel treads. Behind them came Therese's voice, thin and reedy: "Chantal, don't leave me, come back, please." Then the welded panels clanged shut, and they were outside. A serf clerk at a desk-kiosk, a saffron-skinned slant-eyed woman in neat coveralls who bowed as she took the papers the Draka handed her. More corridors, more cells; the electroprod tapped her on the shoulder, left, right, pointing to crossings. A harder jab to Chantal's lower back, just over the kidneys. She gasped, stumbled, would have turned her head to glare if the aching strain of the restraints had not prevented. "Walk more humble, wench," the Draka said softly. "Through there, I think." A men's section, hairy faces crowding close to the bars and glittering eyes, silent and intent, others who looked at her with pity, or away. The nun felt herself flushing under that hopeless hunger, forced herself not to shrink back towards the sound of the Draka's bootheels. Courtyards, and she began to shiver as a thin drizzle of cold rain fell slick on her skin. Cobblestones, a brief glimpse to a road outside as a convoy of steam-trucks chuffed in with a new load of detainees, ragged figures clutching bundles and children as the guards chivied them into ranks for processing. Overhead, huge and silent, a dirigible was passing, its lights disappearing northward. Then they were in an office complex. Soft diffused lighting instead of the harsh naked bulbs, warmth, rain beating against sound windows of frosted glass. Incredulous, her feet felt carpet beneath, soft and deep; somewhere a teleprinter was chuttering, and the homey familiarity of the office-sound brought sudden inexplicable tears prickling under her lids. She was conscious of her nakedness again; not in shame or modesty, but as vulnerability. Most of those she saw were serfs as well, but they were neatly clad in pressed overalls and good shoes, clipboards and files in their hands as they strode purposefully down the aisles or sat at desks working, typing, filling the air with a clatter of abacuses and adding-machines. Their eyes flicked over her and away, and she could see herself in them: nude and wet and muddy-footed, rat-tails of wet hair clinging to her shoulders, arms locked behind her. Livestock, beneath contempt to these born-serf bureaucrats, the selected elite who occupied the management positions just below the Draka aristocracy. "Hope these'un're house-broken," a voice said, and others chuckled. Her ears burned, and Chantal beside her stiffened and glared. The man behind them evoked more interest: deferential bows, and curiosity. Marya saw a few other Citizens, through the open doors of offices or walking in their bubbles of social space, crowds parting for them; but those men and women were in the olive-green of the Security Directorate, not War Directorate black. The freefolk grew more numerous as they climbed stairs and at the last an elevator to the upper level. There was no bustle here; empty corridor with wide-spaced doors, wood paneling replacing the institutional-bile paint of the lower levels. Names and mysterious number-letter codes on brass plates: "Morrison: infl. 77A Relig. delation." "Carruthers: alloc. IOF Labor." A larger door still, unmarked, at the end of a hallway. "Through," the Draka said, tapping them again on the backs of their necks with the prod. Hesitantly, Marya stepped closer. The dark oak panel slid aside with a soft shusssh, and she stepped through, blinking with astonishment. She had been six months in prison; before that six years in war-crippled cities, on the roads of Europe, in refugee centers and tenements. For a moment she lost herslf in wonder. The room was large, a lounge-office fifteen meters by twenty. Two walls were floor-to-ceiling tinted glass, a view over the tumbled rooftops of Lyon down to the choppy surface of the Rhone, iron-gray under a sky the color of a wet knife blade. The other walls were murals in the Draka style, hot tawny savannah and herds of zebra beneath a copper sun. A huge desk of some unfamiliar glossy-russet wood occupied one corner, with a sparse scattering of files, intercom, telephone, closed-circuit television monitor. The floor was covered in Isfahan carpets, the furniture soft chairs around a cluster of low brass tables on filigree stands, Arab work. The remains of a light meal were scattered on one, meats and cheeses, fruit and bread, coffee warming over a spirit-lamp with little pots of sugar and cream. Marya felt her nostrils flaring and mouth filling. The prison fodder was abundant and adequate; porridge laced with fish and soya meal, hardtack, raw vegetables. Bland, bland; after months of it, years on scrimping wartime rations, the smell of the good food was intolerable. She was used to austerity, would not have chosen a religious vocation if comfort were essential to her, but she could feel her skin drinking in the softness and warmth, eyes flooding with the color and brightness. To feel something besides harsh cloth and stone, to see something that pleased the eye and was not ugly and hurtful. The Draka officer's hand rested on her shoulder, forcing her to her knees beside Chantal. Inwardly, she shook herself as she bowed her head and glanced upward through the lashes; a prisoner could not afford the luxury of distraction. Focus on the people, she thought. Study them. Know those with power. Knowledge was the only defense of the weak. There were five others in the room. A man behind the desk; Security uniform, high rank. In his forties but athletic, short, with dark curly hair, blue eyes, tanned pug face and a cigarette in an ivory holder. In the lounger. Marya blinked. The woman lolling there was the first Draka she had ever seen not in some type of uniform; she was wearing low tooled boots, loose burgundy trousers, a long blouse-shirt over a stomach that showed the seventh month of pregnancy. Somehow that seemed unnatural, shocking. Of course Draka had to be born like other folk, but. Tall, hawk-faced, hair a mixture of brown and gold that gave the effect of burnished bronze, one hand holding a cup. A massive thumb-ring, long fingers. And beside her a girl of perhaps ten years in a thick silk tunic, playing with a long needle-pointed knife. The nun frowned, glanced covertly from one face to another. There were two servants, in dark elegant liveries; one knelt in a corner and played softly on a stringed instrument, the other was a middle-aged black woman standing by the child, probably a nurse. Forget them for a moment; there was something about the Draka. All the Citizens she had seen had a certain look, of course: hard sculpted faces, gymnast's physique, the studied grace that came of long training. Even the girl had none of the coltish awkwardness usual on the verge of adolescence; her hands moved the blade with relaxed precision, spinning it up and snapping it closed again around the hilt without looking down. But there was something more. Ah, a family likeness. Pale eyes and long limbs and sharp-featured eaglenosed high-cheeked faces; the pregnant woman might be the sister of the officer who had fetched Marya from the cell. She licked her lips, waiting. "Gudrun, yo' said you were old enough to carry a weapon; don't fiddle with it." The woman's voice. Soft, rather husky. The child pouted, flushed and pulled up the hem of her tunic to slide the blade into a sheath on her leg. The blush was very evident under pale freckled skin, copper hair; there were dark circles under her eyes. The pregnant woman worked her fingers and spoke to the man behind the desk. "An' yes, Strategos Vashon, I've been known to do outlines for mural work; the Klimt workshops have a few in their standard offer book. Not takin' commissions right now, though, what with everythin'." She transfered her attention to the two prisoners. "So, Andrew, these two are the best yo' could do?" The voice stirred a memory, elusive; darkness and pain, dust and the hotmetal stink of engines. It slipped away as she tried to grasp at it. The Draka who had brought the women from their cell snapped his fingers for coffee, sinking into one of the chairs with a grateful sigh and hooking the electroprod onto his belt. "More difficult than the manual workers, sister dear, yo' wanted them spirited and intelligent. Troublemakers, in other words. That, these are; healthy sound stock, as well." The woman shifted, sighed, rested one hand on her belly and held out the other. "The tag," she said, and her brother tossed a strip of metal; her hand picked it out of the air with a hard fast slap. "Yasmin." The girl in the corner laid down her mandolin and rose to take the key. "Take the restraints offn them." Marya kept her head bent as the serf approached, knelt behind the two inmates. A crisp sound of linen and silk, a smell of scented soap, a soft hand on her arm. "These-heah on way too tight." The girl's voice was harder to understand than the Draka's had been, the same soft drawl but a more extreme dialect. "It gowin hurt." Metal clicked. Thumbs first, then wrists, then the painful stretch of elbows drawn together behind the shoulderblades. The fetters had been a burning ache; agony lanced through muscles and tendons, throbbing as circulation returned. Then relief through the fading pain, almost as hard to bear; involuntary tears starred her lashes, breaking the light into rainbows that flickered like kaleidoscopes as she blinked, as her hands fell trembling to the rough surface of the carpet. She heard Chantal's hoarse grunt, and the metal of the restraints clanking as the serf-girl folded them. When the dark woman spoke it was in a whisper, barely audible and spoken downward into the rug so as not to carry. "Be brave, mah sistahs. Tings bettah soon." Yasmin rose, laid the restraints on a table with a bow and returned to her instrument, strumming a faint wandering tune. Endless moments passed, and Marya became aware of the Draka speaking among themselves. "Nice pair of Danes, but I thought you still had that Jewish wench, what was her name." the woman was saying. "Leja." The officer in black worked his shoulders into the cushions and sipped his coffee. "I do, but I'm out of Helsinki in the field, most of the time. No company while I'm gone, too much work for one when I'm back. Besides, she's pregnant again." "Why not have her fixed, for God's sake?" Andrew sighed. "And spoil years of work? She just might not like that, you know; even gratitude has its limits. Why do you think I pulled her out of that Treblinka place when we overran it back in. yes, forty two. Don't roll your eyes, I'm not going to start another boring war story." "You don't have to, I remember the pictures you sent. Fuckin' sick picking her out, too, she couldn't have weighed more than thirty kilos." A grimace. "What happened to the rest of them, anyway?" "Ask our good friend Strategos Vashon here." The squat secret police officer looked up from his desk and leaned back in the swivel-chair, picking up a ball of hard indiarubber. "Nursed them back to health, every one we could," he said; the ball flexed under the rhythmic squeezing of his hand. "Most enthusiastic collaborators we've got, particularly in Germany." Alfred nodded. "And Leja was well worth the trouble, to me; six months an' the bounciest wench yo' could want. Saw she had good bones from the start, an' spirit too." He grinned without opening his eyes, as if savoring a memory, a gaunt expression. "Gave her a knife and she went down a row of SS guards we had tied up, slittin' throats. The two I picked up in Copenhagen, Margrethe and Dagmar, they're just nice little bourgeois muffins, pathetically happy to be out of the ruck and terrified of goin' back." "Why not Finns?" Andrew snorted. "Almighty Thor, no! When I want to commit suicide, I'll do it decent, with a pistol." He opened his eyes and extended a finger at Chantal. "Those Finns're most-all like Leja, or her; hearts of fire. Sieu, they call it. Place won't be safe for a decade. You can tell it by the eyes." He waved his cup toward Chantal. "Speakin' of which, look at that one, sister dear. I didn't save her from a gas chamber. Sure yo' want her 'roundabout the place?" The pregnant woman rested her elbows on the arms of the lounger, placed her palms together, tapped fingers, addressed the inmates. "Look at me, wenches." Gray eyes, impassive. Appraising. "My name is Tanya von Shrakenberg," she said. "Yo' will address me as 'Mistress Tanya", we pronounce it 'Mistis.' This is my daughter Gudrun; you will call her 'Young Mistis Gudrun.' I have bought you out of Central Detention." A smile. "It may interest you to know that your price was roughly the same as a record player's; the tort-bond I had to put up was considerable larger, because yo' two're classified as potential trouble-makers." Her head went to one side. "This is a bad place." Freya's truth, and you've probably heard rumors "bout what might happen when you leave; most of them are true. Breaking rock and shoveling rubble in a chain-gang until you died, most likely. Or worse. You've been very lucky indeed; now you're going to be part of the familia rustica on the plantation my family is establishing west of here. Household serfs; interpreters, bookkeepers. Possibly in positions of responsibility, eventually. Well fed and clothed, not punished unless you break my rules. Which are simple and plainly stated, by the way." She pointed at Chantal, turned the hand palm-up, crooked a finger. "Come and kneel here by me, Chantal." The Frenchwoman shuffled forward on hands and knees, wise enough in the Domination's etiquette not to rise without permission. Tanya cupped a hand beneath her chin, forcing the head up. 'I've read your dossier, wench. You were picked up for curfew-breaking by an Order Police lochos; yo then tried to brain the monitor with a piece of pavin'-stone. Why?" A tighter squeeze. “The truth, Chantal, not what you think I want to hear." "He." A pause. "He tried to rape my sister, she's a child, she's only fourteen, Mistis!" The last word was a hiss. Tanya used her grip on the other's chin to wag her head back and forth. "With the result that you were both raped, repeatedly, then beaten bloody and ended up here, rather than in the factory compound where your family was sent." Another pause. "Have you enjoyed it here? Has your sister? From the report, she's simple-minded now: 'post-traumatic shock syndrome.' How do you think she's goin' to do without you to look after her, here in Central Detention?" Marya could see the hands clenched by Chantal's sides, quivering. The Draka's voice continued: "Have you learned anything from this, Chantal? Besides the fact that the Draka are not humanitarians, that is. "Hearken to the voice of experience, wench. Where are we?" "In, in prison, Mistress." "Beyond that." "France, Mistress." The hand shook her head again. "Wrong. We are in the Province of Burgundia, under the Domination; I am at home, you are an immigrant, ignorant of the laws and customs of the land." A smile. "And a serf, who is new to being a serf. I am a serf-owner, born of seven generations of serfowners; consider who will have the advantage of knowing all the tricks, here. "Now, here's what I'll do. I will buy your sister Therese, as well as you. She will have a room, light work; nobody will hurt her, and I'll even tell the overseers that she's hands-off." Chantal jerked and made a muffled sound. "Or, if you wish, I will have you sent back to her cell and pick someone else. Your choice. Shall I send you back, or not? Now, wench." A whisper. "No, Mistress." "Louder. I can't hear you." "No, Mistress, please." Tanya chuckled and leaned closer. "Now, that's what you should have learned from the incident that brought you here: the difference between courage and recklessness. Not at all the same thing. Tell me, Chantal, do you know what in loco parentis means? Yes? Good; you will be in loco parentis for your sister. Only, for you a special rule will be made; when the parent sins, the child is punished. Understand?" She removed the restraining hand, but Chantal did not move. "Yes, Mistress," she said, in a quiet, conversational tone. "Oh, ho, what a look," Tanya said, keeping her eyes locked with Chantal's. "Andrew was right; a heart of fire, this one. Maybe we'll continue this conversation at greater length, someday." She brought up finger and thumb and flicked the other's nose. "Back." Marya let her breath out in a long shudder, only then conscious of holding it, averting her eyes as the other woman crawled back and sank on her heels by the nun's side, panting as if from a sprint. The sight was disquieting; the nun felt a flush of shame rising from breasts to cheeks and bent her head, letting the pale curtain of her hair hide her face and silently cursing the milkpale skin her Slavic ancestors had left her. The war, the Soviet and Nazi occupations, the long flight westward before the Draka had been chaos, random death, hunger, sickness, running through the cold wet squalor of the refugee centers. Soldiers and police, prison and camps she understood; even the Draka occupation had been merely a harsher version. This was not a matter of armies and bureaucracies, however brutal; it was a ritual of submission rawly personal, as much a matter of calm everyday routine to her new owners as eating a meal. Oh, I understand the psychology of it, she thought; hers had been a teaching Order, and a progressive one. It was still something out of the ancient world, come to impossible life around her. Tanya turned to her daughter, stroking her hair. "You've been patient, darlin'; now tell me, what do yo' think of these two." "Well." the child frowned and wrinkled her nose. "They seem sort of, well, uppish. Sort of. um, shouldn't you punish them, mother?" Tanya laughed, and tousled the girl's hair. "Cudrun, sweetlin', school can teach any number of useful things. But handlin' serfs is like." She pursed her lips and tapped one thumb on her chin. "Like dancing; has to be passed on, one practitioner to the next. There's never a set answer, not on an individual scale. What did the Romans call their slaves?" Cudrun's frown relaxed; that was much easier. "Instrumentum vocale, mother. The tool that speaks." "A wise people. But always remember, the tool that speaks is also the tool that thinks, and believes. Watch." She turned her attention back to the two kneeling figures. Fascinated, Marya observed the change sweep over her face; less a matter of expression than of some indefinable shadow behind the eyes, warmth vanishing until frosted silver looked out at her human chattel. "You, yo' were a nun, eh?" "Yes, I am, Mistress." "Were. Now, if 'n I told you to sweep the floor, would you do it?" "Yes, Mistress." "If I gave you Gudrun's knife an' told you to cut Chantal's throat, would you?" There was a silent pause. "The truth, wench: don't try lyin' to me." Marya moistened her lips. "No, Mistress." "Ah." The Draka smiled. "And if I told you to jump out the window?" "No, Mistis." At the Draka's arched brows: "Suicide is a mortal sin." The Draka woman laughed softly. "And if I told you that if you didn't, I'd kill Chantal here?" Marya opened her mouth, hesitated, shook her head. "More difficult, eh?" Tanya chuckled and nodded to her daughter. "Remember this; there is always some order that won't be obeyed. Either don't give it, or be prepared to kill. Human bein's are like horses, born wild but with a capacity fo' domestication. These are old fo' breakin', so it'll be difficult." She turned to the serf-girl with the mandolin. "Yasmin," she continued, writing and tearing a leaf from a pocketnotebook. "Here. There's a Stevenson and deVerre office on the ground level. Take them down and see to them, there's a good wench. Light cuffs, clothin', tell them the basics. We'll come down when yo're finished." Yasmin covered her instrument in a velvet case and pattered over to them, signalling them to rise. Tanya levered herself to her feet and approached also, stopping them for a moment with a lifted finger, paused. "You two are mine now," she continued; neither of the women lifted their eyes from the carpet. "All your choices are gone, except one. Obedience, life. Disobedience, death. That one we can never take from you." Another pause. "But yo've already made it, no?" She shrugged. "I am your fate, then. Yo've decided to spend life under the Yoke; so remember, there's no point kickin' and buckin'. Be good serfs, an' my family will be good masters. Resist, and yo' suffer." CHAPTER TWO. To defeat an enemy, we must understand him. National myths, and their modem equivalent, propaganda, are perhaps inevitable, certainly useful, but they must not be allowed to blind us to objective reality. Take, for example, the belief, common even among some historians, that the Loyalist refugees who settled the then Crown Colony of Drakia in the seventeen eighties had a secret master plan of world conquest already set out. And that a hidden cabal of Draka aristocrats has been implementing it ever since. Nonsense: a transference to the past of present patterns, as ridiculous as a historical novel showing an 18th-century Englishwoman deliberately seeking a suntan. What is the reality? As usual, a process of cultural evolution that combined blind chance with conscious decisions, many of those falling victim to the Law of Unintended Consequences. The leaders of the proto-Draka were migrants from the slave societies of the Caribbean and the American South; but their subjects were not the uprooted, demoralized fragments delivered by the slavers of the Middle Passage. Little is known of the pre-conquest cultures of Africa, the Draka shattered them too thoroughly, but the evidence suggests strong, militarily formidable peoples. Breaking them, and keeping them broken, produced an overwhelmingly warlike culture with a built-in bias towards expansion; the ideologues and philosophers. Carlyle. Gobineau. Nietzsche. Naldorssen. Merely produced an ideology for a society eager to cast off the increasingly alien ethos of liberal rationalism. The Orate aristocracy needed a world-view and belief system which would make them comfortable with what they were, and ordinary social evolution produced it. Such developments cannot be forced: they must spring organically from the human environment. The failed attempt in the eighteen nineties to revive Nordic paganism is an example, producing nothing but a new type of Draka profanity. But the belief system that did arise among the lords of the Domination then took on a life of its own, becoming cause as well as effect. The Mind of the Draka: a Military-Cultural Analysis Monograph delivered by Commodore Aguilar Emaldo, US. Naval War College. Manila. Eleventh Alliance Strategic Studies Conference Subic Bay. DRAKA FORCES BASE NORDKAPPEN JUNE 12, 1947. Oh-two hundred hours. It was very quiet in the screen room of the electro-detection center, quiet, and dark. There was the underlying whir of the fans, click and hum of relays, a low murmur now and then from one of the operators or floor-officers. Most of the stations in the long bunker were switched off and under dust-covers, and the projac map on the north wall was dimmed. The air smelled of tobacco and green concrete and stale coffee and heating-duct, a tired night-watch odor. The controllers bent over the faint green glow of their screens, faces corpsesallow in the cathode-tube light, insectile beneath headsets and eye-filters, motionless except for minute adjustments to the instruments; they were in Citizen Force undress uniform, black trousers and boots and dove-gray shortsleeved shirts. Operator-first Dickson Milhouse leaned back and stretched, sighed and waved his cup in the air to attract the attention of the serf with the refreshment cart; the pedestal chair creaked as he yawned. Nightwatch sent you to sleep with sheer boredom, and when you came right down to it there was nothing very complicated about holding down a screen. Work for the Auxiliaries, really, except that it still had the cachet of high technology and novelty and so was reserved for Citizen personnel. He rubbed his eyes. Nordkappen Base outside was just as boring. Morale Section tried hard, films and sports and amateur theatricals, and there was always the bordello, but there was just nothing to do here at the northern tip of what had once been Norway; they all had assault-rifles clipped to the top rails of the workstations, but that was merely War Zone regulations. There was still guerrilla activity in much of the territory overrun during the Eurasian War, Europe, Russia, eastern China, but here there was no native population at all, since the Lapps were run out. No game animals to speak of, not by African standards; the long summer days were a novelty that soon wore off, and as for winter. He shuddered. The winters here were nothing someone born under the peaks of Mt. Kenia could have believed. Oh, well, you can always sit on a rock and watch the construction work, he thought sourly. This was an important base, watching the shortest greatcircle route connecting western Eurasia and North America, and tensions were already high between the Domination and the Yankee-run Alliance for Democracy. Dirigibles over the Pole, submarines under the ice, round the clock work here, everything from barracks and mess halls to industrial-size fuel cells and electrodetector towers; many of the installations were burn before reading secret. His eyes fell back on the glowing green surface. He blinked, glanced away and back. Equipment malfunction? No, too definite. Suddenly he was no longer tired, nor bored at all. His finger flicked a relay, and the amber light clicked on above his workstation. "Let me see it." The floor-officer leaned over him, her fingers tapping the key-pad beside the screen. "Bring it up, two." A pause. "And again, two." Her thumb punched down on the red button. An alarm klaxon began to wail. "Definitely a bogey," the floor-officer said. Merarch Labushange grunted in reply, hitching at the uniform trousers that were all he had had time to don; sweat glistened in the tangled hair of his chest, amid several purple bite-marks. He was a short man for a Draka, uglyhandsome in the Mediterranean style, black curly hair, blue jowls, body the shape of a brick and thick arms and legs knotted with muscle. "Estimate height and speed," he grunted, rubbing at red-rimmed eyes. The operator hid a smile behind a cough as he worked the calculator; the commander's new German wench was supposed to be costing him sleep. The results clicking up drove camp gossip from his mind. "Estimate. Estimate Mach 2.2 at 36,000 meters, Merarch." There was a rustle from the other stations, a turning cut short by the floorofficer's glare. Silence, until the operator began another check of the console. "Forget it," the Merarch said. "It's genuine." "But sir, Mach 2?" the operator said, a cold feeling seeping up from his gut. The Domination had flown its first supersonic jet only a few months ago, and this was nearly half again as fast. "The Fritz got manned rocket-planes to well over Mach 1, just before the end," the commander said absently, lost in thought. Of course, those had been one-off experiments, air-launched from bombers and not capable of more than a few minutes of powered flight, but. "The Yankees must have been workin' hard, produced a surprise. Afterwards they can claim it was a glitch in our equipment, or little green men from Mars." He grinned like a shark. "Trouble is, we have some surprises too, an' they can scarcely object to our usin' 'em, on somethin' that don't officially exist." He glanced around the dim-lit room, and his smile widened. "Of course, it could be headed this way with an atomic." He strode briskly to the commander's dais, sank into the chair and keyed the communicator. "Alert, codes Timbuktoo, Asmara, Zebra. Get me." Echoing, thundering, the darkness of the B-30's cargo pod shook around Captain Fred Kustaa, toning through muscle and bone with subsonic disharmonies. He was strapped almost flat in the crash-couch, imprisoned in the pressure-suit and helmet, packed about with gel-filled bags to absorb the bruising punishment of the experimental craft's passage through the upper atmosphere. Outside the titanium-alloy skin would be glowing, the edges of the huge square ramjet intakes turning cherry-red as air compressed toward the density of steel. It was the helpless feeling that was hardest to take, he decided, not the physical danger. He had been a combat soldier in the Pacific before he transferred to the OSS in forty-four, and God knew liaison work with the Draka in Europe in the last year of the War had been no picnic, but this. Experimental, he thought. Everything's too fucking experimental for my taste. Donovan should have tried the submarines first. Hell, Murmansk wasn't more than a few weeks on foot through the forest to Finland, although it would be a bit difficult to carry the contents of the cargo pod on his back. The aircraft lurched and banked, and his stomach surged again; he concentrated on dragging in another breath through the rubber-tasting facemask. Vomiting inside it would be highly unpleasant and possibly fatal. About as maneuverable as a locomotive, had been the test-pilot's words; too little was known about airflow at these speeds. Kustaa did not understand the B-30, he would not have been risked over enemy territory if he did, but even just looking at it from the outside was enough to know it was leadingedge work. It didn't even look like an airplane, it looked like a flattened dart pasted on top of two rectangular boxes. "Merde." The pilot's voice, Emile Chretien; Kustaa recognized the thick Quebec-French accent. He spoke a little of the patois himself, there were plenty of habitants scattered among the Finnish-Americans of his home in the Upper Peninsula. "Electrodetection, high-powered scanners." Kustaa winced. Well, that had been one reason for this mission, to find out for sure just how good the Domination's new Northern Lights Chain was. The dark pressed against his eyes, and he used it to paint maps; their course from the Greenland base, over the Arctic toward darkened Europe. His imagination refused to stop, and he saw more; saw the alert going out below, to bases in Sweden and Norway, alarm-klaxons ringing out over concrete and barracks, flight-suited pilots scrambling to their stations. The blue flare of jets lighting the predawn as the stubby delta shapes of the Draka Sharkclass fighters rolled onto the launch paths. The B-30 was supposed to be immune to interception; the Domination had the physical plant of the German ramjet research projects, but the U.S. had managed to smuggle out most of the actual scientists and the crucial liquidhydrogen results. The aircraft lurched again, shook as if the wings were going to peel away at the roots, stooped. One of the Pacific Aircraft researchers had said something about eventually flying right into outer space if they could lick the problem of combustion in a supersonic airstream; damned long-hairs had no sense of need-to-know, shouldn't have been talking like that in a canteen. "Tabernac'! Another ray guidance beam, something's coming up after us!" Of course, he reminded himself, the U.S. hadn't gotten all the German scientists; some had stayed, captives or those who had taken the Domination's offer of Citizen status for themselves and their immediate families. And the Draka army's Technical Section had good ideas too, sometimes; it was propaganda that they stole all their inventions. "Positive detection. fille d' un putain, three of them; not manned, not at those speeds. They're closing on us, they must be riding the beam. Hold on, Captain, I'm dropping chaff and taking evasive action." You mean this battering about wasn't evasive action? Kustaa thought plaintively. This was as bad as going down the tunnels after the Nips, back on Sumatra in forty three, pushing the flamethrower ahead into the cramped mudsmelling blackness. Japanese, Captain, Japanese, he reminded himself. Part of the Alliance for Democracy now, they'd be associate signatories to the Rio Pact as soon as Halleck and the Army of Occupation got through restructuring. Couldn't call the little yellow bastards monkey-men anymore. His mind skipped, nerves jumping in obedience to a fight-flight reflex that was pumping him full of adrenaline. And all I can do is sweat, he thought wryly. He could feel it trickling down his flanks, smell the rankness and taste salt on his upper lip. Think, he commanded himself. You're not an animal driven by instinct, think. Unmanned antiaircraft missiles, a typical Draka brute-force solution. Crude engines would be enough, if they were intended to burn out after a single use. The U.S., he corrected himself mentally, the Alliance, didn't have guidance systems small and rugged enough for a missile like that, although they would soon, so the Domination wouldn't either; they were years behind in electronics. But they could put the tracking and electro detection on the ground, just a passive receptor-steering system on the missile itself, that and a big simple two-stage drive and a warhead. Christ have mercy, I hope it isn't an atomic, he thought. Probably not, they were still rare and mostly reserved for strategic use, but the Draka would be willing to explode one over a populated area. Populated by serfs, that is. Jets and atomic bombs built by slaves, he thought. Insane. The Domination was madness come to earth; he shivered, remembering his liaison-work with the Draka army, during the misbegotten period of joint action against Hitler. Gray faces of the Belgian farmers as they prepared to drive their tractors out over the minefields. And the sick wet noises of the one who had refused, seated on an impaling-stake cut out of the little forest; his feet had scuffed around and around as he tried to rise off the rough wood sunk a foot deep into his gut, and blood and shit dribbled down the bark. Some of the Draka dug in at the treeline had laughed, at him or at the explosions and screams in the plowed field ahead. The B-30 went thump, absurdly like an autosteamer going over a bump at speed, and the sensation was repeated. That would be the strips of foil being ejected, hopefully to baffle the Draka electrodetectors. Acceleration slammed him down and to the side; they were climbing and banking, and metal groaned around him as the big aircraft was stressed to ten-tenths of its capacity. "Still locked on. Merde, Coming up on target. Prepare for ejection. Captain." The pilot's voice was full of a tense calm; Air Force tradition, cando, wild blue yonder. His heart lurched, and his mind refused to believe the time had gone so fast, so fast; it was like the wait between boarding the landing-craft and the moment the ramp went down on the beach. Kustaa wished he could spit out the gummy saliva filling his mouth, as he had running waist-deep through the surf in a landing-zone. Some men did that, some were silent and some shrieked wordlessly, a few shouted the traditional gung-ho and a surprising number pissed their pants or shat themselves; you never saw that in the papers, but only a recruit was surprised at it. Damn, start out a Gyrene and end up a paratrooper, he thought. "Acknowledged." His circuit was locked open, had to be with his hands strapped down, but there was no point in distracting Emile. "Ten seconds from. Mark." There was no point in bracing himself, the harness was as like a womb as the technicians could make it. Nine, he counted to himself. He had married in forty one, right after the Nips had attacked Hawaii; they had planned to wait until he finished the engineering course, but being a Marine private was a high-risk occupation. Aino had spent the war years in San Diego working in a shipyard. They had bought one of the new suburban ranch-style bungalows that started springing up around L.A. right after the Armistice. Eight. The sweating dreams had been bad, waking screaming as the bunker door opened and the calcinated body of the Japanese soldier dropped out onto him, knocking him down in an obscene embrace with their faces an inch apart; Aino had held him and asked no questions, even when it woke little Maila. Seven. She hadn't wanted him to continue with the OSS, especially not when it meant moving back East to New York; the capital was no place to raise a family. She had seen to the sale of the home where she had expected to live the rest of her life, doggedly settled into the Long Island brownstone, entertained his co-workers on awkward evenings when nobody could talk shop and long silences fell. Six. They had been out to a movie, a Civil-War epic called President Douglas; the newsreel had been a political piece, film of a serf-auction in Archona. The usual sensational stuff lifted from the Domination's news services, no routine shots of black factory-hands here, ABS-Path way knew their audience found injustice more titillating spiced with sex and inflicted on white people. A showing of high-cost European concubines in heels and jewelry and nothing else, parading down an elevated walkway; the American film-editors had inserted black rectangles to keep the Catholic Decency League happy. The shabby refugee beside her had stood and begun screaming, pointing at the screen. "Mein Gott, Christina, Christina!" Still screaming, climbing over the seats with clawed hands outstretched towards the smiling blond image standing hand-on-hip. He was screaming as the attendants carried him away. Five. Kustaa's wife had not objected to his volunteering for secret duty after that. He dreamed of the bunker less, now; but sometimes it was the refugee who stumbled through the steel-plate door in the nightmare, and the face was his own. Four. It was not getting agents into Europe that was the trouble, it was moving them around, harder each month as more and more of the population vanished into pens and compounds. The Domination had leaned on its "allies" to reveal their Resistance contacts during the War, and had been politely refused. Some of the networks still survived, incredibly, but they were useful mostly for small stuff, escape-conduits and microfilm. Virtually impossible to move in equipment, except a few microscopic loads by submarine on wilderness coasts. Three. His tongue touched the false tooth at the back of his mouth; melodrama, bad Hollywood, but he knew too much. It was lousy tradecraft, sending him in multiply tasked. There were too many contact-names and dates and codes in his head, but what was the alternative? Besides, they needed a survey, an overview of what was going on. If only they could get deep-cover agents into the Security Directorate! It was easy enough to slip in agents posing as Europeans or Chinese, it would be years before a billion individuals could be necked and registered, but every Citizen's identity was established from birth and there were only forty million of them. Two. Of course, the Draka had probably slipped hundreds through with the vast flood of refugees that had poured across the English channel in the last days of the War, when the Domination's armies were driving for the Atlantic. More would come through with every boatload of escapees, probably many sleepers under deep cover, it was long-term planning and the Draka thought that way, but what could you do? One. He had seen his daughter take her first steps on his last leave; Aino had looked up, and as their eyes met, Impact. Blackness. A yell of satisfaction filled the electrodetection center of Nordkappen Base. The third missile's trajectory intersected the American aircraft's flightpath, and the sound rose to a howl; fell away to a disgusted mutter as it winked out and the blip of the intruder re-emerged. Merarch Labushange ground out another half-smoked cigarette; an attendant had brought his shirt and tunic, but the rims of his eyes were still a bloodshot red. He rose in disgust, then checked. "Wait a minute," he muttered. Then: "Cross-patch on that; increase resolution." He leaned forward to watch one screen, then another; swiveled to view a third that received its input from an automatic station in the mountains to the south. "She's shedding something," he said quietly. "Increase resolution again, maximum. Look!" His finger stabbed out. Half a dozen traces were spreading out from the veering curve of the American aircraft. Smaller, much smaller, curving and falling. "Is she breaking up?" the floor officer said hopefully, cradling her coffeecup. Labushange shook his head. "At that speed? It'd be over by now. Lose aerodynamic stability at Mach 2 and you'd be metallic confetti; she's maintaining velocity. Increasin', if anything; and turning north." His head turned to the nearest operator with a gun-turret precision. "Give me a ballistic trajectory on that debris, unguided." The operator frowned, adjusting and calculating; his fingers danced over the controls while his eyes stayed fixed on the hooded green glow of the screen. "Faint, almost as if they were non-metallic. Hum, if'n they don't change direction after they drop below our detection horizon, central Finland, sir." "So, so, oh, clever little Yankees; force us to show our best defenses, get back with the data, 'n drop good things to the worst troublespot in Europe." Labushange closed his eyes and rose on the balls of his feet, biting his lower lip in thought. Then the orders came, spoken with a triphammer beat. "Get me a teleprinter patch; East Baltic H Q, Riga. Route it though to Europe Command in Marseille, and to Castle Tarleton. Copies to Security liaison, all along. Then." Kustaa was unconscious as the pod fell, the flexing snap of deceleration striking like a horse's hoof. It needed no guidance, a ton-weight egg of soft curves and dull, nonreflective coating that would make any but the most sophisticated electrodetector underestimate its size. Plummeting, tumbling, then turning to present its broadest end to the earth as wei

Rahan. The son of the fierce ages. Episode Sixty-Nine. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The weapon of terror. The men who had chased him reappeared between the charred trees and the son of Crao resumed his course. The charred branches cracked under his feet and with each stride he raised a cloud of charred dust. Oh. Perhaps these caves lead to the other side of the hills? The fugitive had a choice, since six caves were available to him! As he rushed towards the one that seemed the largest, a clamor of fear rose behind him. Page Two. And He noticed that his pursuers stood still, as if stunned by a sacrilegious act! Perhaps this cave is sacred to them? In this case, Rahan will be safe from their spears! The clan, intoning a funeral chant, in fact withdrew. The sentences carried by the wind which reached Rahan announced "The imminent death of the hunter with the hair of fire." Strange! They announce the death of Rahan and seem to deplore it! The cave was, in fact, quite small and had no other exit than the entrance. A lava flow had once been stopped by these hills and the cracks in the ground were full of sand the color of "Fruits of the Sun". A white powder fell from the crumbly walls, mixing with the black dust carried by the wind. Hum! Rahan was not the only one to seek refuge here! Page Three. As night fell, the son of Crao heard the rumble of a "Gorak" He is very close! He approaches! The “Gorak” goes wild when we confront him. But his fury falls before a lifeless prey! Lying on his back, Rahan held his breath when the saber-toothed tiger appeared. But his hand tightened firmly on the ivory knife. The big beast approached and smelled the man. When his instinct told him that the life inhabited this body, it was too late for him! Ra-ha-ha! For a moment Rahan thought he had been cowardly. No! In front of a "Gorak" cunning is not cowardly! But more will come if Rahan does not light a fire. Page Four. At the entrance to the cave he cut some dead branches. His fire, he knew, would keep the wild animals away. He had discovered flints on the powdery ground. He made a spark emerge. And it was terrifying! With a sound like an angry volcano the cave seemed to burst! The breath of this fantastic explosion threw the son of fierce ages thirty steps away! Baroom! Page Five. “Hair-of-fire” is still alive! Thick smoke was still escaping from the cave when hunters discovered him. His sacrilege nevertheless deserved death! The shock was so violent that Rahan did not regain consciousness until daybreak. Men surrounded him. We were not pursuing you yesterday. We wanted to tell you how dangerous it is to approach the “thundering caves”! You should not have run away from us "Hair of Fire." Rahan does not understand. He only struck the “Star-Throwing Stones.” And. It was enough to unleash the wrath of the cave! Taiwa, the leader of this clan, related how, one night, his brother had been torn to pieces in another cave. The unfortunate man believed that the light of his torch would chase away evil spirits! Page Six. And yet Arrix had warned him. We never challenge these evil spirits with impunity! "Hair of Fire" should be punished for arousing their anger! Rahan does not believe in "Evil spirits"! Taiwa's brother had a torch to enter the cave. And Rahan made a spark. It is the fire that makes the caves thunder! Rahan will discover why! He will prove to Arrix the sorcerer that evil spirits do not exist! Nothing could have stopped the son of Crao from returning to the mysterious caves. Arrix still spoke of "Sacrilege", but the hunters admired his courage when he entered the one where he had almost died. Of the great charred "Gorak", only a few bones and ashes remained. The smoke and flames had blackened the walls. Page Seven. And Rahan noticed a strange thing. The lava floor was now bare. The flows of yellow sand, the layer of black dust and white powder had disappeared! The “dust of the cave” has burned. And maybe that was the one who thundered!? In these wild times, such an assumption defied understanding. But the son of Crao knew nature was capable of very strange things! An instant later he entered another cave. Here, the yellow streams were numerous, the trails of coal dust were wide. The layer of white powder was thick. Rahan could not know that it was sulfur, and saltpeter. Worried cries erupted when he appeared with the small piles of powder. Hair of Fire provokes the evil spirits. Fear nothing! Rahan thinks it is one of those powders that "Thunders." He wants to know which one! Page Eight. A little later. Stay where you are. Rahan will join you! The son of fierce ages lit fine lines buried in the three powders. And ran towards the hunters. Arrix will know that the “Thundering Caves” are not haunted by “Evil Spirits”! Everyone held their breath. The little flames gnawed at the vines, approaching the small piles. They reached the black powder, then the white, then the yellow. And nothing happened! “Hair of Fire” wants to deceive our clan! Kill him immediately! Arrix-the-witch had triumphed and the hunters stared at the son of Crao with anger. Page Nine. But he did not resign himself so quickly to failure. Wait! The powders may only “Thunder” when mixed! He made a pile of the three powders and lit the vine. Again there was silence. And pointed looks. And suddenly. Ka-Boom! A muffled noise resounded as a high flame rose, which went out almost immediately. The powder had disappeared. Does Arrix still believe in “Evil Spirits”? Rahan was right to believe in the power of powders! That flame had nothing to compare with those of the caves! The caves thunder in such a terrifying way, because the powders are there in large quantities and because they are trapped in there! Rahan will prove it to you! Page Ten. The son of Crao had had a new experience that day. In this bamboo, the three powders should make a loud "Thunder"! Oh! As he had almost spilled the powder, he decided to block the bamboo with a plug of clay. Attention, stay away! This time the explosion was so strong that, although he moved away, he was thrown to the ground by the blast. Ka-boom! Rahan has discovered a wonderful and terrible secret! The “Two-toothed” themselves would flee before these “bamboos that Thunder”! This demonstration definitely chipped away at the authority of Arrix-the-sorcerer. And it was more so in the days that followed. Page Eleven. The son of ages tried new blends. More white powder and less yellow increased the power of the “Thundering Bamboos” “Hair-of-Fire” will soon have more influence over the clan than you do, Taiwa. Since we know the secret of the powders, you should chase him away! Unaware of the sorcerer's intrigues, Rahan continuously experimented with the "bamboos that thunder”. Let us see their effect in the river, brothers! Hum! The water extinguishes the vine! We should protect the embers for a moment. Just a little moment. That morning he imagined a cover to protect the fuse of the explosive. And the result was astonishing. Page Twelve. A spray rose and dozens of fish came floating to the surface. When game becomes scarce, the river will feed the clan! A dull rumble in the mountain, suddenly interrupted the "Fishing." An avalanche! Quickly Rahan, To the big cave! There always the clan takes refuge! Large rocks were moving down the slope, dragging others down in their fall, creating a torrent of granite. And the avalanche stopped as suddenly as it had begun. We will never see ours again! Beyond the deserted village, the entrance to the large cavern was blocked by huge rocks. Taiwa. Arrix. Our women, Our children. All will die in the belly of the mountain! Page thirteen. No! The “Bamboos that Thunder” will save them! In the black gap of an interstice he threw some “Bamboos.” Then he plunged the torch into it. Run away! Flee! Baroom! He had barely rejoined his companions when the explosion shook the landslide. Rocks were still crumbling. But a breach had been made A gateway to life! Taiwa and Arrix appeared first. Then the hunters. Then the women and children. The night that followed was a night of celebration. But it was disturbed by a harangue from Arrix. Do not forget, my brothers, that the “Thundering Bamboos” give us “Almighty power”! Page Fourteen. We will be able, thanks to them, to decimate those of the Green Valley and seize their territory, which is so full of game! Arrix is more disgusting than a monster! Thundering Powder" should not be used against "Those Who Walk Upright"! The sorcerer roared. Your tongue chatters too much "Hair of Fire"! Our young warriors will snatch it from you! As an eddy stirred in the hunters, the son of Crao jumped towards the fire, a "Thundering Bamboo" in his hand. Rahan awaits your young warriors, Arrix! Calm returned, but Rahan had a premonition that the ignoble idea of Arrix would permeate into their primitive minds. Rahan had simply wanted to discover the secret of the powders. Page Fifteen. But he does not want their terrifying power to be used against men! Obsessed by his thoughts, he could not sleep. He observed the sleeping village. The hut of Taiwa, and that of the sorcerer. And suddenly. Ooh! Arrix is not sleeping either. But what is he afraid of? Casting worried glances around him, the wizard crawled out of his hut. And the son of fierce ages saw him heading towards the lava flow. Towards the “Thundering Caves”! A moment later he surprised the trickster filling a “Bamboo” with powder. He saw many other "Thundering Bamboos", no doubt prepared the previous nights. Arrix has not abandoned his criminal ideas! Page Sixteen. With these “Sticks” Arrix will impose his law! Taiwa will have to obey him! We will annihilate those of the Green Valley! Blinded by the jet of powder, Rahan backed away. He fell against a stone and lost his balance. Ha-ha-ha! The “Territory of Shadows” awaits you, “Firehair”! Between his powder-covered eyelashes, the son of Crao caught a glimpse of the sorcerer brandishing his spear. His hand instinctively closed around a large flint. Arrix jumped back to avoid the projectile. And. As a fantastic explosion shook the cave, the silhouette of his disjointed body was silhouetted against the dazzling light. Page Seventeen. Other explosions followed. Those of the “Bamboos-that-thunder” accumulated by the sorcerer. Why did Rahan make the cave thunder?! Rahan recounted what he had just seen, what he had just done. The stone-that-throws-stars missed Arrix, but it must have hit the wall to make a spark. So, this cheat prepared “Thundering Bamboos.” Unbeknownst to the clan! And he wanted to lead your people into war! The son of fierce ages was serious. Rahan should not have discovered the secret of the caves! The powder gives too much power to those who have bad thoughts! He looked at the caves. The one where the sorcerer had just died, and which was still smoking. The one where Taiwa's brother had been torn to pieces. The one where he himself had almost died. These three were forever harmless. Page Eighteen. But there were still the others! What are you doing? Rahan rushed towards the village where the fire was still burning. He soon appeared again, with three torches. No one knows if your people, or other hunters, will not one day give in to bad thoughts! But Rahan will not give them the means to decimate themselves! The torch flew towards the giant mouth of a cave. The explosion was still shaking the hill when he threw the other torches into the last two caves. All the powder will burn! The caves will never thunder again, brothers! The explosions. Flames. Smoke. The son of fierce ages seemed to have emerged from an inferno. But this “Devil” only proclaimed words of peace, this precious good of “Those-who-walk-upright,” men. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Sixty-Eight. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Captive of the great river. The wind had died down, but Rahan, amazed, noticed that the large skin sail was inflating in the opposite direction to the raft's movement! He understood that this phenomenon was due to the speed of the skiff. That an increasingly rapid current carried him towards the horizon. The force of this current became such that its "rudder" no longer had any effect. The son of Crao could not have known, not yet, that this one, which fed hundreds of rivers, poured its waters into a gigantic gorge. Page Two. The current thus created carried him irresistibly towards these falls, and nothing could stop this race towards death. He saw a rocky island beyond which the lake ended abruptly! A dull growl reached him. If Rahan does not reach this island, it is the "Territory of Shadows" that awaits him! He tried to change the course of his skiff. The latter, helpless, turned on itself and. Glided on the tumultuous flow, and rushed towards the islet that was circled with foam. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan will see the sun set! Page Three. The shock was incredibly violent. The raft broke apart and its trunks disappeared between the rocks whipped by the waves. Entangled under the main sail, the son of Crao managed to free himself. A few trunks remained stuck in the rocks, but most were carried towards the thundering falls, two arrow-shots from the islet. Rahan will not be able to rebuild his raft! The rocks on this side of the islet had been worn and polished by the waves. The others arose from sharp edges. Suddenly. Oh! A killer from the sky! Rahan used this name for the pterodactyl. This one held a very young boar in its beak. Page Four. The bird released its prey and, flapping its wings, fluttered towards the son of Crao. Rahan understands! You do not want to share this refuge with him! Rahan dodged the first peck. His ivory knife was going to strike when. Stop, Man! Do not kill "Arak"! Rahan was frozen in astonishment. An old man was finding it difficult to extricate himself from a fault in the rocks. I am Kaagou. And “Arak” is my companion! Approach. Approach. You are the first man I have seen since my raft, like yours, was shattered on this cursed island! Every time the river carries the dead leaves, I draw a new sign! There were signs that numbered twice the fingers of both hands! Rahan was still just a little man when Kaagou ended up here! Yes! Kaagou and his brothers wanted to know where the big lake ended. Page Five. But the flood carried them away, no doubt like you. Kaagou was luckier than his people, who were swallowed up by the falls! Kaagou had another chance. Being able to treat an injured bird. Since then, “Arak” has remained faithful to him. He is the one who hunts and fishes for Kaagou. And Kaagou will live like this until his last day! Rahan will not remain prisoner of the river! The old man gave a sad smile. Kaagou believed it too, at first. How can you make a skiff on this island without trees!? And how can you swim without being caught by these falls!? Page Six. Any attempt was not only impossible, but also unthinkable. And the days passed. "Arak" brought back enough fish to feed the captives of the river. The vision of distant but inaccessible forests, like the incessant roar of the falls exasperated the son of Crao. Ah! If Rahan could fly like "Arak"! This idea haunted him until the morning when, Do you think “Arak” could take away Rahan!? Rahan is no longer in his right mind! But if he wants to try this madness, Kaagou can only wish him good luck! If Rahan succeeds, Kaakou will be able to abandon these cursed rocks in turn. “Arak” will come and get him! Alas. It will not be so, my son! The large pterodactyl was docile and powerful. The son of fierce ages hung on his legs, and he seemed to rise quite easily. Page Seven. But, very quickly, he showed signs of fatigue. Rahan discovered the staggering spectacle of the falls. Everything beneath him was fantastic. The torrent of water surged to a height he never imagined. The swirls and whirlpools only subsided near the falls. Too far! Return, "Arak", return! You will not be able to go any further! The exhausted pterodactyl was falling almost headlong towards the raging waves! However, he found the strength to regain height and returned, gliding, towards the rocky islet. Rahan cannot blame you, "Arak"! His idea was crazy! A little later. Do you understand that we cannot escape the river? You will have to live here until the end of your days! After Kaagou's death, you will be left with "Arak"! Page Eight. No! No! Rahan will find a way to escape this island! He saw! He now knows that a few stone's throws from the falls, the river becomes peaceful again! The thought of growing old, and then dying on these rocks, captive of the river, was untenable to the son of Crao. But what could he do except feel the claw on his necklace which symbolized “confidence”? As night fell, he felt the urge to light a fire. And he thought of the trunks stuck in the rocks. The trunks were still there, near the skin sail. But the wood, soaked in water, did not catch the sparks of his stones. We will not have a fire, Kaagou. It will be a night like any other! As always, there was the sound of the current in the center of the island. As always, the incessant roar of the falls, the same whistling of the wind. And yet this night was not like the others! Page Nine. Rahan knows how to escape, Kaagou! You will be thrown into the falls, you and these trunks! Trunks, yes! But Rahan will fly to the “Calm Waters!” The skins will bear him better than the wings of "Arak"! The old man thought that his companion had definitely lost his mind. He was wrong. Rahan had dreamed of the wings of "Arak" and the wind inflating the mainsail! The wings. The wind. The ideas had merged to form one! And that was why Kaagou found him, at daybreak, on the side of the islet facing the falls, straddling two trunks. Goodbye Kaagou! If Rahan fails this time again, you will find him in the territory of shadows! Farewell! The wind suddenly swelled the sail that the son of Crao had just released. Page Ten. And, Kaagou-the elder thought he was dreaming. The skin rose and Rahan left the rocks. The wind, adding to the current, carried him away at a crazy speed. Tightly gripping the trunks with his legs, Rahan caught a glimpse of "Arak" who was escorting him. The roar of the falls became deafening. And the abyss opened before him! The trunks suddenly reared up, propelling him into the void. If his sail did not support him it was certain death! Page Eleven. Clinging to the vines, he saw the gulf of water and terrifying swirls rising towards him. The son of Crao fell! But he was falling slowly. Hanging from the sail, he was moving away from the falls! It was an agonizing descent, obliquely above the whirlpools. Ra-ha-ha! The falls thundered in the distance. The current which he was approaching was certainly still formidable, but it had crossed the deadly zone. Carried by the sail, he plowed into the foaming surface and, to regain mastery of his movements, he released the vines. Page Twelve. A powerful swirl turned him around, another drew him towards the depths. But these last manifestations of the river's anger. Could no longer jeopardize the life of a swimmer like Rahan. Rahan knew how to soar like a bird. Now he swims like a fish! The current became less strong, but the shore was still far away. When the son of Crao reached it, his strength abandoned him. He lay down on the sand, and before falling asleep, he thought of old Kaagou who had remained forever a captive to the river! He slept for a very long time because the sun was rising behind the falls, when strange murmurings woke him up. What? What? Page thirteen. Dozens of men, face down, were prostrate around him! They suddenly stopped their prayer. The “God-Who-Flies” is awake! Stand up, brothers! We saw you flying above the "Rumbling Waters"! All night, we prayed for you while waiting for you to wake up! You probably come from the “territory of the Gods”! Our clan is flattered by the honor you do it! Rahan is not a god. He is only the son of Crao, a simple hunter like you! Why are you lying? Our eyes have not deceived us! You had a big wing above your head and you were flying! Our clan would like to see you fly again! Uh!? It is impossible. Page Fourteen. Rahan spoke of the wind. A skin sail. From the height of the falls. Which allowed him to glide. You are making all this up because you refuse to fly in front of us! Do you despise our clan? Be careful “God-that-flies”! Our clan will not hesitate to kill a god who despises it! The hunters, clutching their assegais, had become threatening! Marrak demands that you fly in front of his brothers! If you refuse, their spears will tear your chest open! The son of Crao felt that these men would not hesitate to carry out the execution. But, observing the puny Marrak, he suddenly had an idea. Rahan will fly, But on one condition. Marrak must defeat him in a fair fight! Page Fifteen. If Marrak triumphs, Rahan will fly, otherwise he will not fly! Our clan accepts! Rahan smiled. He knew he was capable of defeating the leader with the first strike! But. Our clan accepts, but Marrak cannot ignore the custom that prohibits the leader from fighting! This is why Ogloo will fight in his name! Rahan's smile froze, the colossus who was approaching was a head taller than him! But he could not refuse without unleashing the hunters. May the “God-Who-Flies” and Ogloo face each other fairly! The fight began and the son of Crao immediately felt that it would turn out badly for him! Ogloo, who engulfed him, had the strength of a large four-hands. Page Sixteen. And he could not loosen his grip. If Rahan loses, they will kill him, so he will not be able to "Fly"! Rahan had unusual strength. But did not Crao-the-sage say “that we always end up meeting someone stronger than ourselves! That day had come! He felt himself torn from the ground and found himself, dazed, five steps from his adversary. Ogloo has won! The “god-who-flies” must keep his promise! The son of fierce ages had only one goal left: Escape as quickly as possible from these men who attributed to him a power that he would never have! The circle of assegais prevented him from doing so. It is understood. Rahan is going to fly, but he has to climb this tree. Page Seventeen. A moment later, he saw beyond the foliage, the course of the great river. Salvation was on this side! A clamor arose when he let himself fall into the void! The god is flying! The god is flying! The son of Crao, in fact, now gave the impression of flying. Fluttering from one vine to another, he moved away into the kingdom of the "Four-Hands". And the hunters followed him. And cheered each of his jumps. The “God-Who-Flies” is leaving! The “God-Who-Flies” is leaving us! No doubt he is angry with the clan. We should not have forced him to fly! Oh! Look! Page Eighteen. High above, Rahan had just abandoned a long vine. His tense body passed like an arrow above the tall thickets. And he dived towards the calm of the river. The clan screamed with joy, convinced that they had been visited by a supernatural being. Rahan could join them. But. They would end up demanding that he fly without the help of the lines! But Rahan is not a bird! Very high in the sky, in fact, hovered a large bird. And the son of Crao thought he recognized "Arak." While the light current carried him away, he thought of everything that the bird had discovered and that his master would never see! He thought of the old man forever captive of the great river, who would continue to engrave a sign in the rock each time he reached the season of dead leaves. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Sixty-Seven. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Bird that runs. Horrified, the son of Crao froze when he saw the head on the ground. Because even in those wild times, it was rare for “Those-who-walk-upright” to behead each other! Horror gave way to astonishment when the face came to life. Go on your way, hunter. Gahoa must atone for his faults! Buried, up to his chin, the man must have suffered. But he was not complaining. Rahan will take Gahoa from the earth trap! Page Two. While the knife dug and dug, Gahoa protested. Stop, “Hair of Fire”! You are violating the custom of the Clan! Stop! But the son of Crao did not rest until the victim of torture was freed! Mine will turn their anger against you! Rahan hates seeing “those-who-walk-standing-up” suffer! But what fault did Gahoa commit to deserve such cruel torture? Gahoa was hungry. Very hungry. He ate a sacred egg! It was right for the clan to punish him! But Gahoa would have been freed by sunset! My brothers are fair and loyal! But their anger will be great when they know that you have violated our custom! Run away from here, “Firehair”! Flee our territory! Page Three. And Gahoa himself fled into the thickets, admonishing Rahan who was left to be perplexed. Did Rahan do something wrong? No! Rahan is right! Soon after, the son of wild ages, wandered here and there looking for food, when. Oh! Are these the “Sacred Eggs” that Gahoa spoke about?! The eggs lay in a hollow in the sand, and resembled stones. But they were indeed huge eggs, as big as “fruits of wood.” Eggs like he had never seen! Rahan was holding out his hand when a loud cackle came from behind him. Oh! The strange birds! If they shout like that it means the eggs belong to them! The son of wild ages had never met ostriches before. The silhouette of these birds amazed him. Crao sometimes spoke of "The Running Bird"! Page Four. As he approached, the panicked ostriches scampered away on their long legs, their necks stiff like bamboo. Ha-ha-ha! That is right! These birds do not fly. They run! Then began a merry pursuit. But Rahan means you no harm! He just wants to see you up close. To touch your plumage! Amused, Rahan picked up the pace. His fingers reached out to grip a plumed tail. And. Oh! Rahan begs your pardon, “Bird who runs! A splendid feather, thick and silky, remained in his hand! The ostriches were already far away. The son of Crao returned to the eggs, which a large reptile was contemplating! Rahan discovered the eggs before you, “Boak”! They are his! Page Five. Rahan had always hated snakes. Like this one, that raised its threatening head. Do you hear “Boak”?! Rahan will not let you eat his eggs! The branch whipped him with such violence that his flesh burst! Ra-ha-ha! He recovered heavily, breaking an egg whose contents spilled out. And Rahan exclaimed that the yellow was bigger than his fist! Just one egg could satisfy the hunger of a hunter! Rahan does not believe these eggs are "Sacred". But they will be very precious to him! Cries of men arose in the distance and the son of Crao, grieving more for his "Find" than for himself. Hid the two eggs under a layer of clay. Gahoa has undoubtedly found his own. They are approaching. Page Six. Indeed, Gahoa was accompanied by hunters who searched the thickets. But Rahan, who knew the art of hiding, was not discovered. They could come back. Rahan will leave his eggs in their hiding place! As night fell, he lit a fire by which he intended to watch. But fatigue got the better of him and he did not wake up until dawn. He observed the still warm ashes and. The eggs? Cracked under the effect of the heat, the clay mass revealed the eggs. Which rang curiously under the point of the knife. Rahan remained immobile. Although he expected to find a clear, sticky liquid. He discovered under the thin “skin-of-stone”, another white and firm egg. Page Seven. His delight grew even more when he noticed that he could cut egg slices! Therefore, the “clay” burned in the fire, has this wonderful power! Hum, Rahan has never had an egg this good! He would like to know if “clay-earth” also makes meat or fish better! The son of Crao, shortly after, was lying in wait at the edge of a stream. Trout were swimming in the clear water. Their movements were lively and precise. If a raft had a tail like these fish, Rahan could drive it wherever he wanted! Rahan never missed an opportunity to observe nature. And always took advantage of his observations. But, in the meantime, he spied a superb trout. Page Eight. His hand plunged with incredible suddenness. His fingers grabbed the fish, just behind the gills. Ra-ha-ha! Shortly after, this fish was wrapped in clay and placed on the heated fire. Rahan just has to wait! Playing with the long and soft ostrich feather, the son of Crao observed the clay which slowly cracked, when. You will not escape us “Hair of fire”! By rescuing Gahoa before his time, you challenged us! The hunters who launched themselves were not armed, but numerous. And not only ado you challenge the clan, but you have outraged a "Running Bird"! And you ate a sacred egg! Indignant, the chief pointed to the large feather and the remains of the shell. Page Nine. Then, intrigued, he leaned towards the fire. But what demon are you to eat earth! Rahan does not eat the earth. But what he is cooking inside! With a blow of his knife, Rahan broke the baked earthenware mold. A delicious smell escaped. What? What? The astonishment of these men did not diminish their anger. You know things that our clan does not know “Hair of fire”! But that won't spare you the punishment you deserve! May our law be respected, brothers! Let “Fire Hair” meditate on his faults until the next return of the sun! Ten men rushed forward, which the son of Crao tried to resist. Ra-ha-ha! Page Ten. Although unequal, it was a fair and honest fight. The hunters showed firmness, but not hatred. And Rahan was finally knocked to the ground. His wrists were tied. You are stupid hunters! Rahan hopes you will understand it one day! Other men were already digging a hole, with sticks in their hands. Rahan will suffer the same punishment as Gahoa! Indeed, the son of Crao was pushed into this hole, which was filled again. And if Fear consumes you, you can always beg for the clemency of the clan! Ha-ha-ha! “Hair of Fire” is a prisoner of the earth. Like his fish of the clay! The hunters disappeared, abandoning their captive to the burning fire of the sun. Page Eleven. It was impossible to free himself from the earth trap, and until the end of the day Rahan suffered from thirst. But, at dusk, a man crept towards him. It was Gahoa. Drink, “Fire hair”, drink! Gahoa cannot do anything else for you! And Gahoa disappeared into the darkness. A long night began for the prisoner. A night of anxiety. Rahan is at the mercy of the first beast that passes by! Wild animals were roaming in the forest and suddenly, a panther appeared in the moonlight. She approached. Rahan will join the territory of the shadows. When the feline raised her clawed paw, the son of fierce ages, dominating his fear, did not utter a word that could have excited the beast. He held his breath and closed his eyes. Page Twelve. When he reopened them, the beast, without doubt finding no interest in this lifeless "Thing", was walking away. Rahan has never been so scared! With the day, a new danger was presented, more unexpected but just as worrying. The Birds who run! Very interested, the ostriches surround him. The boldest one gave him a quick peck. Then another. These blows were painful but bearable. Fearful of being harassed with pecks which, sooner or later, would put out his eyes, the son of Crao howled. Ra-ha-ha! And the frightened ostriches scattered around. Had it not been for his situation, this frantic flight would have made Rahan smile. Page thirteen. The hunters reappeared shortly after. The punishment is over "Fire hair"! We will free you! If you wish, you can stay with us! With ardor, the men cleared the earth. Was “Hair of Fire” not afraid? Yes. Rahan was very scared! Our clan loves those who admit their fear! Rahan was pulled out of the hole when a howl of terror rang out. The “Nandouk”! The “Nandouk”! In an instant, it was panic. The hunters were running away from all sides, shouting a word that the son of Crao did not know. And he understood the cause of this fear. A fantastic animal was approaching. Twice as tall as a man, this monstrous bird, like the ostriches, seemed incapable of flight. Its legs were massive, its neck thick and its beak enormous. Page Fourteen. Hoping that this monster would flee like the "Running Birds", Rahan uttered his cry. Back Nandouk! Ra-ha-ha! But the bird, far from fleeing, charged! The son of Crao, his hands still hampered, did not have time to dodge! Ah! A peck of incredible violence threw him to the ground! And the rest was terrifying. The Nandouk jumped around Rahan who was writhing desperately on the ground to avoid the pecks, any one of which could have dis-embowelled him! Ten times this monstrous beak plunged towards him. And he managed to avoid it ten times! Rahan is doomed if he does not manage to get up! Page Fifteen. Between two attacks he managed to stand up. Fleeing was his only chance to survive! Ra-ha-ha! Rahan never imagined that he would one day run away. From A bird! His restrained hands unbalanced his running and the "Nandouk" was already on his heels! A terrible blow to the back threw him to the ground again! Argh! He had an instinctive reaction and his freed hands broke his fall! The monster's blow had broken his Bonds. Ra-ha-ha! He immediately stood up and faced the "Nandouk" which was preparing a new attack. Clutching his faithful ivory knife gave him hope. Page Sixteen. But this hope immediately dissipated. He could not approach to strike. And he refused to throw the cutlass for fear of missing a vital organ and finding himself disarmed. Rahan knows how to triumph over you, “Nandouk”! The son of Crao suddenly rushed towards the forest, pursued by the giant bird. An instant later, he ducked into the branches where the monster could not follow him. But it remained on the lookout under the tree! And Rahan, who was making a strong lasso, did not want anything else. You are going to fly for the first time in your life, "Nandouk"! The bird, which observed the man with its cruel eyes, did not react even when the long loop sprung from the foliage. Page Seventeen. It slipped over her plumage, fell onto the ground, and was ready to snare her enormous legs. And Rahan plunged into the void! Ra-ha-ha! He was finishing tying the vine to a root when the hunters came running. You will no longer have to fear the “Nandouk” brothers! In fact, the monstrous bird was suspended by its legs, and it was now at the mercy of these men. Rahan achieved something that our hunters have wanted for ages! He deserves the “Feather of Bravery”! Plucking an ostrich feather from his loincloth, the chief offered it to the son of Crao. Would Rahan also have the right to eat the sacred eggs? Rahan will have this privilege! But not my brothers! Page Eighteen. Why this interdiction? Because the “Running Birds” are the main food of the clan. If we ate their eggs. There would be no more "little ones", therefore no more "Big ones" and therefore no more eggs! And we would experience famine! Rahan recognized the wisdom of this reasoning. He stayed for some time among these men who now cooked the flesh of the "Running Birds" in clay molds. But Rahan could not integrate into this clan. There was so much left for him to discover! And his knife, that morning, pointed out to him the immense lake. A lake whipped by the wind. A lake where it would be difficult to steer a skiff. And it was then that he thought of the lively trout. Of the trout, and their tails! Page Nineteen. The following days often found him on the lookout. He needed skins to make a sail. And under the amazed eyes of the hunters his boat slowly took shape. To those who cried for a miracle, the son of fierce ages always revealed his secrets. He spoke of trees carried away by the river, which had given him the idea of building platforms. Floating shapes. He spoke of the dead leaves sliding on the trees, which had inspired him with the idea of “skins-pushed by-the-speaking-wind.” Rahan's observations, as we have said, always found an application. So he designed what would be the “tail” of his raft! Page Twenty. And the day of farewells came. Our clan will not forget you “Hair of Fire”! And we want to make you an offering! Men approached, holding out eggs of the “running birds”! They were cooked in the “ground of Clay”! May they allow you to go far away! Very far! Rahan plunged his fork covered with skin into the water. And this “Rudder” was a marvel! The assembled skins swelled in the wind. The raft launched itself away from the shore. Maybe one day Rahan will return, brothers! The raft, docile, obeyed the combined forces of man and the wind! Towards which unknown land was he sailing? The son of fierce ages did not care, still amused as he was by the white escort of the seagulls. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Sixty-Six. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The men without heads. The son of Crao could not find wood supple enough to make a bow. So he thought of a blowgun, to kill one of these birds and satisfy his hunger. He had once discovered the effectiveness of this silent weapon. The bank covered with large dry reeds would provide him with one. These reeds had been pierced by insects. One of them escaped from the reed he cut. The beast that stings will find refuge elsewhere! Page Two. Before slipping a long thorn into his blowgun, he crawled towards the screaming birds. When he was within range he blew and. Almost screamed in astonishment. It was not the thorn that had sprung from the weapon, but a strange sound! Intrigued, he started again, and a new sound arose which lasted as long as he blew. To-e-i-ou! How can the “wind-of-cheeks” make music? Stuck in the orifice of the reed, the thorn will only allow a trickle of air to pass through. And Rahan Noticed that the sounds changed depending on whether he was blocking this or that hole! Delighted, he had fun modulating short sounds, then long ones that resembled complaints. This music is softer, prettier than that of the great horns of the hunters of the “two tooth”! Page Three. The son of Crao forgot his hunger. He forgot the birds. He even forgot his knife, which he had left stuck in the ground. This was why he found himself disarmed when three menacing beings burst out of the thicket! “Hair of Fire” will pay with his life for the suffering that his people have made us endure! The rough trio rushed towards Rahan. Who only had time to grab a solid vine. Rahan does not understand your words! But he will not let himself be killed without a fight! The vine whirled, lashing the faces. But Rahan, retreating, was soon cornered against a rock. Page Four. And suddenly, hit in the forehead by a stone, one of the men collapsed! Tock! The other two fled, terrified! "Hair of fire" has a magic weapon! Rahan looked up for the one who had come to his aid. But he saw nothing and heard nothing. However, this stone did not fly by itself! Oh! He perceived the rock, and saw similar stones on it. An explanation was born in his mind. The vine of Rahan whipped this rock. It was the vine, who grabbed the stone and threw it! Placing the loop of the line around a stone, he pulled violently. And. The projectile whirled away! Ra-ha-ha! Page Five. It is a happy day for Rahan! He has discovered the “Music-Reed” and the “Vine that throws Stones”! Attributing the discovery of the flute and the slingshot to the son of Crao would be very daring, but who knows? The man, a few steps away, came back to himself. “Hair-of-fire” is bad like all his people! He almost broke Gagna's skull! Rahan did not want to kill. He does not kill "Those Who Walk Upright"! But why did Gagna and his brothers attack him? They want revenge for having been treated like animals for so long! Rahan had no time to ask any further questions. Who are you, you who allowed us to catch up with this “Headless Man”? I am Rahan, the son of Crao! And Rahan does not understand why you are brutalizing Gagna! The hunters savagely prodded Gagna with their spears. Page Six. But they showed Rahan considerable respect. Rahan should have no pity for those who have no more brains than the "Four Hands"! Come with us to the village. You will be welcomed there like a brother! Rahan's gaze met Gagna's. There he detected despondency and fear. And he decided to follow these hunters who pushed their captive without care. Why do they call Gagna "The man without a Head"? Rahan wants to know! The group was crossing a vast clearing when a hammering sounded. A “Two Nose”! The rhinoceros that charged was a large male, one of those loners that hunters so feared. They scattered around screaming. Page Seven. And Gagna, taking advantage of this moment of panic, rushed towards the forest. May the “Two Nose” punish the bad men! Too busy looking for shelter, the hunters did not care about the fugitive. Look! "Fire-hair" has lost his mind! Look! The son of Crao rushed towards the pachyderm that had just stopped, looking for men with his tiny eyes. Attack, “Two-nose”! Attack Rahan! Rahan knew he could not defeat such a monster. But he had another purpose. To lure him towards the large pit he had just glimpsed. Attack! “Two-nose”! Would you be afraid of Rahan!? The rhinoceros swung its heavy head, observing the man gesticulating in front of him. Its formidable hoofs plowed the ground. Page Eight. And he charged the excited animal, which had only one desire left. To crush, to destroy this agile being who was fleeing him. This way, “Two Nose!” This way! The son of fierce ages made a sudden turn, imitated by the monster. The pit was only a hundred steps away. The hunters, hiding in the thickets, did not understand. Why had “Fire-hair” attracted the anger of “Two-Nose”? The pachyderm was no more than thirty steps from Rahan. Twenty steps. Fifteen steps. Ten steps. Ra-ha-ha-ha! In a fantastic bound, Rahan had just lept from the ground. Page Nine. He barely held on to the other edge of the pit, while the rhinoceros, on its dash, rushed headlong into the improvised trap! The clamor of the hunters greeted the reappearance of the son of Crao. “Fire Hair” has just proven that he is not a “Man without a Head”! Rahan deserves no special credit. The "Two-noses" are as stupid as they are powerful! And, backing up to gain momentum. Rahan re-crossed the wide pit from which the monster would never escape again. Tamud himself would not have had this idea to get rid of a “Two-nose”! Who is Tamud? Page Ten. Tamud is our sorcerer. He knows a hundred things that others do not! He foresees everything! Did Tamud predict that Gagna wouldl escape you? The men did not notice the irony of the son of Crao. Come, brother. Tamud will be happy to welcome a brave hunter! An important village soon appeared. The huts which stood on the banks of the river were high and solid. The Clan that lived there was visibly more evolved than many others. One thing immediately intrigued the son of fierce ages. An enclosure where several dozen men were kept. Enemies of your clan? The “Men without Heads” are not enemies, they are our slaves! Slaves! Rahan doesn't like hearing this word! Page Eleven. Rahan, shortly after, was presented to Tamud, who showed no admiration when the hunters recounted the exploit of "Hair-of-fire". Rahan was fleeing the "Two-nose" and he had the chance to jump this pit! It was neither cunning nor intelligence that guided him but fear! But we saw him provoke the "Two-tooth" and. What your eyes saw does not matter! All that matters is what Tamud thinks! Like many wizards Rahan had known, Tamud was jealous of his authority. Lock up Rahan with the “Headless Men”! The hunters who had witnessed Rahan's exploit hesitated. But others rushed forward. If Tamud is jealous of Rahan why does he not confront him himself!? Page Twelve. The wizard gave a scornful smile. Tamud, who knows how to create fire, who knows how to cut stones, who knows how to make bows and spears, does not lower himself to fight! A moment later, the son of Crao was pushed into the enclosure. Fearful men surrounded him. Are you a “Man without a head” too? Rahan was finally able to learn who these captives were. They all belonged to the swamp clan, a particularly primitive tribe that knew nothing, or almost nothing. We do not know, like the hunters of Tamud, how to make fire from stones. We do not know, like them, how to make weapons that kill from afar. We do not know anything! And that is why Tamud calls you "Headless Men"! And he takes advantage of the ignorance of these unfortunate men to make them his slaves! Page thirteen. Rahan further learned how Tamud forced his captives to build huts. How he treated them like animals to carry out the most arduous work. Some of us occasionally manage to escape the village. But hunters of Tamud almost always catch up with them! You will soon be free! Rahan promises you! He will prove that Tamud is merely a proud and stupid person! Strange things happened that night. There was, first of all, a curious music which rose from the enclosure. When the sorcerer, escorted by hunters entered there, Rahan blew into a bamboo reed. That! So what is this? Page Fourteen. Rahan thought Tamud knew everything? Does Tamud not know that you can make a bamboo sing? Displeased, The Sorcerer withdrew. He was meditating near the big fire when, a little later, some hunters saw him wavering. Ha! Who? Who hit Tamud? Can you not see? It was Rahan who struck Tamud! Supported by the shoulders of the headless men, the son of Crao jumped the enclosure. You lie! How could you have struck me, since you do not have a weapon! Therefore, Tamud does not know how to throw stones from a distance! With this!? Rahan placed a stone on the strip of skin, twirled his "Sling" and released the projectile. He shattered the earthen jar that he had aimed for! Page Fifteen. Tamud was not aware of this weapon? Clearly, there are a lot of things that Tamud does not know! But perhaps Tamud knows, like Rahan, “Crawling on water”? Mockingly, the son of Crao dove into the river. A moment later, he was moving in the water with magnificent ease. The moment of astonishment passed, and then the whole clan cheered him on. Why does Tamud not join Rahan? Does Tamud not know that “Those-who-walk-upright” can also crawl on water? Being ignorant of so many things, could Tamud be a “man without a head”? Kill this demon! Kill him! The wizard screamed in rage. But, as the hunters did not obey his orders, he brandished his own spear. Page Sixteen. This one did not reach Rahan, who had let himself sink. Rahan could flee! But he will not abandon those of the swamp! He returned to the shore to the ovations of the clan. But Tamud rushed towards him, brandishing a sharp flint. And you said that Tamud would not lower himself to fighting! There was not even a fight. The sorcerer, lifted from the ground, was thrown into the black waters! Ra-ha-ha! Agloo! But as he was about to drown, the son of the fierce ages dove to his aid. This was a generous gesture, which definitely won him the trust of the clan. “Hair-of-Fire” knows more things than Tamud! And he is more loyal than Tamud! Page Seventeen. No one opposed him when he opened the door of the enclosure to free the “Headless Men”. Grateful but fearful, they were going to flee. But he kept them there. Stay here, brothers! Rahan will teach you everything he knows! There will be no more difference between you and the hunters of Tamud! In the days that followed, the son of Crao revealed all his knowledge to these men. He taught a thousand things. He spoke of a hundred distant countries and a hundred peoples. Tamud-the-sorcerer, who had lost all authority over the clan, remained prostrate in his hut, meditating on revenge. Tamud will kill “Hair of Fire” this very night! That night, in fact, the sorcerer slipped towards the hut that had been attributed to Rahan. Page Eighteen. This one, plunged into a calm and deep sleep did not hear, and could not hear, as the deceiver approached. But Tamud heard the peaceful breathing of the one he was going to assassinate. The hunters will believe that the evil spirit has come to take the life of “Fire-hair!” A wicked smile creased Tamud's face. Stretched out on the palm litter Rahan was there, at his mercy! He raised his weapon. He took another step. And then, the son of Crao rolled onto his side, narrowly avoiding the terrible blow of the spear! Shouts arose, alerting the hunters! What is going on "Hair of Fire"? Why are you shouting like that? Page Nineteen. And Rahan appeared, throwing the Sorcerer out of the hut. Tamud the coward wanted to kill Rahan! You wanted to take away the life of the one who taught us so much! You are the one who's going to die, Tamud! No! No! Panicked, the sorcerer fled. And the son of fierce ages did not have time to intervene. A spear had stopped the coward! This deceiver could have disemboweled you, “Hair of fire”! Luckily you were not sleeping! If Rahan was sleeping! But Rahan guessed Tamud's bad feelings. He knew that Tamud would try to kill him while he slept. And Rahan had set a trap for him! Come and see. Page Twenty. This vine was stretched across the bottom of the door and tied to Rahan's wrist. Like this. Upon entering the hut, Talmud touched the vine and the shaking woke up Rahan! Oh! Please excuse me for not teaching you this trick yet! The body of the sorcerer was placed in the river at dawn. May peace now reign between our clan and that of the swamps! Thanks to you, there will be no more “headless men”! You will also remember that "Those-who-walk-upright" must not abuse their knowledge, but that they must share it with their brothers! The son of Crao stayed a long, very long time in this village. In fact, he only left when he was certain that all these men had nothing more to learn from Him! Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. The son of the Ferocious ages. Episode Sixty Five. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Infant Chief. The ground suddenly began to shake and the son of Crao instantly remembered the tragic night of the blue Mountain. The nearby volcano, he knew, would soon vomit its fiery entrails. Abandoning the half-dismembered "Two-horn" he set off in search of a cave. But will Rahan have time to find refuge! Oh! They would do well to imitate Rahan! A few arrow ranges away, hunters and their companions implored the spirits for clemency. They responded to every rumble of the ground with incantations. Page Two. May the good mountain spirits spare our clan! May good spirits appease the anger of the “Great Mountain!” Your pleas are in vain, brothers! “Those-who-walk-upright” must rely only on themselves! Run away while there is still time! Run away! Who are you? What allows you to give us orders? I am Rahan, the son of Crao! Rahan does not give orders, but advice! The man who had just emerged from a strange hut made of mammoth tusks was obviously the clan sorcerer. I have just consulted our chief! He affirms that the “Great Mountain” will calm down and. Your chief is stupid and Rahan is going to tell him so! Sacrilege! “Hair-of-fire” Violates the leader's secret abode! Energetically pushing the wizard aside, Rahan rushed into the hut. Page Three. And astonishment froze him in place. Under the large ivory dome, lying on thick, warm furs, he saw only a very young child. This little man has only seen the green leaf season once! Your chief is not here! Where is he? You just saw him! And those who set eyes on Atara must die! A leader who cannot stand on his feet yet!? Rahan has never seen or heard of such stupidity! “Fire Hair” Despises our revered leader! Kill him! Gahar commands you! The hunters were already rushing forward, brandishing their clubs. The son of Crao repelled the first assault, but his vivacity and strength, although exceptional, did not allow him to confront the pack victoriously. Ra-ha-ha! Page Four. He was out numbered, he was defeated, and mastered. Clubs were going to crush his skull when. Wait! If we deliver him alive to the "Grand-Mountain", like Ogoo-the-Profaner, we will attract the favor of good spirits to the clan! While Gahar-the-sorcerer grabbed his ivory knife, Rahan was firmly tied up Gahar is lying to you! No sacrifice will calm the "Great Mountain"! Some hunters dragged him away from the camp, towards the volcano whose sides were now rumbling dully. They left him there. Rahan was desperately trying to break his bonds when a voice spoke out. We will leave together for the territory of shadows! What? What? Page Five. The fiery slime of the “Grand-mountain” will burn our flesh and bones! A man was lying twenty steps away, also tied up. Who are you? I am Ogoo! Gahar decided that I had to die because I refused to obey the orders he said he had come from little Atara! Rahan does not understand. Ogoo recounted how Raykaa, the clan leader, had died two seasons earlier. But Gahar-the-sorcerer claimed that he still lived in the body of his son, little Atara! With this lie, Gahar imposes his wishes on the clan! No one other than he can approach Atara, who, he claims, relays his father's orders to him! It was because I opposed this deceiver that he demanded my death, claiming, of course, that it was Raukaa who demanded it through the mouth of his son! The rumblings grew louder. The eruption could happen at any moment! Page Six. Neither Ogoo nor Rahan will die! Rahan will untie your bonds! Getting close to Ogoo was difficult for the son of the ferocious ages. To get his wrists free, when the knots resisted, he sheared them with his teeth. Your turn Ogoo! Rid Rahan of these vines! Their hands free, the rest was childishly easy. He was rushing away from the "Gand-Mountain" when the fantastic explosion rang out. Ba-boom! The crest of the volcano was crowned with reddish clouds from which a terrifying geyser of fire and molten rock gushed. In a few seconds it was an inferno. The ground cracked, releasing jets of steam. Rocks rolled down the "Grand-mountain." Others rained down from the sky, from all sides. Page Seven. Yours finally understand that they have nothing to expect from good spirits! And Gahar is not the last! The whole clan fled in indescribable panic. And Atara!? Why didn't you save Atara!? Uh. Through the mouth of Atara, Raukaa told me that he did not want to flee the fire of the "Great Mountain"! As they rushed into the deserted camp. Despite the noise of the volcano, Rahan and Ogoo could hear cries. The coward! Gahar abandoned Atara to so he could flee faster! Go Ogoo, go. Join yours! Perhaps Rahan can save the little man! As the incandescent stones fell everywhere, Rahan rushed towards the sacred hut. The child was there. Frightened by the incessant rumbling and explosions of volcanic bombs. He only stopped crying when the strong hands of the son of Crao grabbed him. Page Eight. He had not gone a hundred steps when the hut collapsed, dislocated by a huge rock! Atara narrowly missed it! The anger of the Great Mountain redoubled. Here and there were worrying cracks that Rahan had to jump. He saw the clan taking refuge on a rock platform at the edge of a salient. Profanation! “Hair-of-Fire” has defiled Atara with his hands! Unaware of what the hunters' reactions would be, the son of Crao froze. Rahan told you that no sacrifice would appease the “Grand-mountain”! Gahar lied to you! Gahar deceived you by claiming that Raukaa-the-chief spoke to him through the mouth of Atara! Atara, like all little men, does not yet speak! Page Nine. And since Gahar and him alone! Had the privilege of seeing and touching Atara. Why did he not do anything to protect him!? Gahar is just a coward! To save his miserable life he did not hesitate to abandon the child he said he venerated! The hunters observed Rahan, then the sorcerer, then Rahan. But they did not flinch. Kill him! Kill him! Then, mad with Rage, Gahar descended the Rocks, rushing towards the son of fierce ages! The bone points of his formidable head smasher reflected the fire of his eyes. The “Grand Mountain” thundered even more loudly. The ground shook more fiercely. Rahan placed the child on the ground, to face the sorcerer who was coming towards him. Page Ten. He was unarmed but he knew how to parry the first blow. His hand flew towards his ivory knife, and slid into Gahar's belt. Rahan will not let you steal his life! Knife versus “Head breaker”. Rahan was ready for an unequal fight. When a shock, stronger than the others threw him off balance. Screaming with joy Gahar, rushed towards his opponent who was on the ground. Rahan reared up instinctively, avoiding the fatal blow. But the weapon clipped his wrist with incredible violence. And his cutlass fluttered far away! He was at the mercy of the sorcerer! But he suddenly faltered and the son of Crao felt the earth open beneath him! His hands grabbed at a root. Page Eleven. Argh! Clinging to this root he is alive to everything at once. Gahar, who disappeared into the crevasse and the child who fell there in turn! An extraordinary reflex made him grab one of the infant chief’s legs in mid-air! But now, his good hand was no longer of any help to him. And he would not find the strength in his injured hand to hold on for very long! By abandoning Atara, he could still save himself. But this thought did not even cross his mind. We will live Atara! Yours are coming! Despite the rumblings of the "Grand-Mountain" he heard the clamors of the hunters who were quickly approaching the crevasse. Ogoo was the first to look into it. “Hair of Fire” is alive! He has saved Atara once again! Bring us vines! Quickly! Quickly! Page Twelve. An instant later. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan shouted with joy, because what he had feared had not happened. His knife had not disappeared into the bowels of the earth! What is happening "Fire hair"? Gahar unmasked himself in front of my brothers! No one will cry for this coward! But our clan, now no longer has a sorcerer or leader! Rahan maliciously observed the hunters. One day, perhaps Atara will become head of the clan. But many seasons will pass before he becomes strong and brave like his father! Until that day, why would the clan not appoint as leader the one who first had the wisdom and courage to oppose Gahar the perfidious! The "Grand-Mountain" still thundered while Ogoo was being hailed. But the earth no longer shook and the clan was safe. Who would adopt Atara? The son of Crao, happy, took pleasure in watching the women happily arguing over he who had been "The Infant Chief". Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

What happened on Epstien Island? We may never know. However, the Marquis de Sade gives us an illustration of the abuse of power, to help us where our imaginations may fail. On the twenty second of October, seventeen eighty-five, Donatien-Alphonse-Francois de Sade, for more than seven years a prisoner of the Royal dungeons, and since February of seventeen eighty-four confined in the Bastille, began the final revision of his first major work, which he entitled The 120 Days of Sodom. There are those who consider it his masterpiece; there can be no doubt that it is the foundation upon which the rest of his achievement reposes. If this was the first major work, it was also the decisive step: three years earlier Sade had written the Dialogue between a Priest and a Dying Man in which the ferocity of his atheism and the rigor of his vision were evident, but with The 120 Days he moved further, much further, into a realm of philosophic absolutism from which there could be no retreat. Sade was here declaring all-out war on the society that had judged and imprisoned him, and on that virtue which it preached as the ultimate good. If, up to this time, he had been drawn instinctively to the twin poles of pleasure and vice, now the full power of his intellect entered into the fray. Henceforth he would do all he could to “outrage the laws of both Nature and religion.” Sade was out to shock, as no writer had ever tried to shock his readers before in the history of literature. He was fully aware of what he was about. After describing his main characters and his plan of action in the opening pages of The 120 Days, the author warns: I advise the overmodest to lay my book aside at once if he would not be scandalized, for Tis already clear there’s not much of the chaste in our plan, and we dare hold ourselves answerable in advance that there’ll be still less in the execution. And now, friend-reader, you must prepare your heart and your mind for the most impure tale that has ever been told since our world began, a book the likes of which are met with neither amongst the ancients nor amongst us moderns. If Sade was cognizant of the importance of the work he was undertaking, he was also aware of the dangers of seizure to which such a manuscript was constantly subject, given the conditions and place of its composition. He therefore devised a method which, he thought, would at least minimize the chances of having the manuscript lost or taken from him. Using sheets of thin paper twelve centimeters wide, he pasted them together into a kind of scroll just over twelve meters long, which he thought would be relatively easy to conceal. From the twenty second of October on, he worked for twenty consecutive evenings, from seven till ten, at the end of which time he had covered one side of the scroll with a microscopic writing; he then continued on the other side, until he had completed the manuscript by the twenty-eighth of November. But all his precautions were in vain: when the Bastille was stormed, most of the manuscripts Sade had left behind were lost or destroyed, and neither the notes nor the roll itself ever came into the author’s hands again. It must have been especially to the scroll of The 120 Days that Sade was referring when he wrote to his steward, Gaufridy, in May, seventeen ninety, that its loss had caused him to shed “tears of blood”: There are moments when I am moved by a wish to join the Trappists, and I cannot say but what I may go off some fine day and vanish altogether from the scene. Never was I such a misanthrope as since I have returned into the midst of men; and if in their eyes I now have the look of a stranger, they may be very sure they produce the same effect upon me. I was not idle during my detention; consider, my dear lawyer, I had readied fifteen volumes for the printer; now that I am at large, hardly a quarter of those manuscripts remains to me. Through unpardonable thoughtlessness, Madame de Sade let some of them become lost, let others be seized; thirteen years of toil gone for naught! The bulk of those writings had remained behind in my room at the Bastille when, on the fourth of July, I was removed from there to Charenton; on the fourteenth the Bastille is stormed, overrun, and my manuscripts, six hundred books I owned, two thousand pounds worth of furniture, precious portraits, the lot is lacerated, burned, carried off, pillaged: a clean sweep, not a straw left: and all that owing to the sheer negligence of Madame de Sade. She had had ten whole days to retrieve my possessions; she could not but have known that the Bastille, which they had been cramming with guns, powder, soldiers, was being prepared either for an attack or for a defense. Why then did she not hasten to get my belongings out of harm’s way? My manuscripts? my manuscripts over whose loss I shed tears of blood! Other beds, tables, chests of drawers can be found, but ideas once gone are not found again. No, my friend, no, I shall never be able to figure to you my despair at their loss, for me it is irreparable. Justine, Juliette, Philosophy in the Bedroom, and La Nouvelle Justine all represent attempts by Sade to reconstitute, in one form or another, the elements he had expounded in The 120 Days of Sodom, which he assumed lost forever. But, though Sade would never know it, the precious roll had not been destroyed. It was found, in the same cell of the Bastille where Sade had been kept prisoner, by one Arnoux de Saint-Maximin, and thence came into the possession of the Villeneuve-Trans family, in whose care it remained for three generations. At the turn of the present century, it was sold to a German collector, and in 1904 it was published by the German psychiatrist, Doctor Iwan Bloch, under the pseudonym of Eugene Duhren. Bloch justified his publishing the work by its “scientific importance, to doctors, jurists, and anthropologists,” pointing out in his notes the “amazing analogies” between cases cited by Sade and those recorded a century later by Krafft-Ebing. Bloch’s text, however, as Lely notes, is replete with “thousands of errors” which hopelessly denature and distort it. After Bloch’s death, the manuscript remained in Germany until 1929, when Maurice Heine, at the behest of the Viscount Charles de, went to Berlin to acquire it. From 1931 to 1935, Heine’s masterful and authoritative text of the work appeared in three quarto volumes, in what must be considered the original edition of the work. This is what Heine had to say of The 120 Days: It is a document of singular value, as well as the first positive effort, aside from that of the father-confessors, to classify sexual anomalies. The man responsible for having undertaken this methodical observation, a century before Krafft-Ebing and Freud, fully deserves the honor bestowed upon him by scholars of having the gravest of these psychopathic conditions known by the term “sadism.” And Lely, on the 120 Days: Despite the reservations one has to make, The 120 Days contains some of the most admirable pages the Marquis de Sade ever wrote. The texture, the breadth, the sweep of the sentences, all seem more allied to his correspondence than to his other works. The Introduction, wherein we see deployed to full advantage the resources of his art, in its newest and most spontaneous form, is without doubt Sade’s masterpiece. There are other works more finished, of greater literary merit and with a philosophic content more developed, but Messrs. Heine and Lely are correct: The 120 Days of Sodom is the seminal work in all Sade’s writing. It is perhaps his masterpiece; at the very least, it is the cornerstone on which the massive edifice he constructed was founded. INTRODUCTION. The extensive wars wherewith Louis the fourteenth was burdened during his reign, while draining the State’s treasury and exhausting the substance of the people, none the less contained the secret that led to the prosperity of a swarm of those bloodsuckers who are always on the watch for public calamities, which, instead of appeasing, they promote or invent so as, precisely, to be able to profit from them the more advantageously. The end of this so very sublime reign was perhaps one of the periods in the history of the French Empire when one saw the emergence of the greatest number of these mysterious fortunes whose origins are as obscure as the lust and debauchery that accompany them. It was toward the close of this period, and not long before the Regent sought, by means of the famous tribunal which goes under the name of the Chambre de Justice, to flush this multitude of traffickers, that four of them conceived the idea for the singular revels whereof we are going to give an account. One must not suppose that it was exclusively the lowborn and vulgar sort which did this swindling; gentlemen of the highest note led the pack. The Duc de Blangis and his brother the Bishop of X, each of whom had thus wise amassed immense fortunes, are in themselves solid proof that, like the others, the nobility neglected no opportunities to take this road to wealth. These two illustrious figures, through their pleasures and business closely associated with the celebrated Durcet and the President de Curval, were the first to hit upon the debauch we propose to chronicle, and having communicated the scheme to their two friends, all four agreed to assume the major roles in these unusual orgies. For above six years these four libertines, kindred through their wealth and tastes, had thought to strengthen their ties by means of alliances in which debauchery had by far a heavier part than any of the other motives that ordinarily serve as a basis for such bonds. What they arranged was as follows: the Duc de Blangis, thrice a widower and sire of two daughters one wife had given him, having noticed that the President de Curval appeared interested in marrying the elder of these girls, despite the familiarities he knew perfectly well her father had indulged in with her, the Duc, I say, suddenly conceived the idea of a triple alliance. “You want Julie for your wife,” said he to Curval, “I give her to you unhesitatingly and put but one condition to the match: that you’ll not be jealous when, although your wife, she continues to show me the same complaisance she always has in the past; what is more, I’d have you lend your voice to mine in persuading our good Durcet to give me his daughter Constance, for whom, I must confess, I have developed roughly the same feelings you have formed for Julie.” “But,” said Curval, “you are surely aware that Durcet, just as libertine as you” “I know all that’s to be known,” the Duc rejoined. “In this age, and with our manner of thinking, is one halted by such things? Do you think I seek a wife in order to have a mistress? I want a wife that my whims may be served, I want her to veil, to cover an infinite number of little secret debauches the cloak of marriage wonderfully conceals. In a word, I want her for the reasons you want my daughter, do you fancy I am ignorant of your object and desires? We libertines wed women to hold slaves; as wives they are rendered more submissive than mistresses, and you know the value we set upon despotism in the joys we pursue.” It was at this point Durcet entered. His two friends related their conversation and, delighted by an overture which promptly induced him to avow the sentiments he too had conceived for Adelaide, the President’s daughter, Durcet accepted the Duc as his son-in-law, provided he might become Curval’s. The three marriages were speedily concluded, the dowries were immense, and the wedding contracts identical. No less culpable than his two colleagues, the President had admitted to Durcet, who betrayed no displeasure upon learning it, that he maintained a little clandestine commerce with his own daughter; the three fathers, each wishing not only to preserve his rights, but noticing here the possibility of extending them, commonly agreed that the three young ladies, bound to their husbands by goods and homes only, would not in body belong more to one than to any of them, and the severest punishments were prescribed for her who should take it into her head not to comply with any of the conditions whereunto she was subject. They were on the eve of realizing their plan when the Bishop of X, already close bound through pleasure shared with his brother’s two friends, proposed contributing a fourth element to the alliance should the other three gentlemen consent to his participation in the affair. This element, the Duc’s second daughter and hence the Bishop’s niece, was already more thoroughly his property than was generally imagined. He had effected connections with his sister-in-law and the two brothers knew beyond all shadow of doubt that the existence of this maiden, who was called Aline, was far more accurately to be ascribed to the Bishop than to the Duc; the former who, from the time she left the cradle, had taken the girl into his keeping, had not, as one may well suppose, stood idle as the years brought her charms to flower. And so, upon this head, he was his colleagues’ equal, and the article he offered to put on the market was in an equal degree damaged or degraded; but as Aline’s attractions and tender youth outshone even those of her three companions, she was unhesitatingly made a part of the bargain. As had the other three, the Bishop yielded her up, but retained the rights to her use; and so each of our four characters thus found himself husband to four wives. Thus there resulted an arrangement which, for the reader’s convenience, we shall recapitulate: The Duc, Julie’s father, became the husband of Constance, Durcet’s daughter; Durcet, Constance’s father, became the husband of Adelaide, the President’s daughter; The President, Adelaide’s father, became the husband of Julie, the Duc’s elder daughter; And the Bishop, Aline’s uncle and father, became the husband of the other three females by ceding this same Aline to his friends, the while retaining the same rights over her. It was at a superb estate of the Duc, situated in the Bourbonnais, that these happy matches were made, and I leave to the reader to fancy how they were consummated and in what orgies; obliged as we are to describe others, we shall forego the pleasure of picturing these. Upon their return to Paris, our four friends’ association became only the firmer; and as our next task is to make the reader familiar with them, before proceeding to individual and more searching developments, a few details of their lubricious arrangements will serve, it seems to me, to shed a preliminary light upon the character of these debauchees. The society had created a common fund, which each of its members took his turn administering for six months; the sums, allocated for nothing but expenses in the interests of pleasure, were vast. Their excessive wealth put the most unusual things within their reach, and the reader ought not to be surprised to hear that two million were annually disbursed to obtain good cheer and lust’s satisfaction. Four accomplished procuresses to recruit women, and a similar number of pimps to scout out men, had the sole duty to range both the capital and the provinces and bring back everything, in the one gender and in the other, that could best satisfy their sensuality’s demands. Four supper parties were held regularly every week in four different country houses located at four different extremities of Paris. At the first of these gatherings, the one exclusively given over to the pleasures of sodomy, only men were present; there would always be at hand sixteen young men, ranging in age from twenty to thirty, whose immense faculties permitted our four heroes, in feminine guise, to taste the most agreeable delights. The youths were selected solely upon the basis of the size of their member, and it almost became necessary that this superb limb be of such magnificence that it could never have penetrated any woman; this was an essential clause, and as naught was spared by way of expense, only very rarely would it fail to be fulfilled. But simultaneously to sample every pleasure, to these sixteen husbands was joined the same quantity of boys, much younger, whose purpose was to assume the office of women. These lads were from twelve to eighteen years old, and to be chosen for service each had to possess a freshness, a face, graces, charms, an air, an innocence, a candor which are far beyond what our brush could possibly paint. No woman was admitted to these masculine orgies, in the course of which everything of the lewdest invented in Sodom and Gomorrah was executed. At the second supper were girls of superior class who, upon these occasions forced to give up their proud ostentation and the customary insolence of their bearing, were constrained, in return for their hire, to abandon themselves to the most irregular caprices, and often even to the outrages our libertines were pleased to inflict upon them. Twelve of these girls would appear, and as Paris could not have furnished a fresh supply of them as often as would have been necessary, these evenings were interspersed with others at which were admitted, only in the same number as the well-bred ladies, women ranging from procuresses up through the class of officers’ wives. There are above four or five thousand women in Paris who belong to one or the other of the two latter classes and whom need or lust obliges to attend soirees of this kind; one has but to have good agents to find them, and our libertines, who were splendidly represented, would frequently come across miraculous specimens. But it was in vain one was honest or a decent woman, one had to submit to everything: our Lordships’ libertinage, of a variety that never brooks limits, would overwhelm with horrors and infamies whatever, whether by Nature or social convention, ought to have been exempt from such ordeals. Once one was there, one had to be ready for anything, and as our four villains had every taste that accompanies the lowest, most crapulous debauch, this fundamental acquiescence to their desires was not by any means a matter of inconsequence. The guests at the third supper were the vilest, foulest creatures that can possibly be met with. To him who has some acquaintance with debauchery’s extravagances, this refinement will appear wholly understandable; Tis most voluptuous to wallow, so to speak, in filth with persons of this category; these exercises offer the completest abandon, the most monstrous intemperance, the most total abasement, and these pleasures, compared with those tasted the evening before, or with the distinguished individuals in whose company we have tasted them, have a way of lending a sharp spice to earlier activities. At these third suppers, debauch being more thorough, nothing was omitted that might render it complex and piquant. A hundred whores would appear in the course of six hours, and only too often something less than the full hundred would leave the games. But there is nothing to be gained by hurrying our story or by broaching subjects which can only receive adequate treatment in the sequel. As for the fourth supper, it was reserved for young maids; only those between the ages of seven and fifteen were permitted. Their condition in life was of no importance, what counted was their looks: they had to be charming; as for their virginity, authentic evidence was required. Oh, incredible refinement of libertinage! It was not, assuredly, that they wished to pluck all those roses, and how indeed could they have done so? for those untouched flowers were always a score in number, and of our four libertines only two were capable of proceeding to the act, one of the remaining two, the financier, being absolutely incapable of an erection, and the Bishop being absolutely unable to take his pleasure save in a fashion which, yes, I agree, may dishonor a virgin but which, however, always leaves her perfectly intact. No matter; the twenty maidenheads had to be there, and those which were not impaired by our quartet of masters became, before their eyes, the prey of certain of their valets just as depraved as they, whom they kept constantly at beck and call for more than one reason. Apart from these four supper parties there was another, a secret and private one held every Friday, involving many fewer persons but surely costing a great deal more. The participants were restricted to four young and high-born damsels who, by means of strategy and money, had been abducted from their parents’ homes. Our libertines’ wives nearly always had a share in this debauch, and their extreme submissiveness, their docile attentions, their services made it more of a success each time. As for the genial atmosphere at these suppers, it goes without saying that even greater profusion than delicacy reigned there; not one of these meals cost less than ten thousand francs, and neighboring countries as well as all France were ransacked so that what was of the rarest and most exquisite might be assembled together. Fine and abundant wines and liqueurs were there, and even during the winter they had fruits of every season; in a word, one may be certain that the table of the world’s greatest monarch was not dressed with as much luxury nor served with equal magnificence. But now let us retrace our steps and do our best to portray one by one each of our four heroes, to describe each not in terms of the beautiful, not in a manner that would seduce or captivate the reader, but simply with the brush strokes of Nature which, despite all her disorder, is often sublime, indeed even when she is at her most depraved. For, and why not say so in passing, if crime lacks the kind of delicacy one finds in virtue, is not the former always more sublime, does it not unfailingly have a character of grandeur and sublimity which surpasses, and will always make it preferable to, the monotonous and lackluster charms of virtue? Will you protest the greater usefulness of this or of that, is it for us to scan Nature’s laws, ours to determine whether, vice being just as necessary to Nature as is virtue, she perhaps does not implant in us, in equal quantity, the penchant for one or the other, depending upon her respective needs? But let us proceed. The Duc de Blangis, at eighteen the master of an already colossal fortune which his later speculations much increased, experienced all the difficulties which descend like a cloud of locusts upon a rich and influential young man who need not deny himself anything; it almost always happens in such cases that the extent of one’s assets turns into that of one’s vices, and one stints oneself that much less the more one has the means to procure oneself everything. Had the Duc received a few elementary qualities from Nature, they might possibly have counterbalanced the dangers which beset him in his position, but this curious mother, who sometimes seems to collaborate with chance in order that the latter may favor every vice she gives to those certain beings of whom she expects attentions very different from those virtue supposes, and this because she has just as much need of the one as of the other, Nature, I say, in destining Blangis for immense wealth, had meticulously endowed him with every impulse, every inspiration required for its abuse. Together with a tenebrous and very evil mind, she had accorded him a heart of flint and an utterly criminal soul, and these were accompanied by the disorders in tastes and irregularity of whim whence were born the dreadful libertinage to which the Duc was in no common measure addicted. Born treacherous, harsh, imperious, barbaric, selfish, as lavish in the pursuit of pleasure as miserly when it were a question of useful spending, a liar, a gourmand, a drunk, a dastard, a sodomite, fond of incest, given to murdering, to arson, to theft, no, not a single virtue compensated that host of vices. Why, what am I saying! not only did he never so much as dream of a single virtue, he beheld them all with horror, and he was frequently heard to say that to be truly happy in this world a man ought not merely fling himself into every vice, but should never permit himself one virtue, and that it was not simply a matter of always doing evil, but also and above all of never doing good. “Oh, there are plenty of people,” the Duc used to observe, “who never misbehave save when passion spurs them to ill; later, the fire gone out of them, their now calm spirit peacefully returns to the path of virtue and, thus passing their life going from strife to error and from error to remorse, they end their days in such a way there is no telling just what roles they have enacted on earth. Such persons,” he would continue, “must surely be miserable: forever drifting, continually undecided, their entire life is spent detesting in the morning what they did the evening before. Certain to repent of the pleasures they taste, they take their delight in quaking, in such sort they become at once virtuous in crime and criminal in virtue. However,” our hero would add, “my more solid character is a stranger to these contradictions; I do my choosing without hesitation, and as I am always sure to find pleasure in the choice I make, never does regret arise to dull its charm. Firm in my principles because those I formed are sound and were formed very early, I always act in accordance with them; they have made me understand the emptiness and nullity of virtue; I hate virtue, and never will I be seen resorting to it. They have persuaded me that through vice alone is man capable of experiencing this moral and physical vibration which is the source of the most delicious voluptuousness; so I give myself over to vice. I was still very young when I learned to hold religion’s fantasies in contempt, being perfectly convinced that the existence of a creator is a revolting absurdity in which not even children continue to believe. I have no need to thwart my inclinations in order to flatter some god; these instincts were given me by Nature, and it would be to irritate her were I to resist them; if she gave me bad ones that is because they were necessary to her designs. I am in her hands but a machine which she runs as she likes, and not one of my crimes does not serve her: the more she urges me to commit them, the more of them she needs; I should be a fool to disobey her. Thus, nothing but the law stands in my way, but I defy the law, my gold and my prestige keep me well beyond reach of those vulgar instruments of repression which should be employed only upon the common sort.” If one were to raise the objection that, nevertheless, all men possess ideas of the just and the unjust which can only be the product of Nature, since these notions are found in every people and even amongst the uncivilized, the Duc would reply affirmatively, saying that yes, those ideas have never been anything if not relative, that the stronger has always considered exceedingly just what the weaker regarded as flagrantly unjust, and that it takes no more than the mere reversal of their positions for each to be able to change his way of thinking too; whence the Duc would conclude that nothing is really just but what makes for pleasure, and what is unjust is the cause of pain; that in taking a hundred louis from a man’s pocket, he was doing something very just for himself, although the victim of the robbery might have to regard the action with another eye; that all these notions therefore being very arbitrary, a fool he who would allow himself to become their thrall. It was by means of arguments in this kind the Duc used to justify his transgressions, and as he was a man of greatest possible wit, his arguments had a decisive ring. And so, modeling his conduct upon his philosophy, the Duc had, from his most tender youth, abandoned himself unrestrainedly to the most shameful extravagances, and to the most extraordinary ones. His father, having died young and, as I indicated, left him in control of a huge fortune, had however stipulated in his will that the young man’s mother should, while she lived, be allowed to enjoy a large share of this legacy. Such a condition was not long in displeasing Blangis: poison appearing to be the only way to avoid having to subscribe to this article, the knave straightway decided to make use of it. But this was the period when he was only making his first steps in a vicious career; not daring to act himself, he brought one of his sisters, with whom he was carrying on a criminal intrigue, to take charge of the execution, assuring her that if she were to succeed, he would see to it that she would be the beneficiary of that part of the fortune whereof death would deprive their mother. However, the young lady was horrified by this proposal, and the Duc, observing that this ill-confided secret was perhaps going to betray him, decided on the spot to extend his plans to include the sister he had hoped to have for an accomplice; he conducted both women to one of his properties whence the two unfortunate ones never returned. Nothing quite encourages as does one’s first unpunished crime. This hurdle once cleared, an open field seemed to beckon to the Duc. Immediately any person whomsoever showed opposition to his desires, poison was employed forthwith. From necessary murders he soon passed to those of pure pleasure; he was captivated by that regrettable folly which causes us to find delight in the sufferings of others; he noticed that a violent commotion inflicted upon any kind of an adversary is answered by a vibrant thrill in our own nervous system; the effect of this vibration, arousing the animal spirits which flow within these nerves’ concavities, obliges them to exert pressure on the erector nerves and to produce in accordance with this perturbation what is termed a lubricious sensation. Consequently, he set about committing thefts and murders in the name of debauchery and libertinage, just as someone else would be content, in order to inflame these same passions, to chase a whore or two. At the age of twenty-three, he and three of his companions in vice, whom he had indoctrinated with his philosophy, made up a party whose aim was to go out and stop a public coach on the highway, to rape the men among the travelers along with the women, to assassinate them afterward, to make off with their victims’ money, the conspirators certainly had no need of this, and to be back that same night, all three of them, at the Opera Ball in order to have a sound alibi. This crime took place, ah, yes: two charming maids were violated and massacred in their mother’s arms; to this was joined an endless list of other horrors, and no one dared suspect the Duc. Weary of the delightful wife his father had bestowed upon him before dying, the young Blangis wasted no time uniting her shade to his mother’s, to his sister’s, and to those of all his other victims. Why all this? To be able to marry a girl, wealthy, to be sure, but publicly dishonored and whom he knew full well was her brother’s mistress. The person in question was the mother of Aline, one of the figures in our novel we mentioned above. This second wife, soon sacrificed like the first, gave way to a third, who followed hard on the heels of the second. It was rumored abroad that the Duc’s huge construction was responsible for the undoing of all his wives, and as this gigantic tale corresponded in every point to its gigantic inspiration, the Duc let the opinion take root and veil the truth. That dreadful colossus did indeed make one think of a Hercules or a centaur: Blangis stood five feet eleven inches tall, had limbs of great strength and energy, powerful sinews, elastic nerves, in addition to that a proud and masculine visage, great dark eyes, handsome black eyelashes, an aquiline nose, fine teeth, a quality of health and exuberance, broad shoulders, a heavy chest but a well-proportioned figure withal, splendid hips, superb buttocks, the handsomest leg in the world, an iron temperament, the strength of a horse, the member of a veritable mule, wondrously hirsute, blessed with the ability to eject its sperm any number of times within a given day and at will, even at the age of fifty, which was his age at the time, a virtually constant erection in this member whose dimensions were an exact eight inches for circumference and twelve for length over-all, and there you have the portrait of the Duc de Blangis, drawn as accurately as if you’d wielded the pencil yourself. But if this masterpiece of Nature was violent in its desires, what was it like, Great God! When crowned by drunken voluptuousness? Twas a man no longer, Twas a raging tiger. Woe unto him who happened then to be serving its passions; frightful cries, atrocious blasphemies sprang from the Duc’s swollen breast, flames seemed to dart from his eyes, he foamed at the mouth, he whinnied like a stallion, you’d have taken him for the very god of lust. Whatever then was his manner of having his pleasure, his hands necessarily strayed, roamed continually, and he had been more than once seen to strangle a woman to death at the instant of his perfidious discharge. His presence of mind once restored, his frenzy was immediately replaced by the most complete indifference to the infamies wherewith he had just indulged himself, and of this indifference, of this kind of apathy, and further sparks of lechery would be born almost at once. In his youth, the Duc had been known to discharge as often as eighteen times a day, and that without appearing one jot more fatigued after the final than after the initial ejaculation. Seven or eight crises within the same interval still held no terrors for him, his half a century of years notwithstanding. For roughly twenty-five years he had accustomed himself to passive sodomy, and he withstood its assaults with the identical vigor that characterized his manner of delivering them actively when, the very next moment, it pleased him to exchange roles. He had once wagered he could sustain fifty-five attacks in a day, and so he had. Furnished, as we have pointed out, with prodigious strength, he needed only one hand to violate a girl, and he had proved it upon several occasions. One day he boasted he could squeeze the life out of a horse with his legs; he mounted the beast, it collapsed at the instant he had predicted. His prowess at the table outshone, if that is possible, what he demonstrated upon the bed. There’s no imagining what had come to be the quantity of the food he consumed. He regularly ate three meals a day, and they were all three exceedingly prolonged and exceedingly copious, and it was as nothing to him to toss down his usual ten bottles of Burgundy; he had drunk up to thirty, and needed but to be challenged and he would set out for the mark of fifty; but his intoxication taking on the tinge of his passions, and liqueurs or wines having heated his brain, he would wax furious, and they would be obliged to tie him down. And despite all that, would you believe it? a steadfast child might have hurled this giant into a panic; true indeed it is that the spirit often poorly corresponds with the fleshly sheath enveloping it: as soon as Blangis discovered he could no longer use his treachery or his deceit to make away with his enemy, he would become timid and cowardly, and the mere thought of even the mildest combat, but fought on equal terms, would have sent him fleeing to the ends of the earth. He had nevertheless, in keeping with custom, been in one or two campaigns, but had acquitted himself so disgracefully he had retired from the service at once. Justifying his turpitude with equal amounts of cleverness and effrontery, he loudly proclaimed that his poltroonery being nothing other than the desire to preserve himself, it were perfectly impossible for anyone in his right senses to condemn it for a fault. Keep in mind the identical moral traits; next, adapt them to an entity from the physical point of view infinitely inferior to the one we have just described; there you have the portrait of the Bishop of X, the Duc de Blangis’ brother. The same black soul, the same penchant for crime, the same contempt for religion, the same atheism, the same deception and cunning, a yet more supple and adroit mind, however, and more art in guiding his victims to their doom, but a slender figure, not heavy, no, a little thin body, wavering health, very delicate nerves, a greater fastidiousness in the pursuit of pleasure, mediocre prowess, a most ordinary member, even small, but deft, profoundly skilled in management, each time yielding so little that his incessantly inflamed imagination would render him capable of tasting delight quite as frequently as his brother; his sensations were of a remarkable acuteness, he would experience an irritation so prodigious he would often fall into a deep swoon upon discharging, and he almost always temporarily lost consciousness when doing so. He was forty-five, had delicate features, rather attractive eyes but a foul mouth and ugly teeth, a hairless pallid body, a small but well-shaped ass, and a prick five inches around and six in length. An idolater of active and passive sodomy, but eminently of the latter, he spent his life having himself buggered, and this pleasure, which never requires much expense of energy, was best suited to the modesty of his means. We will speak of his other tastes in good time. With what regards those of the table, he carried them nearly as far as the Duc, but went about the matter with somewhat more sensuality. Monseigneur, no less a criminal than his elder brother, possessed characteristics which had doubtless permitted him to match the celebrated feats of the hero we painted a moment ago; we will content ourselves with citing one of them, ’twill be enough to make the reader see of what such a man may be capable, and what he was prepared and disposed to do, having done the following: One of his friends, a man powerful and rich, had formerly had an intrigue with a young noblewoman who had borne him two children, a girl and a boy. He had, however, never been able to wed her, and the maiden had become another’s wife. The unlucky girl’s lover died while still young, but the owner howbeit of a tremendous fortune; having no kin to provide for, it occurred to him to bequeath all he had to the two ill-fated children his affair had produced. On his deathbed, he made the Bishop privy to his intentions and entrusted him with these two immense endowments: he divided the sum, put them in two purses, and gave them to the Bishop, confiding the two orphans’ education to this man of God and enlisting him to pass on to each what was to be his when they attained their majority. At the same time he enjoined the prelate to invest his wards’ funds, so that in the meantime they would double in size. He also affirmed that it was his design to leave his offsprings’ mother in eternal ignorance of what he was doing for them, and he absolutely insisted that none of this should ever be mentioned to her. These arrangements concluded, the dying man closed his eyes, and Monseigneur found himself master of about a million in banknotes, and of two children. The scoundrel was not long deliberating his next step: the dying man had spoken to no one but him, the mother was to know nothing, the children were only four or five years old. He circulated the intelligence that his friend, upon expiring, had left his fortune to the poor; the rascal acquired it the same day. But to ruin those wretched children did not suffice; furnished with authority by their father, the Bishop, who never committed one crime without instantly conceiving another, had the children removed from the remote pension in which they were being brought up, and placed them under the roof of certain people in his hire, from the outset having resolved soon to make them serve his perfidious lust. He waited until they were thirteen; the little boy was the first to arrive at that age: the Bishop put him to use, bent him to all his debauches, and as he was extremely pretty, sported with him for a week. But the little girl fared less well: she reached the prescribed age, but was very ugly, a fact which had no mitigating effect upon the good Bishop’s lubricious fury. His desires appeased, he feared lest these children, left alive, would someday discover something of the secret of their interests. Therefore, he conducted them to an estate belonging to his brother and, sure of recapturing, by means of a new crime, the sparks of lechery enjoyment had just caused him to lose, he immolated both of them to his ferocious passions, and accompanied their death with episodes so piquant and so cruel that his voluptuousness was reborn in the midst of the torments wherewith he beset them. The thing is, unhappily, only too well known: there is no libertine at least a little steeped in vice who is not aware of the great sway murder exerts over the senses, and how voluptuously it determines a discharge. And that is a general truth whereof it were well the reader be early advised before undertaking the perusal of a work which will surely attempt an ample development of this system. Henceforth at ease in the face of whatever might transpire, Monseigneur returned to Paris to enjoy the fruit of his misdeeds, and without the least qualms about having counteracted the intentions of a man who, in his present situation, was in no state to derive either pain or pleasure therefrom. The President de Curval was a pillar of society; almost sixty years of age, and worn by debauchery to a singular degree, he offered the eye not much more than a skeleton. He was tall, he was dry, thin, had two blue lusterless eyes, a livid and unwholesome mouth, a prominent chin, a long nose. Hairy as a satyr, flat-backed, with slack, drooping buttocks that rather resembled a pair of dirty rags flapping upon his upper thighs; the skin of those buttocks was, thanks to whip strokes, so deadened and toughened that you could seize up a handful and knead it without his feeling a thing. In the center of it all there was displayed, no need to spread those cheeks, an immense orifice whose enormous diameter, odor, and color bore a closer resemblance to the depths of a well-freighted privy than to an asshole; and, crowning touch to these allurements, there was numbered among this sodomizing pig’s little idiosyncrasies that of always leaving this particular part of himself in such a state of uncleanliness that one was at all times able to observe there a rim or pad a good two inches thick. Below a belly as wrinkled as it was livid and gummy, one perceived, within a forest of hairs, a tool which, in its erectile condition, might have been about eight inches long and seven around; but this condition had come to be most rare and to procure it a furious sequence of things was the necessary preliminary. Nevertheless, the event occurred at least two or three times each week, and upon these occasions the President would glide into every hole to be found, indiscriminately, although that of a young lad’s behind was infinitely the most precious to him. The head of the President’s device was now at all times exposed, for he had had himself circumcised, a ceremony which largely facilitates enjoyment and to which all pleasure-loving persons ought to submit. But one of the purposes of the same operation is to keep this privity cleaner; nothing of the sort in Curval’s case: this part of him was just as filthy as the other: this uncapped head, naturally quite thick to begin with, was thus made at least an inch ampler in circumference. Similarly untidy about all the rest of his person, the President, who furthermore had tastes at the very least as nasty as his appearance, had become a figure whose rather malodorous vicinity might not have succeeded in pleasing everyone. However, his colleagues were not at all of the sort to be scandalized by such trifles, and they simply avoided discussing the matter with him. Few mortals had been as free in their behavior or as debauched as the President; but, entirely jaded, absolutely besotted, all that remained to him was the depravation and lewd profligacy of libertinage. Above three hours of excess, and of the most outrageous excess, were needed before one could hope to inspire a voluptuous reaction in him. As for his emission, although in Curval the phenomenon was far more frequent than erection, and could be observed once every day, it was, all the same, so difficult to obtain, or it never occurred save as an aftermath to things so strange and often so cruel or so unclean, that the agents of his pleasures not uncommonly renounced the struggle, fainting by the wayside, the which would give birth in him to a kind of lubricious anger and this, through its effects, would now and again triumph where his efforts had failed. Curval was to such a point mired down in the morass of vice and libertinage that it had become virtually impossible for him to think or speak of anything else. He unendingly had the most appalling expressions in his mouth, just as he had the vilest designs in his heart, and these with surpassing energy he mingled with blasphemies and imprecations supplied him by his true horror, a sentiment he shared with his companions, for everything that smacked of religion. This disorder of mind, yet further augmented by the almost continual intoxication in which he was fond of keeping himself, had during the past few years given him an air of imbecility and prostration which, he would declare, made for his most cherished delight. Born as great a gourmand as a drunk, he alone was fit to keep abreast of the Duc, and in the course of this tale we will behold him to perform wonders which will no doubt astonish the most veteran eaters. It had been ten years since Curval had ceased to discharge his judicial duties; it was not simply that he was no longer fit to carry them out, but I even believe that while he had been, he may have been asked to leave these matters alone for the rest of his life. Curval had led a very libertine life, every sort of perversion was familiar to him, and those who knew him personally had the strong suspicion he owed his vast fortune to nothing other than two or three execrable murders. However that may be, it is, in the light of the following story, highly probable that this variety of extravagance had the power to stir him deeply, and it is this adventure, which attracted some unfortunate publicity, that was responsible for his exclusion from the Court. We are going to relate the episode in order to give the reader an idea of his character. There dwelled in the neighborhood of Curval’s town house a miserable street porter who, the father of a charming little girl, was ridiculous enough to be a person of sensibility. Twenty messages of every kind had already arrived containing proposals relating to the poor fellow’s daughter; he and his wife had remained unshaken despite this barrage aimed at their corruption, and Curval, the source of these embassies, only irritated by the growing number of refusals they had evoked, knew not what tack to take in order to get his hands upon the girl and to subject her to his libidinous caprices, until it struck him that by simply having the father broken he would lead the daughter to his bed. The thing was as nicely conceived as executed. Two or three bullies in the President’s pay intervened in the suit, and before the month was out, the wretched porter was enmeshed in an imaginary crime which seemed to have been committed at his door and which got him speedily lodged in one of the Conciergerie’s dungeons. The President, as one would expect, soon took charge of the case, and, having no desire to permit it to drag on, arranged in the space of three days, thanks to his knavery and his gold, to have the unlucky porter condemned to be broken on the wheel, without the culprit ever having committed any crime but that of wishing to preserve his honor and safeguard his daughter’s. Meanwhile, the solicitations were renewed. The mother was brought in, it was explained to her that she alone had it in her power to save her husband, that if she were to satisfy the President, what could be clearer than that he would thereupon snatch her husband from the dreadful fate awaiting him. Further hesitation was impossible; the woman made inquiries; Curval knew perfectly well to whom she addressed herself, the counsels were his creatures, and they gave her unambiguous replies: she ought not waste a moment. The poor woman herself brought her daughter weeping to her judge’s feet; the latter could not have been more liberal with his promises, nor have been less eager to keep his word. Not only did he fear lest, were he to deal honorably and spare the husband, the man might go and raise an uproar upon discovering the price that had been paid to save his life, but the scoundrel even found a further delight, a yet keener one, in arranging to have himself given what he wished without being obliged to make any return. This thought led to others; numerous criminal possibilities entered his head, and their effect was to increase his perfidious lubricity. And this is how he set about the matter so as to put the maximum of infamy and piquancy into the scene: His mansion stood facing a spot where criminals are sometimes executed in Paris, and as this particular offense had been committed in that quarter of the city, he won assurance the punishment would be meted out on this particular square. The wretch’s wife and daughter arrived at the President’s home at the appointed hour; all windows overlooking the square were well shuttered, so that, from the apartments where he amused himself with his victims, nothing at all could be seen of what was going on outside. Apprised of the exact minute of the execution, the rascal selected it for the deflowering of the little girl who was held in her mother’s arms, and everything was so happily arranged that Curval discharged into the child’s ass the moment her father expired. Instantly he’d completed his business, “Come have a look,” quoth he, opening a window looking upon the square, “come see how well I’ve kept my bargain,” and one of his two princesses saw her father, the other her husband, delivering up his soul to the headsman’s steel. Both collapsed in a faint, but Curval had provided for everything: this swoon was their agony, they’d both been poisoned, and nevermore opened their eyes. Notwithstanding the precautions he had taken to swathe the whole of this exploit in the most profound mystery, something did indeed transpire: nothing was known of the women’s death, but there existed a lively suspicion he had been untruthful in connection with the husband’s case. His motive was half-known, and his eventual retirement from the bench was the outcome. As of this moment, no longer having to maintain appearances, Curval flung himself into a new ocean of errors and crimes. He sent everywhere for victims to sacrifice to the perversity of his tastes. Through an atrocious refinement of cruelty, but one, however, very easily understood, the downtrodden classes were those upon which he most enjoyed hurling the effects of his raging perfidy. He had several minions who were abroad night and day, scouring attics and hovels, tracking down whatever of the most destitute misery might be able to provide, and under the pretext of dispensing aid, either he envenomed his catch, to give poison was one of his most delectable pastimes, or he lured it to his house and slew it upon the altar of his perverse preferences. Men, women, children: anything was fuel to his rage, and at its bidding he performed excesses which would have got his head between block and blade a thousand times over were it not for the silver he distributed and the esteem he enjoyed, factors whereby he was a thousand times protected. One may well imagine such a being had no more religion than his two confreres; he without doubt detested it as sovereignly as they, but in years past had done more to wither it in others, for, in the days when his mind had been sound, it had also been clever, and he had put it to good use writing against religion; he was the author of several works whose influence had been prodigious, and these successes, always present in his memory, still constituted one of his dearest delights. The more we multiply the objects of our enjoyments. (a) The years of a sickly childhood. (b) Durcet is fifty-three; he is small, short, broad, thickset; an agreeable, hearty face; a very white skin; his entire body, and principally his hips and buttocks, absolutely like a woman’s; his ass is cool and fresh, chubby, firm, and dimpled, but excessively agape, owing to the habit of sodomy; his prick is extraordinarily small, Tis scarcely two inches around, no more than four inches long; it has entirely ceased to stiffen; his discharges are rare and uneasy, far from abundant and always preceded One. Place here the portrait of Durcet as it is in notebook 18, the one that’s bound in pink, then, after having concluded this portrait with the words under (a) in the notebooks, continue with (b). by spasms which hurl him into a kind of furor which, in turn, conducts him to crime; he has a chest like a woman’s, a sweet, pleasant voice and, when in society, the best-bred manners, although his mind is without question as depraved as his colleagues’; a schoolmate of the Duc, they still sport together every day, and one of Durcet’s loftiest pleasures is to have his anus tickled by the Duc’s enormous member. And such, dear reader, are the four villains in whose company I am going to have you pass a few months. I have done my best to describe them; if, as I have wished, I have made you familiar with even their most secret depths, nothing in the tale of their various follies will astonish you. I have not been able to enter into minute detail with what regards their tastes, to have done so now would have been to impair the value and to harm the main scheme of this work. But as we move progressively along, you will have but to keep an attentive eye upon our heroes, and you’ll have no trouble discerning their characteristic peccadillos and the particular type of voluptuous mania which best suits each of them. Roughly all we can say at the present time is that they were generally susceptible of an enthusiasm for sodomy, that the four of them had themselves buggered regularly, and that they all four worshiped behinds. The Duc, however, relative to the immensity of his weapon and, doubtless, more through cruelty than from taste, still fucked cunts with the greatest pleasure. So also did the President, but less frequently. As for the Bishop, such was his supreme loathing for them the mere sight of one might have kept him limp for six months. He had never in all his life fucked but one, that belonging to his sister-in-law, and expressly to beget a child wherewith someday to procure himself the pleasures of incest; we have seen how well he succeeded. As regards Durcet, he certainly idolized the ass with as much fervor as the Bishop, but his enjoyment of it was more accessory; his favorite attacks were directed toward a third sanctuary, this mystery will be unveiled in the sequel. But on with the portraits essential to the intelligence of this work, and let us now give our reader an idea of these worthy husbands’ four wives. What a contrast! Constance, the Duc’s wife and the daughter of Durcet, was a tall woman, slender, lovely as a picture, and modeled as if the Graces had taken pleasure in embellishing her, but the elegance of her figure in no way detracted from her freshness, she was not for that the less plumply fleshed, and the most delicious forms graced by a skin fairer than the lily, often induced one to suppose that, no, it had been Love itself who had undertaken her formation. Her face was a trifle long, her features wonderfully noble, more majesty than gentleness was in her look, more grandeur than subtlety. Her eyes were large, black, and full of fire; her mouth extremely small and ornamented by the finest teeth imaginable, she had a narrow, supple tongue, of the loveliest pink, and her breath was sweeter still than the scent of a rose. She was full-breasted, her bosom was most buxom, fair as alabaster and as firm. Her back was turned in an extraordinary way, its lines sweeping deliciously down to the most artistically and the most precisely cleft ass Nature has produced in a long time. Nothing could have been more perfectly round, not very large, but firm, white, dimpled; and when it was opened, what used to peep out but the cleanest, most winsome, most delicate hole. A nuance of tenderest pink had shaded this ass, charming asylum of lubricity’s sweetest pleasures, but, great God! It was not for long to preserve so many charms! Four or five attacks, and the Duc had spoiled all those graces, how quickly had they gone, and soon after her marriage Constance was become no more than the image of a beautiful lily wherefrom the tempest has of late stripped the petals away. Two round and perfectly molded thighs supported another temple, in all likelihood less delicious, but, to him inclined to worship there, offering so many allurements it would be in vain were my pen to strive to describe them. Constance was almost a virgin when the Duc married her, and her father, the only man who had known her, had, as they say, left that side of her perfectly intact. The most beautiful black hair, falling in natural curls to below her shoulders and, when one wished it thus, reaching down to the pretty fur, of the same color, which shaded that voluptuous little cunt, made for a further adornment I might have been guilty of omitting, and lent this angelic creature, aged about twenty-two, all the charms Nature is able to lavish upon a woman. To all these amenities Constance joined a fair and agreeable wit, a spirit somewhat more elevated than it ought to have been, considering the melancholy situation fate had awarded her, for thereby she was enabled to sense all its horror and, doubtless, she would have been happier if furnished with less delicate perceptions. Durcet, who had raised her more as if she were a courtesan than his daughter, and who had been much more concerned to give her talents than manners, had all the same never been able totally to destroy the principles of rectitude and of virtue it seemed Nature had been pleased to engrave in her heart. She had no formal religion, no one had ever mentioned such a thing to her, the exercise of a belief was not to be tolerated in her father’s household, but all that had not blotted out this modesty, this natural humility which has nothing to do with theological chimeras, and which, when it dwells in an upright, decent, and sensitive soul, is very difficult to obliterate. Never had she stepped out of her father’s house, and the scoundrel had forced her, beginning at the age of twelve, to serve his crapulous pleasures. She found a world of difference in those the Duc imbibed with her, her body was noticeably altered by those formidable dimensions, and the day after the Duc had despoiled her of her maidenhead, sodomistically speaking, she had fallen dangerously ill. They believed her rectum had been irreparably damaged; but her youth, her health, and some salutary local remedies soon restored the use of that forbidden avenue to the Duc, and the luckless Constance, forced to accustom herself to this daily torture, and it was but one amongst others, entirely recovered and became adjusted to everything. Adelaide, Durcet’s wife and the daughter of the President, had a beauty which was perhaps superior to Constance’s, but of an entirely different sort. She was twenty, small and slender, of an extremely slight and delicate build, of classic loveliness, had the finest blond hair to be seen. An interesting air, a look of sensibility distributed everywhere about her, and above all in her features, gave her the quality of a heroine in a romance. Her exceptionally large eyes were blue, they expressed at once tenderness and decency; two long but narrow and remarkably drawn eyebrows adorned a forehead not very high but of such noble charm one might have thought this were modesty’s very temple. Her nose, thin, a little pinched at the top, descended to assume a semi-aquiline contour; her lips inclined toward the thin, were of a bright, ripe red; a little large, her mouth was the unique flaw in this celestial physiognomy, but when it opened, there shone thirty-two pearls Nature seemed to have sown amidst roses. Her neck was a shade long, attached in a singular way and, through what one judged a natural habit, her head was ever so faintly bent toward her right shoulder, especially when she was listening; but with what grace did not this interesting attitude endow her! Her breasts were small, very round, very firm, well-elevated, but there was barely enough there to fill the hand. They were like two little apples a frolicking Cupid had fetched hither from his mother’s garden. Her chest was a bit narrow, it was also a very delicate chest, and her belly was satin smooth, a little blond mound not much garnished with hair served as peristyle to the temple in which Venus seemed to call out for an homage. This temple was narrow to such a point you could not insert a finger therein without eliciting a cry from Adelaide; nevertheless, two lustrums had revolved since the time when, thanks to the President, the poor child had ceased to be a virgin, either in that place or in the delicious part it remains for us to sketch. Oh, what were the attractions this second sanctuary possessed, what a flow in the line of her back, how magnificently were those buttocks cut, what whiteness there, and what dazzling rose blush! But all in all, it was on the small side. Delicate in all her lines, she was rather the sketch than the model of beauty, it seemed as though Nature had only wished to indicate in Adelaide what she had so majestically articulated in Constance. Peer into that appetizing behind, and lo! A rosebud would offer itself to your gaze, and it was in all its bloom and in the most tender pink Nature wished you to behold it; but narrow? Tiny? It had only been at the price of infinite labors the President had navigated through those straits, and he had only renewed these assaults successfully two or three times. Durcet, less exacting, gave her little affliction in this point, but, since becoming his wife, in exchange for how many other cruel complaisances, with what a quantity of other perilous submissions had she not been obliged to purchase this little kindness? And, furthermore, turned over to the four libertines, as by their mutual consent she was, how many other cruel ordeals had she not to undergo, both of the species Durcet spared her, and of every other. Adelaide had the mind her face suggested, that is to say, an extremely romantic mind, solitary places were the ones she preferred, and once there, she would shed involuntary tears, tears to which we do not pay sufficient heed, tears apparently torn from Nature by foreboding. She was recently bereft of a friend, a girl she idolized, and this frightful loss constantly haunted her imagination. As she was thoroughly acquainted with her father, as she knew to what extents he carried his wild behavior, she was persuaded her young friend had fallen prey to the President’s villainies, for he had never managed to induce the missing person to accord him certain privileges. The thing was not unlikely. Adelaide imagined the same would someday befall her; nor was that improbable. The President, in her regard, had not paid the same attention to the problem of religion Durcet had in the interests of Constance, no, he had allowed all that nonsense to be born, to be fomented, supposing that his writings and his discourses would easily destroy it. He was mistaken: religion is the nourishment upon which a soul such as Adelaide’s feeds. In vain the President had preached, in vain he had made her read books, the young lady had remained a believer, and all these extravagances, which she did not share, which she hated, of which she was the victim, fell far short of disabusing her about illusions which continued to make for her life’s happiness. She would go and hide herself to pray to God, she’d perform Christian duties on the sly, and was unfailingly and very severely punished, either by her father or by her husband, when surprised in the act by the one or the other. Adelaide patiently endured it all, fully convinced Heaven would someday reward her. Her character was as gentle as her spirit, and her benevolence, one of the virtues for which her father most detested her, went to the point of extreme. Curval, whom that vile class of the poverty-stricken irritated, sought only to humiliate it, to further depress it, or to wring victims from it; his generous daughter, on the other hand, would have foregone he

Rahan. Episode Sixty Four. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Guy Zam. The eye that sees far. The torrent of lava had spread to the shore, releasing such strong heat that the fine sand had melted, itself flowing into the sea. And, the anger of the volcano was appeased. The sea had thrown up translucent rocks into the coves, which it had shattered into fragments more numerous than the stars. Then the waves, patiently, had worn away these shards, and had polished them to make sparkling pebbles! But all this had happened many centuries before the son of Crao discovered this shore. Page Two. If the son of Crao had recently fled a clan that meant him no harm, it was quite different this morning! The long, pointed spears struck closer and closer behind him. Oh! Rahan should have stayed in the forest! “Hair of Fire” Will not go any further! He is at our mercy! The fugitive, in fact, should have stopped at the edge of the cliff, which dominated the ocean. But why do you want to steal Rahan's life? What did he do to you? A few spears still whistled. The son of Crao, surrounded by these men of whom he knew nothing, had only one chance left to escape them. The jump into the void! Page Three. As the semi-circle of hunters closed, he did not hesitate any longer. It was a fantastic dive but Rahan had achieved even more dangerous ones! A clamor of stupefaction arose. “Hair of Fire” preferred to kill himself! He steals our fish, it is good that he is devoured by the fish! Fortunately, the water was deep. The son of Crao sank into it with the force of a rock spat out by the thundering mountain! And the amazement was at its height when he reappeared on the surface. The fact that he could “Crawl on water” was amazing to these men. Did they dream again? Death to the thief! The chief's savage order brought these hunters back to reality. Page Four. Rahan saw the spears coming at a crazy speed. They were falling straight towards him! He only had time. To let himself sink, narrowly escaping this deadly rain. They brushed against Rahan so closely that the hunters might have thought that they had hit him! And indeed. Arakan's prediction has finally come true brothers! We have killed the thief, "Hair-of-Fire"! Swimming near the cliff that had been hollowed out by the waves, the son of Crao could no longer be seen by the hunters. Oh! What a strange shore! At an arrow's distance, the cliff fell abruptly onto a large cove. A cove, whose sand sparkled, shimmered like a lake in the sunlight! Page Five. Oh! A few sharks were floating here and there but Rahan noticed that the fish were very rare. The bottom was lined with curious translucent pebbles, which in less clear water would have been invisible. The one that Rahan brought to the surface looked like a tear. The petrified tear of a gigantic monster! A “water stone”! Rahan has never seen such a beautiful stone! The huge drop of glass sparkled wonderfully. The “Stone-of-water” is more wonderful, more brilliant than the knife of Rahan. But the sharks were getting dangerously close and the son of Crao had to think about his own fate. With you "water stone", Rahan would not escape the "blue skins"! Page Six. Abandoning the "Thing" at the depths, he swam vigorously towards the cove that had so intrigued him. A moment later he approached the sparkling shore. It was covered with shards of glass of all sizes and shapes. Some were sharp like flint, but others were more like "water stone." Some were round like an eye, others round like an almond. And they all sparkled with a thousand lights. Are you once "Water Stones" that were broken on these rocks? Only the “blue-skins” could say that! The sharks retreated towards the open sea and suddenly the son of Crao screamed in astonishment. Oh! Page Seven. Looking through the transparent stone, a huge finger was revealed! When he moved his hand away, this finger became blurred and disappeared. While he meditated on this new mystery. Your prediction was right, Arakan! We chased a man with “Fire Hair” who was roaming in the forest and we killed him! Arakan the soothsayer turned towards the totem. Dahar is too sure of himself! The grand fish tells Arakan that this man is still alive! He will come back to steal our fish again! We do not know how to crawl on water. But if the “blue-skins” have not devoured “Fire-hair”. The great river will throw his corpse back on the shore. We will bring it back to you, Arakan! The son of Crao, however, went from discovery to discovery. Under the glass eye, everything became fantastic. The heart of flowers became like a crater. Page Eight. And the tiny ants turned into monsters! The flat tear shows Rahan what he would never have seen! The flat tear has wonderful power! Rahan must protect it! Bamboo had already allowed him countless discoveries. The first sheath of his cutlass. Javelins and three-headed arrows. Soft poles and light travois. And the oil torch. And some that he had forgotten! This time the bamboo became a case, into which he slipped the precious glass lens. And the bamboos will allow Rahan to leave this shore! He will flee the cliff clan, which kills for no reason! The great river will carry him to the other land. The other land was this distant island that could barely be seen on the horizon. Page Nine. Oh! What? What? Although he shook the case hard, the “Tear of Water” did not come out! And he noticed that it was stuck in the bamboo, just behind the narrow hole in the groove. Rahan will dislodge you rom there! More impatient, and irritated, the son of Crao turned the case over and hit the ground with it several times. Oh! Not only had the "Tear of Water" not moved, but a second shard of glass had become stuck in the end of the tube. Everything so far had been astonishing. But when Rahan brought the bamboo to his eye, the effect was prodigious! The landscape had suddenly closed in on him, encircling him as if to bury him! Page Ten. The distant island now seemed very close, although slightly blurry. The image suggested the creeks, the coconut trees, the huts of a village! “The eye that sees far”! Rahan has discovered “the eye that sees far”! In his enthusiasm, the son of Crao wanted to see everything. The birds on the crest of the hills, And that's how he saw the cliff clan. Leaving their village, the hunters went down the only track that led to the shore, to the cove where he was! The hunters have new spears! Without “the eye that sees far,” Rahan would have seen them too late! But they are still very far away and Rahan has time to set a trap for them! Page Eleven. However. If the great river has rejected "Firehair", we will find his corpse in the cove of the sun! The son of Crao was finishing his "Trap" when he heard those from the cliff. The great stump rose higher and higher. He was ready! Rahan will probably die! But he will not leave for the territory of shadows without fighting! Ra-ha-ha! When Dahar and his hunters appeared, rushing towards the creek, Rahan released the heavy stump! Brutally cut down, ten men collapsed. They were only momentarily out of combat, but the effect of surprise was decisive! Page Twelve. Are you a demon “Fire Hair”? You jump off the cliff without your body bursting! You avoid our spears and you escape the “Blue skins.” Only a demon can do that! So why were you lying in wait for us? Without knowing what we were looking for!? Rahan is not a demon! He is the son of Crao! Rahan has been watching for you for a long time, thanks to “The Eye That Sees Far”! But why are you tracking him? Because you have stolen our fish too often! Arakan-the-soothsayer has always told us that a man with fiery hair slips into the village at night to steal fish. Dahar and his brothers often kept watch to capture him. But in vain! We were beginning to think that Arakan was wrong when, this morning, we saw you! But why do you come and steal the fish that we have so much difficulty perching, you who know how to crawl on the water!? The son of Crao was devastated. Arakan is crazy! Rahan had never seen your village before seeing it in the far-seeing eye! Like this! Look for yourself. Page thirteen. Incredulous, Dahar brought the bamboo to his eye. At first he had an expression of wonder, but then his face suddenly tightened. Arakan! Dahar understands why he said that "hair-of-Fire" was not dead! Although the scene was imprecise, it was not misleading. All the way up in the deserted village, Arakan the soothsayer took the last fish drying in the sun! If "The Eye That Sees Far" tells the truth, Arakan will be punished! And you, “Fire Hair”, you will become our brother! Follow us! Arakan-the-soothsayer was in ecstasy in front of the totem when his own appeared. We are bringing back "Fire-hair" Arakan! Hum! Hum! Let this demon be slain immediately! He will be if Dahar does not find what he thinks he finds! The clan chief rushed towards the “Soothsayer’s” hut. Page Fourteen. He came out almost immediately. Look, brothers! And there are just as many under his mattress! For many moons, Arakan has been deceiving us! Let him be delivered to the “Blue Skins”! Do not do that! Arakan may have wanted to. Wanted what? To live for himself alone! This cheat does not deserve your pity! They were already dragging Arakan towards the cliff. The rare fish that wash up barely feed our clan! Arkan knew it! To deceive us, he imagined an elusive "Theif with hair of fire." He probably believed that this hair color did not exist, and that he could abuse our trust for a long time! But he, the soothsayer, did not know that a fiery-haired hunter would one day venture into our territory! Page Fifteen. Without "The Eye That Sees Far" his crime would never have been discovered! They barely heard the howl of terror of Arakan as he was thrown into the great river. This “Eye” is magnificent! “Hair-of-fire” should make more for our hunters! Rahan will try! In the days that followed, the son of Crao often returned to the "creek of the sun". He built a bamboo skiff there. And sought to make another “Eye that sees far.” But everything was an obstacle. The length of the cases. The shape of the shards of glass. Chance, which had revealed a marvelous secret to Rahan, was not repeated! And millennia would pass before man invented his telescope. Page Sixteen. And one morning, while the great river roared, the son of Crao admitted his failure Rahan does not know how to remake "The Eye That Sees Far"! Rahan did everything to understand. But there is too much mystery in this “Eye”! You have to believe Rahan, brothers! Believe me! But understand that Rahan is just a hunter like you! From the hostile hubbub that he raised, the son of Crao understood that his good faith was doubted. Rahan does not want to dominate his brothers with a magic item! Rahan only wants to be their friend! He can prove it by giving your chief the eye that sees far! Dahar took the bamboo with a trembling hand. Rahan is loyal! But how will he see now? With his simple eyes, like all hunters! Page Seventeen. And his eyes are still good enough to show him that the great river is carrying away his skiff! The bamboo raft sailed away on the waves. Stay with us, brother! We will share “The Eye That Sees Far”! No, Dahar! Rahan never takes root in a territory! He saw, on the distant island, the huts of another tribe! That is where he will go! This is where he will discover other mysteries! Goodbye Brothers! God or demon? The hunters of Dahar would not have been able to tell. The being who stood on the cliff looked so much like them! Ra-ha-ha! Everyone rushed forward when, repeating his incredible feat, he plunged into the great river. Page Eighteen. And they saw him, beating the "Blue-skins" in speed, climb onto the tiny bamboo skiff. Faster, “Blue-skins”! Faster! Rahan wants you to escort him to the other land, ha-ha-ha! Laughing in the spray, the son of Crao saluted Dahar and his clan who were watching him from the top of the great cliff. Was this a good or bad spirit Dahar? Neither brother! He was only a man! In “The Eye That sees Far” the image was dulled and distorted. But Dahar's tears were the cause. Because even in those fierce times, where it was necessary to kill in order to survive, “Those-who-walk-upright” were capable of emotion. Rahan. Episode Sixty Four. By Roger Lecureux. The eye that sees far. A Puke (TM) Comic. Rahan. Episode Sixty Four. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Guy Zam. The eye that sees far. The torrent of lava had spread to the shore, releasing such strong heat that the fine sand had melted, itself flowing into the sea. And, the anger of the volcano was appeased. The sea had thrown up translucent rocks into the coves, which it had shattered into fragments more numerous than the stars. Then the waves, patiently, had worn away these shards, and had polished them to make sparkling pebbles! But all this had happened many centuries before the son of Crao discovered this shore. Page Two. If the son of Crao had recently fled a clan that meant him no harm, it was quite different this morning! The long, pointed spears struck closer and closer behind him. Oh! Rahan should have stayed in the forest! “Hair of Fire” Will not go any further! He is at our mercy! The fugitive, in fact, should have stopped at the edge of the cliff, which dominated the ocean. But why do you want to steal Rahan's life? What did he do to you? A few spears still whistled. The son of Crao, surrounded by these men of whom he knew nothing, had only one chance left to escape them. The jump into the void! Page Three. As the semi-circle of hunters closed, he did not hesitate any longer. It was a fantastic dive but Rahan had achieved even more dangerous ones! A clamor of stupefaction arose. “Hair of Fire” preferred to kill himself! He steals our fish, it is good that he is devoured by the fish! Fortunately, the water was deep. The son of Crao sank into it with the force of a rock spat out by the thundering mountain! And the amazement was at its height when he reappeared on the surface. The fact that he could “Crawl on water” was amazing to these men. Did they dream again? Death to the thief! The chief's savage order brought these hunters back to reality. Page Four. Rahan saw the spears coming at a crazy speed. They were falling straight towards him! He only had time. To let himself sink, narrowly escaping this deadly rain. They brushed against Rahan so closely that the hunters might have thought that they had hit him! And indeed. Arakan's prediction has finally come true brothers! We have killed the thief, "Hair-of-Fire"! Swimming near the cliff that had been hollowed out by the waves, the son of Crao could no longer be seen by the hunters. Oh! What a strange shore! At an arrow's distance, the cliff fell abruptly onto a large cove. A cove, whose sand sparkled, shimmered like a lake in the sunlight! Page Five. Oh! A few sharks were floating here and there but Rahan noticed that the fish were very rare. The bottom was lined with curious translucent pebbles, which in less clear water would have been invisible. The one that Rahan brought to the surface looked like a tear. The petrified tear of a gigantic monster! A “water stone”! Rahan has never seen such a beautiful stone! The huge drop of glass sparkled wonderfully. The “Stone-of-water” is more wonderful, more brilliant than the knife of Rahan. But the sharks were getting dangerously close and the son of Crao had to think about his own fate. With you "water stone", Rahan would not escape the "blue skins"! Page Six. Abandoning the "Thing" at the depths, he swam vigorously towards the cove that had so intrigued him. A moment later he approached the sparkling shore. It was covered with shards of glass of all sizes and shapes. Some were sharp like flint, but others were more like "water stone." Some were round like an eye, others round like an almond. And they all sparkled with a thousand lights. Are you once "Water Stones" that were broken on these rocks? Only the “blue-skins” could say that! The sharks retreated towards the open sea and suddenly the son of Crao screamed in astonishment. Oh! Page Seven. Looking through the transparent stone, a huge finger was revealed! When he moved his hand away, this finger became blurred and disappeared. While he meditated on this new mystery. Your prediction was right, Arakan! We chased a man with “Fire Hair” who was roaming in the forest and we killed him! Arakan the soothsayer turned towards the totem. Dahar is too sure of himself! The grand fish tells Arakan that this man is still alive! He will come back to steal our fish again! We do not know how to crawl on water. But if the “blue-skins” have not devoured “Fire-hair”. The great river will throw his corpse back on the shore. We will bring it back to you, Arakan! The son of Crao, however, went from discovery to discovery. Under the glass eye, everything became fantastic. The heart of flowers became like a crater. Page Eight. And the tiny ants turned into monsters! The flat tear shows Rahan what he would never have seen! The flat tear has wonderful power! Rahan must protect it! Bamboo had already allowed him countless discoveries. The first sheath of his cutlass. Javelins and three-headed arrows. Soft poles and light travois. And the oil torch. And some that he had forgotten! This time the bamboo became a case, into which he slipped the precious glass lens. And the bamboos will allow Rahan to leave this shore! He will flee the cliff clan, which kills for no reason! The great river will carry him to the other land. The other land was this distant island that could barely be seen on the horizon. Page Nine. Oh! What? What? Although he shook the case hard, the “Tear of Water” did not come out! And he noticed that it was stuck in the bamboo, just behind the narrow hole in the groove. Rahan will dislodge you rom there! More impatient, and irritated, the son of Crao turned the case over and hit the ground with it several times. Oh! Not only had the "Tear of Water" not moved, but a second shard of glass had become stuck in the end of the tube. Everything so far had been astonishing. But when Rahan brought the bamboo to his eye, the effect was prodigious! The landscape had suddenly closed in on him, encircling him as if to bury him! Page Ten. The distant island now seemed very close, although slightly blurry. The image suggested the creeks, the coconut trees, the huts of a village! “The eye that sees far”! Rahan has discovered “the eye that sees far”! In his enthusiasm, the son of Crao wanted to see everything. The birds on the crest of the hills, And that's how he saw the cliff clan. Leaving their village, the hunters went down the only track that led to the shore, to the cove where he was! The hunters have new spears! Without “the eye that sees far,” Rahan would have seen them too late! But they are still very far away and Rahan has time to set a trap for them! Page Eleven. However. If the great river has rejected "Firehair", we will find his corpse in the cove of the sun! The son of Crao was finishing his "Trap" when he heard those from the cliff. The great stump rose higher and higher. He was ready! Rahan will probably die! But he will not leave for the territory of shadows without fighting! Ra-ha-ha! When Dahar and his hunters appeared, rushing towards the creek, Rahan released the heavy stump! Brutally cut down, ten men collapsed. They were only momentarily out of combat, but the effect of surprise was decisive! Page Twelve. Are you a demon “Fire Hair”? You jump off the cliff without your body bursting! You avoid our spears and you escape the “Blue skins.” Only a demon can do that! So why were you lying in wait for us? Without knowing what we were looking for!? Rahan is not a demon! He is the son of Crao! Rahan has been watching for you for a long time, thanks to “The Eye That Sees Far”! But why are you tracking him? Because you have stolen our fish too often! Arakan-the-soothsayer has always told us that a man with fiery hair slips into the village at night to steal fish. Dahar and his brothers often kept watch to capture him. But in vain! We were beginning to think that Arakan was wrong when, this morning, we saw you! But why do you come and steal the fish that we have so much difficulty perching, you who know how to crawl on the water!? The son of Crao was devastated. Arakan is crazy! Rahan had never seen your village before seeing it in the far-seeing eye! Like this! Look for yourself. Page thirteen. Incredulous, Dahar brought the bamboo to his eye. At first he had an expression of wonder, but then his face suddenly tightened. Arakan! Dahar understands why he said that "hair-of-Fire" was not dead! Although the scene was imprecise, it was not misleading. All the way up in the deserted village, Arakan the soothsayer took the last fish drying in the sun! If "The Eye That Sees Far" tells the truth, Arakan will be punished! And you, “Fire Hair”, you will become our brother! Follow us! Arakan-the-soothsayer was in ecstasy in front of the totem when his own appeared. We are bringing back "Fire-hair" Arakan! Hum! Hum! Let this demon be slain immediately! He will be if Dahar does not find what he thinks he finds! The clan chief rushed towards the “Soothsayer’s” hut. Page Fourteen. He came out almost immediately. Look, brothers! And there are just as many under his mattress! For many moons, Arakan has been deceiving us! Let him be delivered to the “Blue Skins”! Do not do that! Arakan may have wanted to. Wanted what? To live for himself alone! This cheat does not deserve your pity! They were already dragging Arakan towards the cliff. The rare fish that wash up barely feed our clan! Arkan knew it! To deceive us, he imagined an elusive "Theif with hair of fire." He probably believed that this hair color did not exist, and that he could abuse our trust for a long time! But he, the soothsayer, did not know that a fiery-haired hunter would one day venture into our territory! Page Fifteen. Without "The Eye That Sees Far" his crime would never have been discovered! They barely heard the howl of terror of Arakan as he was thrown into the great river. This “Eye” is magnificent! “Hair-of-fire” should make more for our hunters! Rahan will try! In the days that followed, the son of Crao often returned to the "creek of the sun". He built a bamboo skiff there. And sought to make another “Eye that sees far.” But everything was an obstacle. The length of the cases. The shape of the shards of glass. Chance, which had revealed a marvelous secret to Rahan, was not repeated! And millennia would pass before man invented his telescope. Page Sixteen. And one morning, while the great river roared, the son of Crao admitted his failure Rahan does not know how to remake "The Eye That Sees Far"! Rahan did everything to understand. But there is too much mystery in this “Eye”! You have to believe Rahan, brothers! Believe me! But understand that Rahan is just a hunter like you! From the hostile hubbub that he raised, the son of Crao understood that his good faith was doubted. Rahan does not want to dominate his brothers with a magic item! Rahan only wants to be their friend! He can prove it by giving your chief the eye that sees far! Dahar took the bamboo with a trembling hand. Rahan is loyal! But how will he see now? With his simple eyes, like all hunters! Page Seventeen. And his eyes are still good enough to show him that the great river is carrying away his skiff! The bamboo raft sailed away on the waves. Stay with us, brother! We will share “The Eye That Sees Far”! No, Dahar! Rahan never takes root in a territory! He saw, on the distant island, the huts of another tribe! That is where he will go! This is where he will discover other mysteries! Goodbye Brothers! God or demon? The hunters of Dahar would not have been able to tell. The being who stood on the cliff looked so much like them! Ra-ha-ha! Everyone rushed forward when, repeating his incredible feat, he plunged into the great river. Page Eighteen. And they saw him, beating the "Blue-skins" in speed, climb onto the tiny bamboo skiff. Faster, “Blue-skins”! Faster! Rahan wants you to escort him to the other land, ha-ha-ha! Laughing in the spray, the son of Crao saluted Dahar and his clan who were watching him from the top of the great cliff. Was this a good or bad spirit Dahar? Neither brother! He was only a man! In “The Eye That sees Far” the image was dulled and distorted. But Dahar's tears were the cause. Because even in those fierce times, where it was necessary to kill in order to survive, “Those-who-walk-upright” were capable of emotion. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Written by Christopher Riley and Phil Dolling, 2009. If this isn't science, nothing is. Dedicated to the generations past,and those of the future. With love and respect to all my subscribers and followers. https://rumble.com/v3t4yzj-index-of-science.-music-by-dan-vasc.html

Rahan. Episode Sixty three. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Andre Cheret. The Beast that speaks. The carpet of branches and palm fronds, in the middle of the track, would certainly cover a trap. What a crude camouflage! Only a blind beast could fall for this trap! Amused, the Son of Crao used his momentum to jump the obstacle. He took ten steps and. Oh! A perfectly concealed pit opened beneath him! Although he was a victim, Rahan appreciated this ruse. A false trap, deliberately visible to force the game to jump into the real trap! Rahan would like to know the hunters who had this idea! Page Two. The son of Crao did not have long to wait. “A hairless “four hands”! A “Four hands" with white skin! We captured a “Four Hands”! Aya-the mother never told us that there were “Four Hands” without hair! The “Four Hands” Do not speak. And Rahan speaks! Like you! Four adolescents waved their spears. The oldest had not yet experienced twenty springs. Go and get Aya-the-mother! She must see the “Four-hands-with-white-skin!” Rahan is not a “Four Hands”! Look at his face! Rahan is a hunter like you! A man like you! The young hunters observed Rahan with obvious astonishment. As the son of Crao hoisted himself out of the trap, he saw the old woman that two youths were carrying, sitting on a bamboo. See the strange beast we have captured, Mother! This beast speaks! This beast is cursed, my sons! Kill it! Kill it! Page Three. Why kill a beast that speaks, Mother? A beast that looks so much like Bhra, Ghao, Chram, Vahou!? Aya-the-mother watched Rahan with hatred. Since you decide to spare the beast, let it leave immediately! Let it disappear! No mother! Let us keep it with us! Although he stood on his guard, the son of Crao did not have time to dodge the attack. You will have to choose another way to defeat Rahan, Brothers! His attackers had on their side the vivacity and passion of youth, but Rahan possessed vigor and experience in combat. So the confrontation was quick! Did you want Rahan to stay with you? He will stay, but of his own free will! Page Four. His adversaries stood up, both worried and admiring. The “Speaking Beast” is stronger than the terrible “Gorilla”! But the old woman could not contain her fury. This beast is more formidable than a "Gorilla"! Let it go! Later, mother! Since it speaks, we want to know where she comes from! Rahan will tell you. He knows a lot about “Those-Who-Walk-Upright.” He will teach them to you! No! No! Do not listen to him my sons! Two adolescents were already carrying Aya-the-mother towards a cave. The other two watched every muscle of Rahan. And compared them to theirs. It is true that you look like us! But who are the “Those-Who-Walk-Upright” that you are talking about? But the hunters, that you see! Hunters who live in the mountains, in the forests, along the “waterways.” You lie! Page Five. Vahou, Ghao, Bhra and Chram are the only hunters! If other hunters existed, mother would have told us about them! The son of fierce ages, distraught, allowed himself to be led to the cave. Rahan knows many solitary hunters, but they all knew they belonged to the great horde of “Those-who-walked-upright”! How is it possible that these are unaware of the existence of other men!? Vahou! Chram! Do not listen to the "Talking Beast"! His tongue is made for lying! Do not listen to him! It is you who lies to your sons, Aya! You know very well that, in other territories, men like them are alive! Why let them believe that they are the only hunters!? Shut up! Shut up! If my legs supported me, I would kill you with my own hands! Since when did your legs die, Aya!? Since the day a "Gorilla" attacked our mother! We were too young, too small to defend her. Page Six. Vahou recounted how, one morning, a giant gorilla had thrown Aya-the-mother into a ravine. Aya had survived, but both of her legs had been broken. My little ones. My dear little ones. You will now have to hunt without me. “Ghorya” is our most formidable enemy! He is so strong he could throw that rock ten steps away! We have always escaped him, But one day “Chorya” will surprise us! He will tear off our legs and arms! Do not say these horrible things, Bhra! For the first time Aya-the-mother seemed moved, and Rahan guessed the immense affection she had for her family. If your heart is generous, why do you hate Rahan? So what is your secret, Aya? Page Seven. Shut up! Shut up! The son of Crao did not have time to dodge the heavy pebble. Why treat him as an enemy, mother! The “Talking Beast” did nothing against us! But it seems like his words scare you! As Rahan recovered his senses Aya discreetly poured a pinch of powder into a drink. Oh Vahou, they scare me. They are very scary! But since you want him to stay, go back to hunting! Bring him some food! Enchanted by this change of heart, the adolescents rushed into the foliage. Yes, Rahan. Like you said, I have a secret. A secret that I cannot tell to my own. But maybe you want to drink some of this fruit blood? With joy, Aya! Rahan is happy that you finally consider him a friend! Page Eight. The son of Crao drank in one gulp, and he suddenly felt all his nerves tense, all his muscles tense. He collapsed at the feet of Aya-the-mother. You will remain at my mercy for as long as I decide! But why not kill you immediately!? Rahan had lost none of his lucidity. He heard and saw, but his tongue and his limbs were paralyzed! Unable to move, he felt the ivory tip of his knife seeking his heart! But Aya suddenly dropped the ivory weapon. No! I cannot! A man's life is too precious a thing! But why are you taking away my happiness, Rahan? Aya-the-mother became thoughtful and her voice became soft. Vahou, Chram, Chao and Bhra are not my children but I love them as if they were my own sons. Page Nine. The leaves have greened fifteen times since that cursed day when the clan entrusted these babies to me to go fight those of the red mountains. Everyone left, women and men alike. But none came back! All had perished in the useless and cruel fight! That day. There I swore that children would grow up in ignorance of men and women. As the seasons passed I made them skilled hunters. I taught them everything I knew myself, but I never mentioned their origin and they never suspected the existence of other men! That is my secret, Rahan. If mine knew they would no doubt be tempted by another life, perhaps they would abandon me! But you will not tell them anything! The drug of “False Death” will prevent you from speaking! Ghao and Bhra came running in terror. Mother! Mother! Vahou and Chram are going to die! The "Gorya" will crush them with stones! Page Ten. Panting, they told how their brothers, surprised by the gorilla, had taken refuge in a ravine with no exit. They would not long escape the rocks that "Ghorya" was throwing at them! Aya-the-mother was livid. Her anguished gaze went from her young sons to Rahan. Only you can save mine! But would you accept, after what I did? Yes? Rahan blinked in agreement. Aya poured another brew between his lips. This destroys the effects of the "False Death" drug! A few seconds later, in fact, the son of Crao regained his speech and movement! Lead Rahan to the Ravine! Quickly! Quickly! The old woman watched him disappear with emotion. You were wrong, Aya! This one is not a man like the others! The love you have for yours blinded you, Aya! It made you selfish and unfair! Page Eleven. The gorilla was about to throw a heavy rock when Rahan's challenge fell behind him. Prepare to die, “Ghorya”! The son of fierce ages leaped, narrowly avoiding the rock. And Ghao and Bhra, with tight throats, thought they were dreaming. With astonishing courage, the “Talking Beast” faced this monster that had so often terrified them! It was a fierce and wild melee. Of which Vahou and Chram, who were climbing out of the Ravine, only saw the last phase. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan's clamor of victory arose so loudly that the heart of Aya the mother must have rejoiced. Page Twelve. A little later. I will never live long enough to show my gratitude to you, Rahan! What fate would you have reserved for Rahan if. We would put you on a raft and send you running. When the drug would have stopped acting, you would have found yourself far, far from here! And Chram and Vhaou would have died because of me! Without doubt you think many bad things of me! No, Aya! Rahan thinks your way of loving your people is wrong! “Those-who-walk-upright” cannot live isolated from each other! They must teach each other, share their knowledge! You are probably right, Rahan. But is it not too late now? Will they forgive me? We always forgive a mother! And it is never too late to fix a mistake! What will become of those you love when you have joined the territory of shadows? What will they know about the sight of their fellow men? It was, for the young hunters, the night of revelations. Rahan spoke of clans and their customs, evoked a thousand unknown and wonderful things. The sun found him on the trail guiding Aya and her sons. They were happily going to discover these beings about whom, until the day before, they knew nothing. Beings who bore the name “Man.” Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

The Gothic Tales of the Marquis de Sade. Some Quotes: May they be convinced that good upbringing, riches, talents and the gifts bestowed by nature are only likely to lead people astray when restraint, good conduct, wisdom and modesty are not there to support them or turn them to good account. In a century when the most dangerous books are in the hands of children, as in those of their fathers and teachers, when the temerity of obstinacy passes for philosophy, unbelief for strength and licentiousness for imagination, it often happens that a woman who shares our faults pleases us a great deal less in our pleasures than one who is full of naught but virtues: the first resembles us, we scandalize her not; the other is terrified, and there is one very certain charm the more. =================================== Eugenie de Franval. A Tragic Story. Our only motive in writing this story is the instruction of mankind and the betterment of their way of life. May all readers become fully aware of the great peril that always dogs those who do as they wish in order to satisfy their desires. May they be convinced that good upbringing, riches, talents and the gifts bestowed by nature are only likely to lead people astray when restraint, good conduct, wisdom and modesty are not there to support them or turn them to good account: these are the truths that we are going to put into action. May we be forgiven the unnatural details of the horrible crime of which we are forced to speak, is it possible to make such deviations detestable if one has not the courage to present them openly? Rarely does everything harmonies in the same being to lead him to prosperity; if he is favored by nature then fortune refuses him her gifts; if fortune is liberal with her favors then nature treats him badly; it appears that the hand of Heaven wishes to show us that in each individual, as in its most sublime operations, the laws of equilibrium are the first laws of the Universe, the ones which simultaneously regulate everything that happens, everything that vegetates and everything that breathes. Franval, who lived in Paris, where he was born, possessed, along with an income of 400,000 livres, the finest figure, the most pleasant face and the most varied talents; but beneath this attractive exterior lay hidden every vice, and unfortunately those of which the adoption and habitual indulgence lead so rapidly to crime. An imagination more unbridled than anything one can depict was Franval's prime defect; men of this type do not mend their ways, the decline of power makes them worse; the less they can do, the more they undertake; the less they achieve, the more they invent; each age brings new ideas, and satiety, far from cooling their ardor, only prepares the way for more fatal refinements. As we said, Franval possessed in profusion all the amenities of youth, all the talents which enhance it; but since he was full of disdain for moral and religious duties it had become impossible for his tutors to make him adopt any of them. In a century when the most dangerous books are in the hands of children, as in those of their fathers and teachers, when the temerity of obstinacy passes for philosophy, unbelief for strength and licentiousness for imagination, the young Franval's wit was greeted with laughter, a moment later perhaps he was scolded for it, then he was praised. Franval's father, a great supporter of the fashionable sophistries, was the first to encourage his son to think seriously about all these matters; he himself lent him all the works which could corrupt him more rapidly; what teacher would have dared, after that, to inculcate principles different from those of the household where he was obliged to please? In any case, Franval lost his parents when he was still very young, and at the age of nineteen, an old uncle, who himself died shortly afterwards, assigned him, while arranging his marriage, all the possessions that were to belong to him one day. Monsieur de Franval, with such a fortune, should easily have found a wife; an infinite number of candidates presented themselves, but since he had begged his uncle to give him only a girl younger than himself, and with as few people around her as possible, the old relative, in order to satisfy his nephew, let his choice fall upon a certain Mademoiselle de Farneille, the daughter of a financier, possessing now only a mother, still young in fact, but with 60,000 livres of very real income; the girl was fifteen, and had the most delightful physiognomy to be found in Paris at that time, one of those virginal faces, in which innocence and charm are depicted together, in the delicate features of love and the graces, fine blonde hair floating below her waist, large blue eyes expressing tenderness and modesty, a slender, supple and slight figure, with a lilywhite skin and the freshness of roses, full of talents, a very lively imagination, but with a touch of sadness, a little of that gentle melancholy which leads to a love of books and solitude; attributes which nature seems to grant only to the individuals whom her hand destines to misfortunes, as though to make them less bitter, through that sober and touching voluptuousness that they enjoy in feeling them, and which makes them prefer tears to the frivolous joy of happiness, much less effective and much less penetrating. Madame de Farneille, who was thirty-two when her daughter was married, was also witty and attractive, but perhaps slightly too reserved and severe; since she desired the happiness of her only child, she had consulted the whole of Paris about this match; and since she no longer had any relatives and her only advisers were some of those cold friends to whom everything is indifferent, people convinced her that the young man who was being offered to her daughter was without any doubt the best she could find in Paris, and that she would commit an unforgivable folly if she failed to agree to this match, it therefore took place: and the young people, who were rich enough to take their own house, settled in it at once. In young Franval's heart were none of those vices of frivolity, restlessness or foolishness which prevent a man from being fully developed before thirty; understanding himself very well, liking order, perfectly capable of running a house, Franval possessed all the necessary qualities for this aspect of the enjoyment of life. His vices, of a totally different kind, were indeed rather the faults of maturity than the inconsistencies of youth, artfulness, intrigue, malice, baseness, selfishness, much diplomacy and trickery, while all this was concealed not only by the graces and talents already mentioned but even by eloquence and infinite wit and by the most seductive external appearance. Such was the man whom we have to depict. Mademoiselle de Farneille, who, in accordance with custom, had known her husband for a month at the most before allying herself to him, deceived by this false brilliance, had been taken in by him; the days were not long enough for the pleasure of contemplating him, she idolized him, and things had even reached the point when people would have feared for this young person if any obstacle had upset the delights of a marriage in which she found, she said, the only happiness of her life. As for Franval, who was philosophical about women as about all other things in life, he had considered this delightful person with utter coolness. The wife who belongs to us, he would say, is a kind of individual whom custom has made subservient to us; she must be gentle, submissive, very demure, not that I am concerned with the prejudices of dishonor which a wife can bring upon us when she imitates our licentiousness, but one does not like the idea that someone else is contemplating the removal of our rights; all the rest is immaterial and adds nothing to happiness. When a husband feels this way it is easy to prophesy that there are no roses in store for the unfortunate girl who is allied to him. Madame de Franval, who was honorable, sensitive, well brought up and anticipated through love the wishes of the only man in the world who occupied her, wore her chains for the first few years without suspecting her enslavement; it was easy for her to see that she was only gleaning the fields of marriage, but she was still too happy with what was left to her and her only care, her closest attention was directed to the fact that during those brief moments granted to her affection, Franval could at least encounter all that she believed to be necessary to the happiness of this beloved husband. The best proof of all, however, which Franval still did not exclude from his duties, was that during the first year of his marriage his wife, then aged sixteen and a half, gave birth to a daughter even more beautiful than her mother, and whom the father at once named Eugenie. Eugenie, both the horror and the miracle of nature. Monsieur de Franval, who, as soon as this child was born, no doubt formed the most detestable designs on her, immediately separated her from her mother. Until the age of seven, Eugenie was entrusted to women of whom Franval was sure and who, limiting their endeavors to forming a good constitution and teaching her to read, took care not to give her any knowledge of religious or moral principles, about which a girl of her age should normally be instructed. Madame de Farneille and her daughter, who were very shocked by this conduct, reproached Monsieur de Franval about it; he replied phlegmatically that since his plan was to make his daughter happy, he did not want to force upon her fantasies which were only likely to frighten people without ever becoming useful to them; that a girl whose only need was to learn how to please could at best be unaware of this nonsense, of which the imaginary existence, in disturbing the calm of her life, would give her no additional moral truth and no additional physical grace. Such remarks caused immediate displeasure to Madame de Farneille who, as she moved away from the pleasures of this world, was going closer to thoughts of heaven. Piety is a weakness dependent on age or health. When the passions are at their height a future which one believes to be very distant usually causes little uneasiness, but when their language is less lively, as we near the end, when finally everything leaves us, we cast ourselves again into the bosom of the God whom we heave heard mentioned in childhood, and if according to the philosophers these later illusions are as fantastic as the others, they are at least not so dangerous. Since Franval's mother-in-law had no longer any relatives, little credit on her own, and at the most, as we have said a few of those casual friends, who avoid responsibility if we put them to the test, having to struggle against a likeable, young and well placed son-in-law, imagined very sensibly that it war simpler to keep to representations rather than to undertake stringent measures, with a man who would ruin the mother and have the daughter locked up, if they dared to stand up to him; in the meantime Madame de Farneille merely hazarded a few remonstrances and became silent as soon as she saw that this was achieving nothing. Franval, sure of his superiority, seeing clearly that he was feared, soon renounced all scruples concerning anything whatsoever, and contenting himself with some slight concealment, simply because of the public, went straight to his horrible goal. As soon as Eugenie reached the age of seven, Franval took her to his wife; and this loving mother, who had not seen her child since she had brought her into the world, unable to have her fill of caresses, held her for two hours pressed against her bosom, covering her with kisses, bathing her with tears. She wanted to know what talents she possessed, but Eugenie had none beyond reading fluently, enjoying the most robust health and of being angelically beautiful. Madame de Franval was again in despair when she realized that it was only too true that her daughter was unaware of even the first principles of religion. “What is this, sir,” she said to her husband, “are you therefore bringing her up only for this world? Will you not deign to reflect that she will only inhabit it for a moment like us, and afterwards will plunge into eternity, which will certainly be fatal if you deprive her of what can make her enjoy there a happy fate at the feet of the Being from whom she received life.” “If Eugenie knows nothing, Madame,” replied Franval, “if these maxims are carefully concealed from her, she could not be unhappy; for if they are true, the Supreme Being is too fair to punish her for her ignorance, and if they are false, why mention them to her? As regards the other needs of her education, have confidence in me, I beg you; from today I am to be her teacher, and I assure you that in a few years' time your daughter will surpass all children of her age.” Madame de Franval tried to insist, invoking the eloquence of the heart to assist that of reason, shedding some tears; but Franval, who was unmoved by them, did not even seem to notice them; he had Eugenie taken away, saying to his wife that if she considered opposing in any way the education which he hoped to give his daughter, or if she suggested to him principles different from those which he proposed to instill in her, she would deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing her, and that he would send his daughter to one of his chateaux from which she would never emerge again. Madame de Franval, who had become used to submission, was silent; she begged her husband not to separate her from such a treasured possession and promised, weeping, not to disturb in any way the education that was being prepared for her. From this moment Mademoiselle de Franval was placed in a very fine apartment next to that of her father, with a highly intelligent governess, an under-governess, a chambermaid and two little girls of her own age, who were there for the sole purpose of relaxation. She was given teachers for writing, drawing, poetry, natural history, declamation, geography, astronomy, anatomy, Greek, English, German, Italian, together with instructors for handling weapons, dancing, riding and music. Eugenie rose every day at seven o'clock, whatever the season she ran about the garden eating a large piece of rye bread, which formed her breakfast; she came in at eight o'clock, spent a few moments in her father's apartment, while he played with her or taught her little society games; until nine o'clock she prepared her work; then the first teacher arrived and she received five of them until two o'clock. She took her meal separately with her two friends and her chief governess. The dinner consisted of vegetables, fish, pastries and fruit, never any meat, soup, wine, liqueurs or coffee. From three o'clock to four, Eugenie went back into the garden to play for an hour with her little companions; they played together at tennis, ball-games, skittles, battledore and shuttlecock, or at running races; they wore comfortable clothing according to the season; nothing constricted their waists; they were never fastened into those ridiculous whalebones, which are equally dangerous for the stomach and the chest and which, hindering a young person's breathing, must necessarily harm the lungs. From four to six o'clock Mademoiselle de Franval received more teachers; and since they could not all appear in twenty-four hours, the remainder came during the next day. Three times a week Eugenie went to the theatre with her father, sitting in a little box with gratings, hired for her by the year. At nine o'clock she returned home and took supper, being served only with vegetables and fruit. From ten to eleven o'clock, four times a week, Eugenie played with her women, read a few novels and then went to bed. She spent the three other days, when Franval did not take supper away from home, alone in her father's apartment, and this time was employed in what Franval called his “lectures”. During these he instilled into his daughter his maxims on morals and religion; on one side he showed her what some people thought about these matters and on the other he set out what he accepted himself. Since she had much wit, wide knowledge, a lively intelligence and passions which were already aroused, it is easy to judge of the progress made by such ideas in Eugenie's mind; but since the object of the unworthy Franval was not only to strengthen the mind, his lectures rarely ended without stirring up the emotions; and this horrible man had found so skillfully the means of pleasing his daughter, he seduced her with such art, he made himself so useful in her instruction and her relaxation, he anticipated with such ardor everything which could please her, that Eugenie, in the midst of the most brilliant circles, found no one as attractive as her father; and even before the latter explained himself, the innocent and weak creature had accumulated in her young heart all the feelings of love, gratitude and affection which must necessarily lead to the most ardent desire; Franval was the only man in the world to her; she could distinguish only him, she was revolted by the idea of everything that could separate him from her; she would have given him not her honor, not her charms-for all these sacrifices would have seemed too slight for the moving object of her idolatry-but her blood, her very life, if this tender companion of her soul had demanded it. This was not the case as far as Mademoiselle de Franval's feelings for her worthy and unfortunate mother were concerned. Her father skillfully told Eugenie that Madame de Franval, being his wife, demanded from him attention which often made him unable to do everything for his dear Eugenie that his feelings dictated; he had followed the secret of instilling into this young person's heart much more hate and jealousy than the kind of respectable and affectionate feelings which should have arisen for such a mother. “My friend, my brother,” Eugenie would sometimes say to Franval, who did not want his daughter to use any other expressions with him, “this woman whom you call your wife, this creature who, according to you, brought me into the world, must therefore be very demanding, since in wanting you always with her, she deprives me of the happiness of spending my life with you. I see it clearly, you prefer her to your Eugenie. As far as I am concerned, I will never love anything which takes your heart away from me.” “My dear friend,” replied Franval, “no, nobody whatsoever in the entire world will acquire such powerful rights as yours; the ties which exist between this woman and your best friend are the result of custom and social conventions; I regard them in a philosophical light, and they will never affect those which bind us together, you will always be the one preferred, Eugenie; you will be the angel and the light of my days, the focus of my soul and the purpose of my existence.” “Oh, how sweet are these words!” replied Eugenie, “repeat them often, my friend. If you knew how pleasing to me are the expressions of your tenderness.” She took Franval's hand and pressed it to her heart. “Yes, yes, I feel them all here,” she went on. “How your tender caresses assure me of that,” replied Franval, clasping her in his arms. And in this way, without any remorse, the traitor completed the seduction of the unfortunate girl. However, Eugenie was reaching her fourteenth year, the moment when Franval wanted to consummate his crime. He did so. Let us shudder! The very day when she reached this age, or rather that on which her fourteenth year was completed, they both found themselves in the country, with no relatives present and no one to disturb them. On that day the Count, having caused his daughter to be dressed like the virgins who in the past were consecrated in the temple of Venus, led her, at eleven o'clock in the morning, into a voluptuously decorated drawing-room where the daylight was softened by gauze curtains and the furniture strewn with flowers. In the center stood a throne of roses, Franval led his daughter towards it. “Eugenie,” he told her, seating her upon it, “be today the queen of my heart, and let me adore you on my knees.” “Let you adore me, my brother, when it is I who owe you everything, when you created me and brought me up! Ah, let me rather fall at your feet; this is the only place for me, and with you it is the only one to which I aspire.” “Oh, my tender Eugenie,” said the Count, taking his place near her on the flower-strewn cushions which were to serve his triumph, “if it is true that you owe me something, if in fact the feelings you have for me are as sincere as you say, do you know how to convince me of it?” “How, my brother? Tell me quickly so that I can understand at once.” “All these charms, Eugenie, that nature has so liberally bestowed upon you, all these attentions with which she has beautified you, must be sacrificed to me immediately.” “But what are you asking me? Are you not master of everything? Does not your creation belong to you, can anyone else enjoy your handiwork?” “But you realize the prejudices of men.” “You have in no way concealed them from me.” “I do not therefore want to go against them without your agreement.” “Do you not despise them as I do?” “That is so, but I do not want to tyrannize you, much less seduce you; I want to receive the favors I seek from love alone. You know what the world is like, I have hidden none of its attractions from you. To hide men from your sight, to let you see nobody except myself, would have been a deception unworthy of me; if there exists in the universe a being whom you prefer to me, name him at once, I will go to the ends of the earth to find him and will lead him to your arms at once. In fact it is your happiness that I want, my angel, your happiness much more than mine, the sweet pleasures that you can give me would be nothing to me if they were not the price of your love. Decide, therefore, Eugenie. The moment has come when you are to be sacrificed, you must be. But you yourself must name the man who will carry out the sacrifice, I renounce the pleasures that this title ensures for me if I do not receive them from your heart; and if it is not I whom you prefer, I shall always be worthy of your feelings in bringing you the one whom you can love. If I have not been able to captivate your heart, I will at least have deserved your affection; and I shall be Eugenie's friend, having failed to become her lover.” “You shall be everything, brother, you shall be everything,” said Eugenie, burning with love and desire. “To whom do you want me to sacrifice myself, if it is not to the only man whom I adore? What being in the universe can be more worthy than you of these poor charms that you desire, and which your burning hands are already caressing with ardor! Do you not see from the fire that consumes me that I am as anxious as you to experience the pleasure of which you tell me? Ah, take me, take me, my loving brother, my best friend, make Eugenie your victim; sacrificed by your beloved hands she will always be triumphant.” The ardent Franval, who, in accordance with his character, had only armed himself with so much delicacy in order to seduce with more finesse, soon took advantage of this daughter’s credulity and, with all obstacles removed, as much through the principles with which he had nourished this soul that was open to all kinds of impressions, as through the art with which he captivated her at the last moment, he completed his perfidious conquest, and with impunity destroyed the virginity which by nature and by right it was his responsibility to defend. Several days passed in mutual intoxication. Eugenie, who was old enough to know the pleasures of love, was encouraged by his methods and abandoned herself to it with enthusiasm. Franval taught her all love's mysteries and mapped out all its routes; the more he increased his adoration the better he enslaved his conquest. She would have like to receive him in a thousand temples at once, accusing him of not allowing his imagination to stray far enough; she thought he was concealing something from her. She complained of her age and of an ingenuousness which perhaps did not make her seductive enough: and if she wanted more instruction it was so that no means of arousing her lover could remain unknown to her. They returned to Paris, but the criminal pleasures which had intoxicated this perverse man had given too much delectable enjoyment to his physical and moral faculties for the inconstancy which usually destroyed all his other intrigues to sever the ties of this one. He fell desperately in love, and this dangerous passion led inevitably to the most cruel abandonment of his wife. Alas, what a victim she was! Madame de Franval, then thirty-one years old, was at the height of her beauty; an air of sadness which was inevitable in view of the sorrows that consumed her, made her more intriguing still; bathed in tears, crushed by melancholy, her beautiful hair carelessly flowing loose over her alabaster bosom, her lips pressed amorously to the beloved portrait of her faithless tyrant, she resembled those beautiful virgins whom Michelangelo painted in the midst of sorrow: but she was still unaware of what was to complete her torment. The way in which Eugenie was being educated, the essential things of which she was left in ignorance, or which were only mentioned to her in order to make her hate them; her certainty that these duties, despised by Franval, would never be permitted to her daughter; the brief time she was allowed to see the girl, the fear that the unusual education she was receiving would sooner or later lead her to crime, the eccentricities of Franval in fact, his daily harshness towards her, she who was occupied only in anticipating his wishes, who knew no other charms except those which would interest or please him; until now these had been the only causes of her affliction. "What sorrow was to pierce this loving and sensitive soul as soon as she learned everything! However, Eugenie's education continued; she herself had wished to continue with her teachers until the age of sixteen, and her talents, her extensive knowledge, the graces which were developing in her each day, everything enslaved Franval more strongly; it was easy to see that he had never loved anyone as he loved Eugenie. In Mademoiselle de Franval's external life nothing had been changed except the times of the lectures; these intimate discussions with her father became much more frequent and lasted long into the night. Only Eugenie's governess was informed of this intrigue and they trusted her enough not to fear any indiscretion on her part. There were also some changes in the arrangements for Eugenie's meals, she now took them with her parents. In a house such as Franval's this soon caused Eugenie to meet other people, and to be desired as a wife. Several people asked for her hand Franval, who was certain of his daughter's heart, had not thought it at all necessary to fear these approaches, but he had not realized sufficiently that this rush of proposals might perhaps succeed in revealing everything. During a conversation with her daughter, a favor so desired by Madame de Franval, and one she obtained so rarely, this affectionate mother informed Eugenie that Monsieur de Colunce wished to marry her. “You know this man, my daughter,” said Madame de Franval; “he loves you, he is young and likeable; he will be rich, he merely awaits your consent, your consent only, my daughter, how shall I reply?” Eugenie, taken by surprise, blushed and replied that she felt no taste for marriage as yet, but that her father could be consulted; she would have no wishes other than his. Madame de Franval saw this reply only as straightforward, waited patiently for some days and, finding at last an opportunity to mention it to her husband, she communicated to him the intentions of the young Colunce’s family and those that he had revealed himself, to which she added her daughter's reply. It can well be imagined that Franval knew everything; but he nevertheless succeeded in disguising this without showing too much self-control. “Madame,” he said drily to his wife, “I ask you earnestly not to involve Eugenie in this; the care you have seen me take to remove her from you must have made it easy for you to recognize how much I wanted all that concerned her to have nothing to do with you. I renew my orders to you on this subject, you will not forget them, I imagine?” “But how should I reply, sir, since it is I whom they ask?” “You will say that I appreciate the honor they show me, and that my daughter has defects dating from birth which make marriage difficult.” “But sir, these defects are certainly not real; why do you want me to be upset by them and why deprive your only daughter of the happiness she can find in marriage?” “Have these ties made you very happy, Madame?” “Not all women make the mistakes which I have no doubt made, in failing to captivate you (and with a sigh), or else all husbands do not resemble you.” “Wives, false, jealous, domineering, coquettish or pious. Husbands, treacherous, unfaithful, cruel or despotic, there in a nutshell are all the individuals in the world, Madame; don't hope to find a phoenix”. “And yet everyone gets married.” “Yes, the fools or the idlers; nobody ever marries, said one philosopher, except when they don't know what they are doing, or when they don't know what to do.” “Must one let the world come to an end, then?” “One might as well; it is never too early to exterminate a plant which yields nothing but poison.” “Eugenie will not be very grateful to you for this excessive severity towards her.” “Does this marriage appear to please her?” “Your wishes are her commands, she said so.” “Very well, Madame, my wishes are that you give up this marriage.” And Monsieur de Franval went out, again forbidding his wife in the strongest terms to speak of it again. Madame de Franval did not fail to repeat to her mother the conversation she had just had with her husband, and Madame de Farneille, who was more subtle and more accustomed to the effects of the passions than her attractive daughter, suspected at once that there was something abnormal involved. Eugenie very rarely saw her grandmother, for an hour at the most during social events, and always in Franval's presence. Madame de Farneille therefore, wishing to be enlightened, asked her son-in-law to send her granddaughter to her one day and leave her with her for a whole afternoon in order to cure her, she said, of an attack of migraine from which she was suffering; Franval replied harshly that there was nothing that Eugenie feared as much as the vapors, that he would however bring her where she was wanted but that she could not stay there long, since she was under an obligiation to go from there to a physics lesson, a course that she was following assiduously. They went to Madame de Farneille's, who in no way concealed from her son-in-law her astonishment that the proposed marriage had been refused. “I think,” She went on, “you need have no fear in allowing your daughter to convince me herself of the defect which, according to you, must deprive her of marriage.” “Whether this defect is real or not, Madame,” said Franval somewhat surprised by his mother-in-law's determination, “the fact is that it would cost me a great deal to marry my daughter and I am still too young to agree to such sacrifices; when she is twenty-five, she will do as she wishes; she must not count on me in any way until then.” “And are your feelings still the same, Eugenie?” asked Madame de Farneille. “They differ in one respect, Madame,” said Mademoiselle de Franval very firmly; my father allows me to marry when I am twenty-five, and I, Madame, assure both you and him that I will not take advantage at any point in my lifetime of a permission, which, to my way of thinking, would only contribute to my unhappiness.” “One has no way of thinking at your age, miss,” said Madame de Farneille, “and there is something unusual in all this which I must certainly sort out.” “I urge you to do so, Madame,” said Franval, as he took his daughter away; “it will even be a very good thing if you employ your clergy to penetrate to the heart of the problem, and when all your powers have exerted themselves cleverly, and when you finally know the answer, kindly tell me if I am right or wrong in opposing Eugenie's marriage.” The sarcasm levelled by Franval at his mother-in-law's ecclesiastical advisers was aimed at a praiseworthy person whom it is relevant to introduce, since the progress of events will soon show him in action. This was the spiritual director to Madame de Farneille and her daughter, one of the most virtuous men in France, honest, benevolent, straightforward and wise, Monsieur de Clervil, far from having all the vices of his cloth, possessed only gentle and useful qualities. A reliable support for the poor, a sincere friend of the opulent, consoler of the unfortunate, this worthy man had all the gifts which make someone likeable and all the virtues which make up a sensitive person. When he was consulted Clervil replied like a man of good sense that before taking sides in this matter it was necessary to work out Monsieur de Franval's reasons for opposing his daughter's marriage; and although Madame de Farneille made some remarks likely to arouse suspicion about the intrigue which existed only too truly in fact, the prudent director rejected these ideas, and finding them much too insulting towards Madame de Franval and her husband, he disagreed with them indignantly. “Crime is such a distressing thing, Madame,” this honest man would sometimes say; “it seems so unlikely that a well-conducted person will voluntarily exceed the bounds of modesty and all the restraints of virtue, that it is only with the most extreme repugnance that I decide to attribute such faults; let us only rarely suspect vice; such feelings are often the result of our amour-propre, almost always the outcome of a hidden comparison made in the depths of our mind; we hasten to admit evil so that we can be entitled to find ourselves better. If you think about it seriously, would it not be better, Madame, if a secret fault were never laid bare, rather than for us to invent illusory ones through unforgivable haste and thus to blight without cause as I see it, people who have committed no other errors except those which our pride has attributed to them? Moreover, does not everything gain from this principle? Is it not infinitely less essential to punish a crime than to prevent it from spreading? By leaving it in the obscurity it seeks, is it not as good as abolished? Scandal is certain to spread it abroad. descriptions of it arouse the passions of those inclined to the same type of errors; the inevitable blindness of crime arouses the hope of the guilty man to be happier than him who has just been recognized as such; he has not been given a lesson but a piece of advice, and he abandons himself to excesses that he would perhaps never have dared to commit without the imprudent scandal mistakenly regarded as justice, and which is no more than ill-conceived severity or vanity in disguise. The only decision taken therefore at this first meeting was that of verifying precisely why Franval had put off his daughter's marriage and why Eugenie shared the same way of thinking: it was decided that nothing should be undertaken before these motives were laid bare. “Well, Eugenie,” said Franval that evening to his daughter, “You see, they want to separate us, will they succeed, my child? Will they manage to sever the most cherished bonds of my life?” “Never, never, do not fear it, my dearest friend! The ties in which you revel are as precious to me as to you; you have in no way deceived me, you showed me, while forming them, to what extent they clashed with custom. I am not afraid to contravene practices which, varying from one part of the world to another, cannot be sacred in any way; I desired these bonds, I wove them without remorse, do not fear therefore that I shall break them.” “Alas, who knows? Colunce is younger than I am. He has everything necessary to attract you, do not heed, Eugenie, the residue of error which no doubt blinds you; maturity and the light of reason will dispel prestige and will soon lead to regrets, you will blame me for them, and I shall not forgive myself for having been the cause of them!” “No,” Eugenie went on firmly, “no, I am determined to love you alone; I should believe myself the most unfortunate of women if I had to take a husband, I,” she went on, with warmth, “link myself to a stranger who, not having like you twin reasons for loving me, would limit his feelings, at the most his desires. If I were to be abandoned and despised by him, what would become of me afterwards? Would I be a sanctimonious prude or a harlot? Oh, no, no, I would rather be your mistress, my friend. Yes, I love you a thousand times too much to be reduced to playing in society either of those infamous roles. But what is the cause of all this disturbance?” Eugenie went on bitterly. “do you know what it is, my friend? Who it is? Your wife! She alone. Her insatiable jealousy. Have no doubt about it, those are the sole causes of the misfortunes which threaten us, Ah! I do not blame her for it: everything is simple, everything is understandable, everything is possible when it is a question of keeping you. What would I not undertake if I were in her place, and someone wanted to take your heart away from me?” Franval, strangely moved, embraced his daughter time and time again; and the latter, further encouraged by these criminal caresses, developing her atrocious thoughts in a more energetic fashion, dared to tell her father, with unpardonable shamelessness, that the only way in which they could both be less closely observed was to provide her mother with a lover. This plan entertained Franval; but since he was much more wicked than his daughter and wanted imperceptibly to prepare her youthful heart for all the feelings of hatred against his wife that he intended to sow there, he replied that he thought this revenge too mild, and that there were many other ways of upsetting a woman when she annoyed her husband. A few weeks passed in this manner, during which Franval and his daughter finally decided on the first plan conceived to bring despair to this monster's virtuous wife, believing, rightly, that before adopting more unworthy procedures, they must at least try to produce a lover; this would not only provide material for all other methods, but, if it succeeded, would of necessity oblige Madame de Franval not to concern herself with the faults of others, since her own would also have been revealed. In order to carry out this project Franval examined all the young men of his acquaintance and, after thinking things over carefully, he found that only Valmont seemed likely to prove useful to him. Valmont was thirty years old, handsome, witty, imaginative, with no principles whatever, and as a result highly suitable for the role that was to be offered to him. Franval invited him to dinner one evening, and as they left the table he took him aside. “My friend,” he said, “I have always deemed you to be worthy of me; now is the moment to prove that I have not been mistaken: I demand a proof of your feelings, but a very unusual proof.” “What is all this? Explain yourself, dear man, and never doubt my anxiety to serve you!' “What do you think of my wife?” “She is delightful; and if you were not her husband, I'd have been her lover for a long time.” “That is a most considerate remark, Valmont, but it does not move me.” “Why not?” “I'm going to surprise you, it is precisely because you like me, precisely because I am Madame de Franval's husband that I demand you to become her lover.” “Are you mad?” “No, but I'm whimsical, capricious, you've known me to be like this for a long time, I want virtue to come to grief and I would like it to be you who takes her in the snare.” “What an outrageous idea!” “Don’t say a word, this is a masterpiece of reasoning.” “What! You want me to? “Yes, I want it, I demand it, and I cease to regard you as my friend if you refuse me this favor, I will look after you. I will satisfy all your needs, it will be to your advantage; and, as soon as I am quite certain of my fate, I shall, if necessary, throw myself at your feet to thank you for obliging me.” “Franval, you cannot deceive me; there is something very unusual in all this. I will undertake nothing unless I know everything.” “Yes, but I think you have some scruples, I suspect that you aren't yet intelligent enough to be capable of understanding all that is involved. You still have prejudices, you're still chivalrous, I wager? You will shudder like a child when I've told you everything, and you won't want to do anything anymore.” “I, shudder? I am really amazed at your way of judging me: learn, my dear friend, that there is not an aberration in the world, not a single one, however irregular it might be, that is capable of upsetting me for a moment.” “Valmont, have you cast eyes on Eugenie?” “Your daughter?” “Or my mistress, if you prefer?” “Ah, you scoundrel, I understand you.” “That's the first time in my life I've found you to be intelligent.” “What is this? Tell me honestly, are you in love with your daughter?” “Yes, my friend, like Lott I have always had such a great respect for the holy scriptures, I was always so convinced that one could gain heaven by emulating their heroes! Ah, my friend, the madness of Pygmalion no longer surprises me is the universe not full of these weaknesses? Was it not necessary to start in this way in order to populate the world? And if it was not evil then, can it have become so since? How preposterous! May not a pretty woman attract me because I made the mistake of bringing her into the world? Should the thing which ought to link me to her more closely become the reason for separating me from her? Should I look at her coldly because she resembles me because she is my own flesh and blood, because in her are united every foundation for the most ardent love? Ah, what sophistries, how ridiculous! Let us leave to fools these absurd restraints, they are not made for souls like ours; the dominion of beauty and the sacred rights of love know nothing of futile human conventions; their ascendancy annihilates these just as the rays of the sun purify the earth from the fogs that enshroud her at night. Let us trample underfoot these atrocious prejudices which have always been hostile to happiness; if they sometimes prevailed over reason, it was only at the expense of the most seductive pleasures, let us despise them forever.” “You convince me,” replied Valmont, “and I completely agree that your Eugenie must be a delightful mistress, she is a more lively beauty than her mother, and if she does not possess, like your wife, quite that languor which takes hold of the heart in such a voluptuous way, she has that piquancy which overwhelms us, which seems in fact to subdue every possibility of resistance; if the mother appears to yield, the daughter demands; what the former permits, the latter offers, and I find this much more attractive.” “Yet I am giving you not Eugenie, but her mother.” “Now what reason leads you to do this?” “My wife is jealous, she gets in my way, she criticises me! she wants to arrange a marriage for Eugenie, I must make her have faults in order to conceal my own; therefore you must have her, amuse yourself with her for some time, and betray her afterwards. I must surprise you in her arms, punish her or through this discovery I must purchase peace on both sides in our mutual errors, but no love, Valmont, keep cool, enslave her, and don't let yourself be dominated; if feelings come into it, my plans will be wrecked.” “Have no fear, this would be the first time a woman has moved me.” Our two scoundrels therefore concluded their arrangements, and it was resolved that within a few days Valmont would take Madame de Franval in hand, with full permission to do everything he wanted to achieve success, even the avowal of Franval's love, as the most powerful means of making this honest woman decide on revenge. Eugenie, to whom the plan was confided, found it vastly entertaining; the infamous creature dared to say that if Valmont succeeded it was necessary, if her own happiness were to be as complete as possible, for her to be assured, through her own eyes, of her mother's downfall, for her to see this virtuous heroine yield incontestably to the pleasurable delights which she condemned with such severity. Finally came the day when the most demure and unfortunate of women was not only to receive the most painful blow that could be dealt her, but was to be sufficiently outraged by her frightful husband to be abandoned, delivered by him to the man by whom he consented to be dishonoured. What madness! What scorn of all principles! For what purpose can nature create hearts as depraved as these? A few preliminary conversations had set this scene; Valmont, moreover, was friendly enough with Franval for the latter's wife, to whom this had already happened without risk, to be incapable of imagining that any danger would be incurred by remaining alone with him. They were all three in the drawing-room, when Franval rose. “I must leave,” he said, an important business matter calls me, It's like putting you with your governess, madame,” he added with a laugh, 'leaving you with Valmont, he's so well behaved, but if he forgets himself, you must tell me, I don't like him enough yet to hand over my rights to him! And the shameless man went out. After a few commonplace remarks, arising from Franval's Joke, Valmont said that he had found his friend changed during the last six months. “I have not dared to ask him why,” he went on, “but he seems unhappy.” “What is very certain,” replied Madame de Franval, “is the terrible unhappiness he is causing to others.” “Oh heavens, what are you telling me? Has my friend been treating you badly?” “If only that were the extent of our troubles!' “Do please tell me, you know my ardor, my undying attachment.” “A series of horrible disturbances, moral corruption, in fact errors of all kinds, would you believe it? The most advantageous marriage is suggested to us on behalf of our daughter, he does not want it.” And at this point the skillful Valmont looked away, with the air of a man who understands, groans, and dare not explain himself. “How is this, sir?” went on Madame de Franval, “are you not astonished by what I am saying? Your silence is very strange.” “Ah, madame, is it not better to be silent than to say something that would bring despair to the person one loves?” “What is this enigma, explain yourself, I entreat you.” “How can I not shudder at opening your eyes,” said Valmont, impetuously seizing this charming woman's hand. “Oh sir,” went on Madame de Franval with much animation, 'either say not another word, or explain yourself, I insist, you are putting me in a terrible position.” “Much less so perhaps than the state to which you reduce me yourself, ' said Valmont, looking at the woman he was trying to seduce, his eyes ablaze with love. “But what does all this mean, sir? You begin by alarming me, you make me want an explanation, next you dare to let me hear things which I should not and cannot tolerate, you remove from me the means of learning from you what torments me so cruelly. Speak, sir, speak, or you will reduce me to despair.” “I shall be less obscure then, since you demand it, Madame, and although it costs me something to break your heart, learn the harsh reason for your husband's refusal to Monsieur de Colunce. Eugenie.” “Well?” “Well, Madame, Franval adores her; he is now not so much her father as her lover, and he would prefer to stop living rather than give up Eugenie.” Madame de Franval did not hear this fatal explanation without a shock which made her lose her senses; Valmont hastened to go to her aid. “You see, madam e, ' he went on, 'the cost of the avowal that you demanded. Not for anything in the world would I.” “Leave me, sir, leave me,” said Madame de Franval, in a state difficult to describe; “after such violent shocks I need to be alone for a moment.” “And would you want me to leave you in this state? I feel your sorrows too vividly in my heart not to ask your permission to share them. I inflicted this wound, let me heal it.” “Franval in love with his daughter, gracious heaven! This creature whom I bore within me, it is she who rends his heart in such atrocious style! Such a fearful crime, ah, sir, is it possible? Are your really sure?” “If I still had doubts about it, Madame, I would have kept silence, I would have preferred a hundred times to tell you nothing rather than upset you to no purpose; it was from your husband himself that I received proof of this infamy, he confided it to me; however that may be, be calm, I beg you; let us concern ourselves now with the means of breaking this intrigue rather than with those for explaining it; now, these means rest only with you.” “Ah, tell me about them quickly, this crime horrifies me.” “a husband with Franval's character, Madame, is not won back in any way by virtue; your hus band has little faith in the sage demeanor of women; he maintains that it is due to their pride or their temperament, the things they do to preserve themselves for us are done much more to satisfy themselves than to please or enslave us. Forgive me, Madame, but I will not disguise from you that I believe more or less as he does on this subject; I never saw that virtues made a wife succeed in destroying her husband's vices; conduct more or less similar to Franval's would rouse him much more and would bring him back to you much more satisfactorily; jealousy would certainly result, and how many hearts have been restored to love through this constantly infallible method; your husband, then, seeing that this virtue, to which he is accustomed, and which he has the effrontery to despise, is due much more to reflection than to carelessness, will really learn to appreciate it in you, at the moment when he believes you capable of failing in it; he imagines, he dares to say that if you have never had any lovers it is because you have never been attacked; prove to him that it only depends on you to be so, to have your revenge for his wrongs and his scorn; perhaps you will do a little harm, in view of your stern principles, but how many evils you will have prevented, what a husband you will have converted ! And for a slight outrage to the goddess you revere, what a worshipper you will have brought back to her temple! Ah, Madame, I appeal only to your reason. Through the conduct that I dare recommend to you, you will bring Franval back forever, you will captivate him for good; he flees through contrariness, he is escaping for good; yes, Madame, I dare to say it, either you do not love your husband, or you must not hesitate.” Madame de Franval, who was very surprised by these words, did not reply for some time; then she spoke, recalling Valmont's looks and his first remarks. “Sir,” she said skillfully, “supposing that I take the advice you give me, on whom do you think I should cast my eyes in order to upset my husband more?” “ah!” cried Valmont, not seeing the trap that was being set for him, “dear, divine friend, on the man who loves you best in all the world, on him who has adored you ever since he has known you, and who swears on his knees that he will die in your service.” “Go, sir, go!' said Madame de Franval then in imperious fashion, “and never appear before me again; your trick is exposed; you only credit my husband with faults, that he is incapable of possessing in order to arrange your treacherous seduction more successfully; understand that even if he were guilty, the methods you suggest to me would be too repugnant for me to use them for one moment; a husband's errors can never justify those of a wife; for her they should become additional reasons for good conduct, so that the just and eternal God may find them in the afflicted cities that are about to suffer the effects of his anger, and may, if he can, turn aside from them the flames that are about to devour them.” With these words Madame de Franval went out, and, asking for Valmont's servants, she obliged him to leave, very much ashamed of the first steps that he had taken. Although this attractive woman had seen through the tricks of Franval's friend, the things he had said corresponded so well with her own fears and with those of her mother, that she decided to put everything into operation in order to convince herself of these hurtful truths. She went to see Madame de Farneille, told her what had happened and came back, determined to proceed as follows. It has long been said, and very rightly so, that we have no greater enemies than our own servants; they are always jealous and envious and apparently try to lighten their burdens by attributing faults to us which place us beneath them and allow their vanity, for a short time at least, to dominate us in the way that fate has denied to them. Madame de Franval had one of Eugenie's women bribed; a guaranteed payment, a pleasant future, the semblance of a good action, everything influenced this minion and she undertook, from the following night, to put Madame de Franval in a position where she would be unable to doubt her misfortune any longer. The moment came. The unfortunate mother was introduced into a small room adjoining the apartment where every night her faithless husband violated both his own marriage ties and Heaven too. Eugenie was with her father; several candles still burned in a corner to illuminate the crime, the altar was prepared, the victim took her place, the high priest followed her. Madame de Franval no longer had any support except her despair, her angry love, her courage. She broke through the doors that held her back and rushed into the apartment; there she fell on her knees before the incestuous man. “Oh,” she cried, addressing Franval, “You are breaking my heart, I did not deserve such treatment from you, you whom I still adore, whatever insults I receive from you, see my tears, and do not reject me; I ask you to spare this unfortunate girl, who, deceived by her weakness and seduced by you, believes she is finding happiness in the midst of shame and crime. Eugenie, Eugenie, do you want to thrust a sword into the bosom that gave you life? No longer be the accomplice in a crime whose horror is concealed from you! Come, hasten, my arms are ready to receive you. See your unfortunate mother, on her knees before you, begging you not to outrage both honor and nature at once. But if you refuse me both,” went on the heartbroken woman, raising a dagger to her heart, “this is the means by which I shall remove myself from the hurt you are trying to inflict upon me; I will spatter you with my blood and it is only over my wretched body that you will be able to consummate your crimes.” That Franval's hardened soul could resist this sight, those who are beginning to know this scoundrel will easily believe; but that Eugenie did not yield in any way is inconceivable. “Madame,” said this corrupt girl, with the most harsh indifference, “I do not regard it as reasonable on your part, I confess, that you should make an absurd scene in front of your husband; can he not do as he pleases? And if he approves of what I do, have you any right to criticize? Do we criticize your indiscretions with Monsieur de Valmont? Do we disturb your pleasures? Kindly respect ours, therefore, or do not be surprised that I am the first to press your husband to take the line which could force you to do so.” At this moment Madame de Franval lost patience, all her anger turned against this unworthy creature who could forget herself so far as to speak to her like this, and, rising in a fury, she hurled herself upon her. But the hateful, cruel Franval, seizing his wife by the hair, dragged her in fury far away from his daughter and from the bedroom, and threw her forcefully down the stairs of the house, until she fell faint and bleeding at the door of one of her women who, awakened by the horrible noise, hastily removed her mistress from the furies of the tyrannical Franval, who had already come down in order to dispatch his unfortunate victim. She was taken to her rooms, locked in and cared for, while the monster, who had just treated her with such rage, rushed back to his detestable companion to spend the night as quietly as though he had not sunk lower than the fiercest beasts, through crimes so execrable, so likely to humiliate him, so horrible in fact that we blush at the necessity to reveal them. No more illusions for the unfortunate Madame de Franval; she could no longer allow herself a single one; it was only too obvious that her husband's heart, that is to say the dearest possession of her life, had been taken away from her, and by whom? By her who owed her the greatest respect, and who had just spoken to her with the greatest insolence; she had also suspected that the whole of the Valmont intrigue was merely a horrible trap for the purpose of putting her in the wrong if possible, and, if not, to attribute faults to her, to inundate her with them, in order to balance and justify thereby the infinitely more serious ones which others dared to incur against her. Nothing was more certain. Franval, informed of Valmont's failure, had pledged him to replace truth by imposture and indiscretion, to spread the story that he was Madame de Franval's lover; and it had been concluded that disgusting letters would be faked which would prove, in the least equivocal manner, the existence of the relation-ship to which this unfortunate wife had refused to lend herself. Madame de Franval however, who was in despair, and even suffering from several injuries, fell seriously ill; her barbarous husband, who refused to see her, not even deigning to enquire about her health, left with Eugenie for the country, on the pretext that there was fever in the house and he did not wish to expose his daughter to it. Valmont presented himself several times at Madame de Franval's door during her illness, but without being admitted once; closeted with her loving mother and Monsieur de Clervil, she saw nobody whatsoever, consoled by such dear friends, who were accustomed to have authority over her, she was restored to life by their care and after six weeks was in a state to see people. Franval then brought his daughter back to Paris and made arrangements with Valmont to provide themselves with weapons equal to those which Madame de Franval and her friends seemed about to level against them. The villainous Franval went to see his wife as soon as he believed her to be in a fit state to receive him. “Madame,” he said to her coldly, “You should have no doubts about the consideration I have shown over your health; I cannot disguise from you the fact that this alone is responsible for Eugenie's reticence; she had decided to bring the strongest charges against you concerning the way in which you treated her; however convinced she may be of the respect which a daughter owes to her mother, she cannot all the same be unaware that the mother puts herself in the worst possible position by hurling herself upon her daughter with a dagger in her hand; hastiness of this kind, Madame, could open the eyes of the government to your conduct and one day could not fail to cause injury to your liberty and your honor.” “I did not expect this recrimination, sir,” replied Madame de Franval, “and when my daughter, seduced by you, renders herself simultaneously guilty of incest, adultery, licentiousness and the most hateful ingratitude towards her who brought her into the world, yes, I admit, I did not imagine that after this complex of horrors it would be for me to fear complaints: all your artifice and evil are required, sir, to excuse the crime with such audacity and accuse an innocent person.” “I am not unaware, Madame, that the pretexts for your scene were the odious suspicions that your dare to form about me, but fantasies do not justify crimes; what you thought is false, but what you have done is unfortunately only too real. You are surprised at the reproaches that my daughter addressed to you concerning your irregular conduct only after the whole of Paris has done so; this state of affairs is so well known, the proofs are unfortunately so consistent, that those who speak about it are guilty at the most of imprudence but not of calumny.” “I, sir,” said this honorable wife, rising indignantly, “I, an intrigue with Valmont? Gracious heavens, and you say that!' She burst into tears. “Ungrateful man! This is the price of my affection, this is the reward for having loved you so much: you are not content with outraging me so cruelly, it is not enough for you to seduce my own daughter, you must still dare to justify your crimes by attributing to me others which I regard as more terrible than death. She collected herself again: “You have proofs of this intrigue sir, you say, bring them out, I demand that they be made public, I will force you to show them to everyone, if you refuse to show them to me.” “No, Madame, I shall certainly not show them to everyone, a husband does not usually announce things of this kind; he bewails them and hides them as carefully as he can; but if you demand them, madame, I will certainly not refuse them to you. He then took a wallet out of his pocket. “Be seated,” he said, “this must be verified with calm, excitement and anger would do harm without convincing me; compose yourself then, I beg you, and let us discuss this coolly.” Madame de Franval, who was perfectly convinced of her innocence, did not know what to think of these preparations and her surprise, mingled with fear, kept her in a state of frenzy. “First of all, Madame,” said Franval, emptying one side of the wallet, “here is your entire correspondence with Valmont during the last six months or so. Do not accuse this young man of imprudence or indiscretion, he is no doubt too honorable to dare fail you on this point. But one of his servants, whose skill exceeds his master's attentiveness, found the secret of procuring for me these precious monuments to your exemplary conduct and your eminent virtue.” He fingered the letters which he scattered on the table. “allow me,” he went on, 'to select from much of the usual chatter of a woman who is excited, by a very attractive man one letter which seemed to me more abandoned and even more decisive than the others. Here it is, Madame: “My tedious husband is taking supper this evening at his petite maison in the outer part of the town with that horrible creature, whom it is impossible I brought into the world; come, my dear, and console me for all the sorrows that those two monsters cause me. What am I saying? Are they not rendering me the greatest possible service at present, and will not this intrigue prevent my husband from noticing ours? Let him then tighten the knots as far as he wishes, but may he not attempt at least to sever those which link me to the only man I have really adored in all the world.” “Well, Madame?” “Well, sir, I admire you,” replied Madame de Franval, “every day adds to the incredible esteem that you deserve; and whatever great qualities I had recognized in you so far, I admit I did not yet know you possessed those of forger and calumniator.” “Are you denying it, then?” “Not at all; I only ask to be convinced; we will have judges appointed, experts, and if you agree, shall we ask for the most severe penalty to be inflicted on whichever one of us shall be found guilty?” “That is what is called effrontery: well, I prefer that to sorrow. Let us proceed. That you have

Rahan. Son of the fierce ages. Episode Sixty Two. By Roger Lecureux, drawn by Guy Zam. The share of the Chiefs. The starving child barely had the strength to chew the root. He had no reaction when, remembering the distant days when he, too, had suffered from hunger. The son of Crao approached him. Did you get lost in the forest? Rahan will bring you back to yours, little man! No, O-Naa and Ka-haa ate all the meat. Following the child's footsteps, Rahan came upon arid ground. Men and women were prostrate at the entrance to a cave. Page Two. This little man belongs to your clan, does he not? What unworthy hunters are you to abandon him without food! And where are O-Naa and Ka-Haa who ate all the meat!? I am O-Naa-the-chief. And here is Ka-Haa, the sorcerer, and Trank and Kawi, our best hunters! But who are you, to dare to discuss our custom! Four men came out of the cave. These were sturdy. I am Rahan, the son of Crao! If your custom is to let hunger consume the youngest of the men, then Rahan is against your custom! If the hunting is good, everyone eats their fill. But game is rare! The custom is that the best in the clan eat first! And the “Best” are you! Rahan despises chiefs and sorcerers who do not know how to lead their clan into territories rich in game! Page Three. Trank and Kawi will make you pay for this insolence "Hair-of-Fire"! On an order from the sorcerer, the two sturdy hunters rushed towards the son of Crao. Rahan does not like to fight with "those-who-walk-upright"! But when you force him to. He does not run away from the fight! A rapid blow disarmed Trank. Another thunderbolt threw him to the ground. Argh! Kawi's powerful arms were already surrounding him. Kawi is more loyal! He does not use a knife! But Rahan still has to get rid of him. An admiring clamor arose. Uprooted from the ground, the hunter fluttered over the shoulder of the son of Crao. Page Four. Only O-Naa-the-chief, Ka-Haa the sorcerer and Trank were furious. Your knife, Kawi! Kill! Kill! No! "Fire-hair" did not draw his weapon! He fought fair. And he flattened Kawi! Rahan Is Brave! Kawi will share his meat with him! Rahan had just made an ally, but also three enemies! Before arriving in your territory, Rahan crossed a game-filled forest. He does not want your meat, Kawi! Better yet, he will bring some back for these little men! Which of you will dare to accompany him? The men of the clan remained prostrate. Our clan does not often hear wise words, Rahan! Kawi will go with you! Shortly after, the son of Crao and his new companion plunged deep into the forest. Why do your people not abandon their land without trees? Without game? Ka-Haa says we were born there and we must die there! Page Five. And Kawi spoke of the unjust custom of his clan. From the few animals captured, the chief and the sorcerer first took their share. Trank and himself took theirs! And the others share what’s left. It is often not much. Sometimes it is nothing! Watch out Kawai! Wild boars went this way! Rahan had barely pointed out the tracks when the thickets began to crack. A herd was chasing them! A Herd from which they could only flee! The son of Crao was already in a tree when Kawi, stumbling against a root, fell, fifty steps in front of the "Boars"! He was going to be trampled, crushed, disemboweled! Your hand Kai! Your hand! The hunter who was getting up saw his companion rushing towards him, agile as a "Four-hands" Page Six. He suddenly felt himself being pulled into the void. And the herd broke under him! They stopped and returned under the tree in which the two men had taken refuge. We will escape them by the “Path of Branches”! But we will not return to the cave alone! Oh! Repeating his feat, Rahan plunged into the void. Suspended on the vine, he dangerously brushed against the spines of the large wild boars and seized, in flight, a young boar by the scruff of the neck! A little later. What a misfortune to give up so much meat! We cannot face these "Boars", Kawi! But we will make some come to us! Page Seven. O Naa, Ka-haa, Trank and the others were waiting for their return. A “Marcassin”! for moons O Naa has forgotten the flavor of this flesh! This “Marcassin” comes back to him! O Naa only thinks about filling his belly with good flesh! But Rahan only thinks about these! Tomorrow, the little ones will eat! Kawi had now taken Rahan's side. It was he, who until the end of the day, "Protected" the Marcassin. While the son of Crao made a flexible bow and long arrows. We should have killed them both! Before they give the clan a miracle! As night fell, Rahan and Kawi set out on the lookout. Tied to a tree, the boar growled. Do you think they will come? "They” will come! They always come! Page Eight. It was a long wait but, at daybreak, a pair of great boars emerged out of the forest. The animals cautiously approached the boar, scenting it with their snouts. When they sensed the danger, it was too late. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan's arrow and Kawi's spear had flown away at the same time! Both attained their goal! The animals were heavy. The two companions were only able to bring one back to the cave. That is enough to feed the whole clan! And you will find another Boar at the entrance to the forest! The son of Crao expected an ovation. But everyone remained worried. He suddenly understood They fear being wronged by O Naa and Ka-haa! Page Nine. The chief and the sorcerer, in fact, were already preparing to cut up the boar. Stop! It was Rahan who killed the Boar! He is the one who will do the sharing! A moment later, the ivory knife cut into the flesh. Sharing will be fair! Everyone will receive the same share! Ha-ha-ha! You want to deceive the clan, “Fire-hair”! A large piece sometimes contains less flesh than a small one! What Proof will we have that your shares will be equal!? The son of Crao thought. How to make the sharing indisputably equitable? And suddenly. Rahan knows how to convince you! Two scenes came back to his mind. A game that the children of the Blue Mountain sometimes played on a tree trunk. And the scene where he was held above the void by a rock that made Exactly his weight. Page Ten. Combining the two ideas, he conceived of a rudimentary balance. He placed two pieces of meat there, which he estimated to be of the same weight. Ha-ha-ha! But this first attempt was disappointing. The scale, mis-centered, leaned towards the smallest piece! And this object proves nothing! If you had not brought back a Boar, you would deserve to have your skull broken, like this. The heavy ax fell on one end of the scale, throwing the piece of meat placed at the other end very high! But the son of Crao did not despair. He realized the cause of his failure. The arm of the scale was not perfectly centered! Page Eleven. This time you will no longer betray Rahan! It was easy for him, despite some trial and error, to discover the exact point of balance At this point, he notched the bamboo. The notch which would serve as a reference and would facilitate the pendulum movement. O Naa can now cut himself the piece of meat he wants! The chef feverishly cut a large wedge of flesh. It is yours, O Naa! But everyone will have the same, just as your share! A moment later the son of Crao preceded with the sharing. He added or subtracted carefully to balance each part with that of the chef who served as tare. And the cave clan, that day, could satisfy its hunger. Thanks to the wonderful "Bamboo-of-justice", Rahan has gained the trust of my brothers! Page Twelve. But he has attracted the hatred of O Naa, Ka-haa and Trank! The three men indeed stayed away and considered with bad things. The “Bamboo-of-justice” is evil for all three of us! We must send "Fire-hair" to the territory of shadows and return to our custom! Killing Rahan will be difficult! Look, the clan almost considers him a leader! Patience! An opportunity will present itself! That day, a joyful group brought back the second Boar from the forest. And it is possible to do even better brothers! Rahan saw, five arrow flights from here, a deep pit. It can become a trap for large beasts! Page thirteen. Impatient to put this idea into practice, the son of Crao went to this pit at dawn. It will take large bamboos and lots of palm fronds to hide it! The pit was deep. Its wall, worn by time, was as smooth as his ivory knife. He immediately got to work, going to the nearby forest and cutting very long bamboos. He did not know that O-Naa, Ka-Haa and Trank had followed Him He is alone and we are far from the cave! This is the opportunity we've been waiting for! Rahan had just placed his load of bamboo when the trio appeared. He did not even have time to face them! Ha-ra! Page Fourteen. Ha-Ha-HA! Everyone in the clan will believe it was an “Accident”! Poor “Fire-hair” who “slipped” into the trap he was preparing! Although the shock was severe, he was only stunned. And O-Naa's laughter reached him. Then he caught a glimpse of Trank's silhouette. Oh! He is still alive! We must finish him! If We do not kill him, the clan will save him from the trap and he will tell everything! We have to kill him with these rocks! No vines, or any projections allowed the son of Crao to escape from the granite trap. And big stones started to fall. Which he tried to avoid by pressing himself against the wall. O-Naa, Ka-Haa and Trank are cowards! Page Fifteen. Only laughter answered him while rocks continued to fall, bigger and bigger. To avoid one of them, Rahan jumped and stumbled against one of the trunks that lay at the bottom of the pit. Oh! The bamboo of justice! This trunk had just reminded him of the scales. The ax blow of O Naa. The quarter of meat thrown into the air! If the Trunk holds, Rahan could also be thrown out of the trap! He placed the trunk on the support which would allow the rocking effect. And when the trio was silhouetted against the sky, pushing a huge rock, he moved the trunk so that it would be exactly where the projectile would fall. Page Sixteen. When the rock fell, he was already at the end of the trunk, Legs extended to help propulsion. And it was extraordinary, fantastic. The son of Crao was thrown skyward like a volcanic bomb! Ra-ha-ha! You will pay for your perfidiousness! The three dumb-founded men saw him spring out of the pit and fall right in front of them. The Trio, panicked by the incredible feat, wanted to flee. But Rahan was faster! Argh! No! Argh! O-Naa was the first to be thrown into the hole. Page Seventeen. He had barely reached the bottom before Ka-Haa joined him there! Argh! The Clan will decide your fate! By momentarily forgetting Tank, the son of Crao made a mistake! Because he was turning, his back to the scoundrel who, thirty paces away, was about to throw his long spear! “Fire-hair” will die! A scream made Rahan suddenly turn around. And he saw Trank falling down, with an arrow in his side! Argh! He saw Kawi emerging from behind a rock. Kawi has arrived just in time! This is the first time he has used this weapon! Rahan could not have done better than Kawi! Page Eighteen. A little later, Kawi informed the Clan. Rahan hunted for us, and these three scoundrels wanted to kill him cowardly! May they be forever banished from the clan! O-Naa and the Sorcerer, at the bottom of the pit, called out for help. Their clamors reached as far as the cave. Hear them, Kawi. Maybe we could. Kawi hears nothing! And you, my friends, do you hear anything? The clan hears nothing! And the clan, from now on, will obey Kawi! The son of Crao knew that O-Naa and Ka-Haa were condemned! In those wild times, the justice of “Those Who Walk Upright” could be implacable! When Rahan left these men, the new leader accompanied him to the hills. Goodbye, Brother! Mine will never forget you! And Kawi will follow your wise advice! He will lead the clan to the lands of game. And never again will meat be shared other than with the “Bamboo-of-justice”! Farewell! Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

THE THIRD PARTITION, LOVE-MELANCHOLY. https://rumble.com/v4d2ddr-anatomy-of-melancholy-part-1-of-4-introduction.-a-puke-tm-audiobook.html https://rumble.com/v4dgu6o-the-anatomy-of-melancholy-2-of-4-the-first-partition-by-robert-burton-1621..html https://rumble.com/v4dh2lr-anatomy-of-melancholy-part-3-of-4-partition-2.-a-puke-tm-audiobook.html THE FIRST SECTION, MEMBER, SUBSECTION. The Preface. There will not be wanting, I presume, one or other that will much discommend some part of this treatise of love-melancholy, and object, which Erasmus in his preface to Sir Thomas More suspects of him) "that it is too light for a divine, too comical a subject to speak of love symptoms, too fantastical, and fit alone for a wanton poet, a feeling young lovesick gallant, an effeminate courtier, or some such idle person.” And tis true they say: for by the naughtiness of men it is so come to pass, as Caussinus observes, that the voice of love is suspicious to the chaste ears, and despised, the very name of love is odious to chaste ears; and therefore some again, out of an affected gravity, will dislike all for the name's sake before they read a word; dissembling with him in Petronius, and seem to be angry that their ears are violated with such obscene speeches, that so they may be admired for grave philosophers and staid carriage. They cannot abide to hear talk of love toys, or amorous discourses, averse in their outward actions with face, gesture, and eyes, and yet in their thoughts they are all out as bad, if not worse than others. “In Brutus' presence Lucretia blushed and laid my book aside; when he retired, she took it up again and read.” But let these cavillers and counterfeit Catos know, that as the Lord John answered the Queen in that Italian Guazzo, an old, a grave discreet man is fittest to discourse of love matters, because he hath likely more experience, observed more, hath a more staid judgment, can better discern, resolve, discuss, advise, give better cautions, and more solid precepts, better inform his hearers in such a subject, and by reason of his riper years sooner diverge. Besides, there is nothing to be feared in this voice of love, there is nothing here to be excepted at; love is a species of melancholy, and a necessary part of this my treatise, which I may not omit; the work undertaken was to be served: so Jacobus Mysillius pleads for himself in his translation of Lucian's dialogues, and so do I; I must and will perform my task. And that short excuse of Mercerus, for his edition of Aristaenetus shall be mine, "If I have spent my time ill to write, let not them be so idle as to read." But I am persuaded it is not so ill spent, I ought not to excuse or repent myself of this subject; on which many grave and worthy men have written whole volumes, Plato, Plutarch, Plotinus, Maximus, Tyrius, Alcinous, Avicenna, Leo the Hebrew in three large dialogues, Xenophon symposium. Theophrastus, if we may believe Athenaeus, Picus Mirandula, Marius, Aequicola, both in Italian, Kornmannus de linea Amoris, book three, Petrus Godefridus hath handled in three books, P. Haedus, and which almost every physician, as Arnoldus, Villanovanus, Valleriola, Aelian Montaltus and Laurentius in their treatises of melancholy, Jason Pratensis, Valescus of Taranta, Gordonius, Hercules of Saxony, Savanarola, Langius, and more, have treated separately, and in their works. I excuse myself, therefore, with Peter Godefridus, Valleriola, Ficinus, and in Langius' words. Cadmus Milesius writes fourteen books of love, "and why should I be ashamed to write an epistle in favor of young men, of this subject?" A company of stern readers dislike the second of the Aeneids, and Virgil's gravity, for inserting such amorous passions in an heroic subject; but Servius, his commentator, justly vindicates the poet's worth, wisdom, and discretion in doing as he did. Castalius would not have young men read the Canticles, because to his thinking it was too light and amorous a tract, a ballad of ballads, as our old English translation hath it. He might as well forbid the reading of Genesis, because of the loves of Jacob and Rachael, the stories of Shechem and Dinah, Judah and Tamar; reject the Book of Numbers, for the fornications of the people of Israel with the Moabites; that of Judges for Samson and Dalilah's embracings; that of the Kings, for David and Beersheba's adulteries, the incest of Ammon and Tamar, Solomon's concubines, and more. The stories of Esther, Judith, Susanna, and many such. Dicearchus, and some others, carp at Plato's majesty, that he would vouchsafe to indite such love toys: amongst the rest, for that dalliance with Agatho, While I was giving Agathon sweet things, I held my soul in my lips; For the patient was hurrying as if he were going away. For my part, says Maximus Tyrius, a great Platonist himself, not only admires me, but stuns him, I do not only admire, but stand amazed to read, that Plato and Socrates both should expel Homer from their city, because he writes of such light and wanton subjects, Which brings Juno with Jove in Ida reclining, Covered by an immortal cloud, Vulcan's net. Mars and Venus' fopperies before all the gods, because Apollo fled, when he was persecuted by Achilles, the gods were wounded and ran whining away, as Mars that roared louder than Stentor, and covered nine acres of ground with his fall ; Vulcan was a summer's day falling down from heaven, and in Lemnos Isle brake his leg, and more, with such ridiculous passages; when, as both Socrates and Plato, by his testimony, write lighter themselves: for what is so distant, as he follows it, than a lover from a temperate man, an admirer of forms from a madman, what can be more absurd than for grave philosophers to treat of such fooleries, to admire Autiloquus, Alcibiades, for their beauties as they did, to run after, to gaze, to dote on fair Phaedrus, delicate Agatho, young Lysis, fine Charmides, what befits a Philosopher? Doth this become grave philosophers? To this peradventure Callias, Thrasimachus, Polus, Aristophanes, or some of his adversaries and emulators might object; but neither they nor Anytus and Melitus his bitter enemies, that condemned him for teaching Critias to tyrannise, his impiety for swearing by dogs and plain trees, for his juggling sophistry, and more, never so much as upbraided him with impure love, writing or speaking of that subject; and therefore without question, as he concludes, both Socrates and Plato in this are justly to be excused. But suppose they had been a little overlooked, should divine Plato be defamed? no, rather as he said of Cato's drunkenness, if Cato were drunk, it should be no vice at all to be drunk. They reprove Plato then, but without cause, as and more Ficinus pleads, "for all love is honest and good, and they are worthy to be loved that speak well of love." Being to speak of this admirable affection of love, saith Valleriola, “there lies open a vast and philosophical field to my discourse, by which many lovers become mad; let me leave my more serious meditations, wander in these philosophical fields, and look into those pleasant groves of the Muses, where with unspeakable variety of flowers, we may make garlands to ourselves, not to adorn us only, but with their pleasant smell and juice to nourish our souls, and fill our minds desirous of knowledge," and more. After a harsh and unpleasing discourse of melancholy, which hath hitherto molested your patience, and tired the author, give him leave with Godefridus the lawyer, and Laurentius, chapter 5, to recreate himself in this kind after his laborious studies, "since so many grave divines and worthy men have without offense to manners, to help themselves and others, voluntarily written of it." Heliodorus, a bishop, penned a love story of Theagines and Chariclea, and when some Catos of his time reproached him for it, chose rather, says Nicephorus, to leave his bishopric than his book. Aeneas Sylvius, an ancient divine, and past forty years of age, as he confesseth himself, after Pope Pius Secundus, indited that wanton history of Euryalus and Lucretia. And how many superintendents of learning could I reckon up that have written of light fantastical subjects? Beroaldus, Erasmus, Alpheratius, twenty-four times printed in Spanish, and more. Give me leave then to refresh my muse a little, and my weary readers, to expatiate in this delightful field, this field of delights, as Fonseca terms it, to season a surly discourse with a more pleasing aspersion of love matters: Edulcare it suits life, as the poet invites us, cares for toys, and more, tis good to sweeten our life with some pleasing toys to relish it, and as Pliny tells us, a large part of the students seek amenities, most of our students love such pleasant subjects. Although Macrobius teaches us otherwise, "that those old sages banished all such light tracts from their studies, to nurse's cradles, to please only the ear;" yet out of Apuleius I will oppose as honorable patrons, Solon, Plato, Xenophon, Adrian, and more. that as highly approve of these treatises. On the other side I think they are not to be disliked, they are not so unfit. I will not peremptorily say as one did I will tell you such pretty stories, that foul befall him that is not pleased with them; Nor will I say that I have heard those things which are of use to you, and remember them for pleasure, with that confidence, as Beroaldus doth his narrations on Propertius. I will not expert or hope for that approbation, which Lipsius gives to his Epictetus; I do more when I read; always as new, and when I have repeated, to be repeated, the more I read, the more shall I covet to read. I will not press you with my pamphlets, or beg attention, but if you like them you may. Pliny holds it expedient, and most fit, to season severity with delight even in writings, to season our works with some pleasant discourse; Synesius approves of it, though he may play in games; and there be those, without question, that are more willing to read such toys, than I am to write: “Let me not live,” says Aretine's Antonia, “If I had not rather hear thy discourse, than see a play?” No doubt but there be more of her mind, ever have been, ever will be, as Jerome bears me witness. A far greater part had rather read Apuleius than Plato: Tully himself confesseth he could not understand Plato's Timaeus, and therefore cared less for it: but every schoolboy hath that famous testament of Grunnius Corocotta Porcellus at his fingers' ends. The comic poet. “This he took to be his only business, that the plays which he wrote should please the people.” made this his only care and sole study to please the people, tickle the ear, and to delight; but my earnest intent is as much to profit as to please; not so much to please the people, as to help the people, and these my writings, I hope, shall take like gilded pills, which are so composed as well to tempt the appetite, and deceive the palate, as to help and medicinally work upon the whole body my lines shall not only recreate, but rectify the mind. I think I have said enough; if not, let him that is otherwise minded, remember that of Maudarensis, "he was in his life a philosopher", as Ausonius apologizeth for him, "in his epigrams a lover, in his precepts most severe; in his letter to Caerelia, a wanton." Annianus, Sulpicius, Evemus, Menander, and many old poets besides, did itch in writing, wrote Fescennines, Atellans, and lascivious songs; happy matter; yet they had in their manners censure and severity, they were chaste, severe, and upright livers. “The poet himself should be chaste and pious, but his verses need not imitate him in these respects; they may therefore contain wit and humour.” I am of Catullus' opinion, and make the same apology on my own behalf; This, too, that I write, generally depends on the opinion and authority of others; nor perhaps I myself am mad, but I follow those who are mad. And it is granted that this drives me mad; We have all gone mad at one time, and I certainly think I am going mad at one time, and he, and he, and I, of course. I am a man, I think nothing alien to the human being from me: And which he urges for himself, accused of the like fault, I as justly plead, The page is lewd to us, life is a trial. However my lines err, my life is honest, life is shameful, my muse is jocular. But I presume I need no such apologies, I need not, as Socrates in Plato, cover his face when he spoke of love, or blush and hide mine eyes, as Pallas did in her hood, when she was consulted by Jupiter about Mercury's marriage, that, when a virgin is consulted upon marriage, it is no such lascivious, obscene, or wanton discourse; I have not offended your chaster ears with anything that is here written, as many French and Italian authors in their modern language of late have done, nay some of our Latin pontifical writers, Zanches, Asorius, Abulensis, Burchardus, and more, whom Rivet accuseth to be more lascivious than Virgil in Priapeiis, Petronius in Catalectis, Aristophanes in Lycistratae, Martialis, or any other pagan profane writer, who so atrociously, one notes, sinned in this manner that many ingenious writings were staged obscenities for the sake of chastity their minds are abhorred. Tis not scurrile this, but chaste, honest, most part serious, and even of religion itself. "Incensed"m as he said, "with the love of finding love, we have sought it, and found it." More yet, I have augmented and added something to this light treatise if light, which was not in the former editions, I am not ashamed to confess it, with a good author, that most people demanded that this subject be extended and enriched and being defeated by their importunity, I brought my mind, however resisting, to such an extent that I took up the pen in my hand for the sixth time, and girded myself with writing far from my studies and profession, having spared some hours in the meantime from my serious occupations, and dedicating them as a sort of game and recreation; “I am compelled to reverse my sails, and retrace my former course.” Although I was not unaware that perhaps new detractors would not be lacking in these new interpolations of mine. And thus much I have thought good to say by way of preface, lest any man, which Godefridus feared in his book, should blame in me lightness, wantonness, rashness, in speaking of love's causes, enticements, symptoms, remedies, lawful and unlawful loves, and lust itself, I speak it only to tax and deter others from it, not to teach, but to show the vanities and fopperies of this heroic or Herculean love, and to apply remedies unto it. I will treat of this with like liberty as of the rest. “What I tell you, do you tell to the multitude, and make this treatise gossip like an old woman.” Condemn me not a good reader then, or censure me hardly, if some part of this treatise to thy thinking as yet be too light; but consider better of it; Everything is clean, a naked man to a modest woman is no otherwise than a picture, as Augusta Livia truly said, and a bad mind, a bad mind, tis as tis taken. If in thy censure it be too light, I advise thee, as Lipsius did his reader for some places of Plautus, to pass over these rocks as the Sirens, if they like thee not, let them pass; or oppose that which is good to that which is bad, and therefore reject not all. For to invert that verse of Martial, and with Hierom Wolfius to apply it to my present purpose, there are evils, there are some mediocre ones, there are more good things; some are good, some bad, some are indifferent. I say further with him yet, I have inserted, I am not burdened to write down some light and funny things, some from the theaters, from the streets, even from restaurants, some things more homely, light, or comical, litans graces, and more, which I would request every man to interpret to the best, and as Julius Caesar Scaliger besought Cardan. I beseech thee, good reader, not to mistake me, or misconstrue what is here written; By the Muses and the Charites, and all the deities of the poets, I beseech thee, kindly reader, take me not wrong. Tis a comical subject; in sober sadness I crave pardon of what is lost, and desire thee to suspend thy judgment, wink at small faults, or to be silent at least; but if thou likest, speak well of it, and wish me good success. Arethusa grant me this last labour. I am resolved however, whether you like it or not, to boldly enter the stadium, in the Olympics, with those Aeliensian wrestlers in Philostratus, boldly to show myself in this common stage, and in this tragicomedy of love, to act several parts, some satirically, some comically, some in a mixed tone, as the subject I have in hand gives occasion, and the present scene shall require, or offer itself. Subsection two. Love's Beginning, Object, Definition, Division. "Love's limits are ample and great, and a spacious walk it hath, beset with thorns," and for that cause, which Scaliger reprehends in Cardan, "not lightly to be passed over." Lest I incur the same censure, I will examine all the kinds of love, its nature, beginning, difference, objects, how it is honest or dishonest, a virtue or vice, a natural passion, or a disease, its power and effects, how far it extends: of which, although something has been said in the first partition, in those sections of disturbances, "for love and hatred are the first and most common passions, from which all the rest arise, and are attendant ," as Picolomineus holds, or as Nicholas Caussinus, the first mobile of all other affections, which carry them all about them, I will now more copiously dilate, through all his parts and several branches, that so it may better appear what love is, and how it varies with the objects, how in defect, or, which is most ordinary and common, immoderate, and in excess, causes melancholy. Love universally taken, is defined to be a desire, as a word of more ample signification: and though Leo the Hebrew, the most copious writer of this subject, in his third dialogue make no difference, yet in his first he distinguishes them again, and you define love by giving up. “Love is a voluntary affection, and desire to enjoy that which is good. Desire wishes, love enjoys; the end of the one is the beginning of the other; that which we love is present; that which we leave is absent.” "It is worth the labor," says Plotinus, "to consider the well of love, whether it be a god or a devil, or passion of the mind, or partly god, partly devil, partly passion." He concludes love to participate of all three, to arise from desire of that which is beautiful and fair, and defines it to be "an action of the mind desiring that which is good." Plato calls it the great devil, for its vehemency, and sovereignty over all other passions, and defines it an appetite, "by which we desire some good to be present." Ficinus in his commentary adds the word fair to this definition. Love is a desire of enjoying that which is good and fair. Austin expands this common definition, and will have love to be a delight of the heart, "for something which we seek to win, or joy to have, coveting by desire, resting in joy." Scaliger taxeth these former definitions, and will not have love to be defined by desire or appetite; "for when we enjoy the things we desire, there remains no more appetite:" as he defines it, "Love is an affection by which we are either united to the thing we love, or perpetuate our union;" which agrees in part with Leo Hebreus. Now this love varies as its object varies, which is always good, amiable, fair, gracious, and pleasant. "Desire all things that which is good," as we are taught in the Ethics, or at least that which to them seems to be good; for what do you mean by evil, as Austin well brings, tell me? I think nothing in all actions; thou wilt wish no harm, I suppose, no ill in all thine actions, thoughts or desires; thou wilt not have bad corn, bad soil, a naughty tree, but all good; a good servant, a good horse, a good son, a good friend, a good neighbor, a good wife. From this goodness comes beauty; from beauty, grace, and comeliness, which result as so many rays from their good parts, make us to love, and so to covet it: for were it not pleasing and gracious in our eyes, we should not seek. "No man loves", saith Aristotle, "but he that was first delighted with comeliness and beauty." As this fair object varies, so doth our love; for as Proclus holds, Every fair thing is amiable, and what we love is fair and gracious in our eyes, or at least we do so apprehend and still esteem it. "Amiableness is the object of love, the scope and end is to obtain it, for whose sake we love, and which our mind covets to enjoy." And it seems to us especially fair and good; for good, fair, and unity, cannot be separated. Beauty shines, says Plato, and by reason of its splendor and shining causes admiration; and the fairer the object is, the more eagerly it is sought. For as the same Plato defines it, “Beauty is a lively, shining or glittering brightness, resulting from effused good, by ideas, seeds, reasons, shadows, stirring up our minds, that by this good they may be united and make one." Others will have beauty to be the perfection of the whole composition, "caused out of the congruous symmetry, measure, order and manner of parts, and that comeliness which proceeds from this beauty is called grace, and from then all fair things are gracious.” For grace and beauty are so wonderfully annexed, “so sweetly and gently win our souls, and strongly allure, that they confound our judgment and cannot be distinguished. Beauty and grace are like those beams and shinings that come from the glorious and divine sun," which are diverse, as they proceed from the diverse objects, to please and affect our several senses. "As the species of beauty are taken at our eyes, ears, or conceived in our inner soul," as Plato disputes at large in his Dialogue de pulchro, Phaedro, Hyppias, and after many sophistical errors refuted, concludes that beauty it is a grace in all things, delighting the eyes, ears, and soul itself; so that, as Valesius infers hence, whatever pleases our ears, eyes, and soul, must needs be beautiful, fair, and delightful to us." And nothing can more please our ears than music, or pacify our minds." Fair houses, pictures, orchards, gardens, fields, a fair hawk, a fair horse is most acceptable to us; whatever pleases our eyes and ears, we call beautiful and fair; "Pleasure belongs to the rest of the senses, but grace and beauty to these two alone." As the objects vary and are diverse, so they differently affect our eyes, ears, and soul itself. Which gives occasion to some to make so many several kinds of love as there be objects. One beauty arises from God, of which and divine love S Dionysius, with many fathers and neoterics, have written just volumes, De amore Dei, as they term it, many paraenetical discourses; another from these creatures; there is a beauty of the body, a beauty of the soul, a beauty from virtue, the form of martyrs, Austin calls it, which we see with the eyes of our mind; which beauty, as Tully says, if we could discern with these corporeal eyes, would cause admirable affections, and ravish our souls. This other beauty which arises from those extreme parts, and graces which proceed from gestures, speeches, several motions, and proportions of creatures, men and women, especially from women, which made those old poets put the three graces still in Venus' company, as attending on her, and holding up her train, are infinite almost, and vary their names with their objects, as love of money, covetousness, love of beauty, lust, immoderate desire of any pleasure, concupiscence, friendship, love, goodwill, and more, and is either virtue or vice, honest, dishonest, in excess, defect, as shall be shown in his place. Heroic love, religious love, and more, which may be reduced to a twofold division, according to the principal parts which are affected, the brain and liver. Love and friendship, which Scalinger, Valesius and Melancthon warrant out of Plato They kiss and they are from that speech of Pausanias belike, that makes two Venuses and two loves. “One Venus is ancient without a mother, and descended from heaven, whom we call celestial; the younger, begotten of Jupiter and Dione, whom we commonly call Venus.” Ficinus, in his commentary upon this place. Following Plato, he calls these two loves, two devils, or good and bad angels according to us, which are still hovering about our souls. “The one rears to heaven, the other depresses us to hell; the one good, which stirs us up to the contemplation of that divine beauty for whose sake we perform justice and all godly offices, study philosophy, and else; the other base, and though bad yet to be respected; for indeed both are good in their own natures: procreation of children is as necessary as that finding out of truth, but therefore called bad, because it is abused, and withdraws our souls from the speculation of that other to baser objects," so far Ficinus. Saint Austin, book fifteen of the city God and Psalm sixty four, hath delivered as much in effect. “Every creature is good, and may be loved well or ill,” and “Two cities make two loves, Jerusalem and Babylon, the love of God the one, the love of the world the other; of these two cities we all are citizens, as by examination of ourselves we may soon find, and of which." The one love is the root of all mischief, the other of all good. So, in his de moribus ecclesiae, he will have those four cardinal virtues to be naught else but love rightly composed; in his book the city of god, he calls virtue the order of love, whom Thomas follows. He confirms as much, and amplifies in many words. Lucian, to the same purpose, hath a division of his own, "One love was born in the sea, which is as various and raging in young men's breasts as the sea itself, and causes burning lust: the other is that golden chain which was let down from heaven, and with a divine fury ravisheth our souls, made to the image of God, and stirs us up to comprehend the innate and incorruptible beauty to which we were once created." Beroaldus has expressed all this in an epigram of his: If divine Plato's tenets they be true, Two Veneres, two loves there be, The one from heaven, unbegotten still, Which knits our souls in unity. The other famous over all the world, Binding the hearts of gods and men; Dishonest, wanton, and seducing she, Rules whom she will, both where and when. This twofold division of love, Origen likewise follows, in his Commentary on the Canticles, one from God, the other from the devil, as he holds, understanding it in the worse sense, which many others repeat and imitate. Both which, to omit all subdivisions, in excess or defect, as they are abused, or degenerate, cause melancholy in a particular kind, as shall be shown in his place. Austin, in another Tract, makes a threefold division of this love, which we may use well or ill: “God, our neighbor, and the world: God above us, our neighbor next us, the world beneath us. In the course of our desires, God hath three things, the world one, our neighbor two. Our desire for God, is either from God, with God, or to God, and ordinarily so runs. From God, when it receives from him, whence, and for which it should love him: with God, when it contradicts his will in nothing: to God, when it seeks to him, and rests itself in him. Our love to our neighbor may proceed from him, and run with him, not to him: from him, as when we rejoice of his good safety, and well doing: with him, when we desire to have him a fellow and companion of our journey in the way of the Lord: not in him, because there is no aid, hope, or confidence in man. From the world our love comes, when we begin to admire the Creator in his works, and glorify God in his creatures: with the world it should run, if, according to the mutability of all temporalities, it should be dejected in adversity, or over elevated in prosperity: to the world, if it would settle itself in its vain delights and studies.” Many such partitions of love I could repeat, and subdivisions, but at least, which Scaliger objects to Cardan. "I confound filthy burning lust with pure and divine love," I will follow that accurate division of Leon Hebreus, betwixt Sophia and Philo, where he speaks of natural, sensible, and rational love, and handles each apart. Natural love or hatred, is that sympathy or antipathy which is to be seen in animate and inanimate creatures, in the four elements, metals, stones, heavy tend downwards, as a stone to his center, fire upward, and rivers to the sea. The sun, moon, and stars go still around, Lovers of nature, exercise dues, for love of perfection. This love is manifest, I say, in inanimate creatures. How do you eat a loadstone to draw iron to it? Jet chaff? The ground to covet showers, but for love? No creature, concludes Saint Jerome, is to be found that does not love anything, no stock, no stone, that hath not some feeling of love, Tis more eminent in plants, herbs, and is especially observed in vegetables; as between the vine and elm a great sympathy, between the vine and the cabbage, between the vine and the olive, Virgo flees Bromium, between the vine and bays a great antipathy, the vine loves not the bay, "nor his smell, and will kill him, if he grow near him;" the bur and the lentil cannot endure one another, the olive and the myrtle embrace each other, in roots and branches if they grow near. Read more of this in Picolominius, Crescentius, Baptista Porta, Fracastorius of the love and hatred of planets, consult with every astrologer. Leo Hebreus gives many fabulous reasons, and moralises them withal. Sensible love is that of brute beasts, of which the same Hebreus assigns these causes. First for the pleasure they take in the act of generation, male and female love one another. Secondly, for the preservation of the species, and desire of young brood. Thirdly, for the mutual agreement, as being of the same kind, in one another's company, Ants are welcome, cicadas cicadas, and birds of a feather will gather together. Fourthly, for custom, use, and familiarity, as if a dog be trained up with a lion and a bear, contrary to their natures, they will love each other. Hawks, dogs, horses, love their masters and keepers: many stories I could relate in this kind, but see Gillius, those two Epistles of Lipsius, of dogs and horses, Agellius, and more. Fifthly, for bringing up, as if a bitch brings up a kid, a hen ducklings, a hedge-sparrow a cuckoo, and more. The third kind is love of knowledge, as Leon calls it, rational love, intellectual love, and is proper to men, on which I must insist. This appears in God, angels, men. God is love itself, the fountain of love, the disciple of love, as Plato styles him; the servant of peace, the God of love and peace; have peace with all men and God is with you. Whoever worships Olympus, He submits to himself the world and God. "By this love", saith Gerson, "we purchase heaven," and buy the kingdom of God. This love is either in the Trinity itself, for the Holy Ghost is the love of the Father and the Son, and more. John three, 35, and verse 20, and fourteen, 31, or towards us his creatures, as in making the world. Love made the world, love built cities, soul of the world, invented arts, sciences, and all good things, incites us to virtue and humanity, combines and quickens; keeps peace on earth, quietness by sea, mirth in the winds and elements, expels all fear, anger, and rusticity; A round circle still from good to good; for love is the beginning and end of all our actions, the efficient and instrumental cause, as our poets in their symbols, impressions, emblems of rings, squares, and more, shadow unto us, If first and last of anything you wit, Cease; love's the sole and only cause of it. Love, says Leo, made the world, and afterwards in redeeming it, "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son for it," John three, 16. "Behold what love the Father hath shown on us, that we should be called the sons of God," first John three, 1. Or by His sweet Providence, in protecting of it; either all in general, or His saints elect and church in particular, whom He keeps as the apple of His eye, whom He loves freely, as Hosea fourteen, 5. speaks, and dearly respects, A man is dearer to them than to himself. Not that we are fair, nor for any merit or grace of ours, for we are most vile and base; but out of His incomparable love and goodness, out of His Divine Nature. And this is that Homer's golden chain, which reaches down from heaven to earth, by which every creature is annexed, and depends on his Creator. He made all, says Moses, "and it was good;" He loves it as well. The love of angels and living souls is mutual amongst themselves, towards us militant in the church, and all such as love God; as the sunbeams irradiate the earth from those celestial thrones, they by their well wishes reflect on us, in promoting the salvation of men zealous and constant servants, there is joy in heaven for every sinner that repenteth; they pray for us, are solicitous for our good, Chaste geniuses. “Where charity prevails, sweet desire, joy, and love towards God are also present.” Love proper to mortal men is the third member of this subdivision, and the subject of my following discourse. Member two. Subsection one. Love of Men, which varies as his Objects, Profitable, Pleasant, Honest. Valesius defines this love which is in men, "to be an affection of both powers, appetite and reason." The rational resides in the brain, the other in the liver, as before hath been said out of Plato and others; the heart is variously affected by both, and carried a thousand ways by consent. The sensitive faculty most part overrules reason, the soul is carried hoodwinked, and the understanding captive like a beast. "The heart is variously inclined, sometimes they are merry, sometimes sad, and from love arise hope and fear, jealousy, fury, despair." Now this love of men is diverse, and varies, as the object varies, by which they are enticed, as virtue, wisdom, eloquence, profit, wealth, money, fame, honor, or comeliness of person, and more. Leo Hubreus, in his first dialogue, reduces them all to these three, profitable, pleasant, honest; out of Aristotle, of which he discourseth at large, and whatever is beautiful and fair, is referred to them, or any way to be desired. "To profitable is ascribed health, wealth, honor, and else, which is rather ambition, desire, covetousness, than love:" friends, children, love of women, all delightful and pleasant objects, are referred to the second. The love of honest things consists in virtue and wisdom, and is preferred before that which is profitable and pleasant: intellectual, about that which is honest. Saint Austin calls it “profitable, worldly; pleasant, carnal; honest, spiritual Of and from all three, result charity, friendship, and true love, which respects God and our neighbor." Of each of these I will briefly dilate, and show in what sort they cause melancholy. Amongst all these fair enticing objects, which procure love, and bewitch the soul of man, there is none so moving, so forcible as profit; and that which carries with it a show of commodity. Health indeed is a precious thing, to recover and preserve which we will undergo any misery, drink bitter potions, freely give our goods: restore a man to his health, his purse lies open to thee, bountiful he is, thankful and beholding to thee ; but give him wealth and honor, give him gold, or what shall be for his advantage and preference, and thou shalt command his affections, oblige him eternally to thee, heart, hand, life, and all is at thy service, thou art his dear and loving friend, good and gracious lord and master, these Meccans; he is thy slave, thy vassal, most devoted, affectioned, and bound in all duty: tell him good tidings in this kind, there spoke an angel, a blessed hour that brings in gain, he is thy creature, and thou his creator, he hugs and admires you; he is thine for ever. No loadstone so attractive as that of profit, none so fair an object as this of gold; nothing wins a man sooner than a good turn, bounty and liberality command body and soul: Good turns doth pacify both God and men, And Jupiter himself is won by them. Gold of all others is a most delicious object; a sweet light, a goodly luster it hath; Austin says, and we had rather see it than the sun. Sweet and pleasant in getting, in keeping; it seasons all our labors, intolerable pains we take for it, base employments, endure bitter flouts and taunts, long journeys, heavy burdens, all are made light and easy by this hope of gain. in the box The sight of gold refresheth our spirits, and ravisheth our hearts, as that Babylonian garment and golden wedge did Achan in the camp, the very sight and hearing sets on fire his soul with desire of it. It will make a man run to the antipodes, or tarry at home and turn parasite, lie, flatter, prostitute himself, swear and bear false witness; he will venture his body, kill a king, murder his father, and damn his soul to come at it. A more beautiful mass of gold, as he well observed, the mass of gold is fairer than all your Grecian pictures, that Apelles, Phidias, or any doting painter could ever make: we are enamored with it, Almost the first vows, and best known to all the temples, Wealth to grow. All our labours, studies, endeavours, vows, prayers and wishes, are to get, how to compass it. This is the one to whom the greatest world serves, The powerful diva of things, and the mistress of fate's money. “This is the great goddess we adore and worship; this is the sole object of our desire.” If we have it, as we think, we are made for ever, thrice happy, princes, lords, and else. If we lose it, we are dull, heavy, dejected, discontented, miserable, desperate, and mad. Our estate and well-being ebbs and flows with our commodity; and as we are endowed or enriched, so are we beloved and esteemed: it lasts no longer than our wealth; when that is gone, and the object removed, farewell friendship: as long as bounty, good cheer, and rewards were to be hoped for, friends enough; they were tied to thee by the teeth, and would follow thee as crows do a carcass: but when thy goods are gone and spent, the lamp of their love is out, and thou shalt be contemned, scorned, hated, injured. Lucian's Timon, when he lived in prosperity, was the sole spectacle of Greece, only admired; who but Timon? Everybody loved, honored, applauded him, each man offered him his service, and sought to be kin to him; but when his gold was spent, his fair possessions gone, farewell Timon: none so ugly, none so deformed, so hateful an object as Timon, no man so ridiculous on a sudden, they gave him a penny to buy a rope, no man would know him. Tis the general humor of the world, commodity steers our affections throughout, we love those that are fortunate and rich, that thrive, or by whom we may receive mutual kindness, hope for like courtesies, get any good, gain, or profit; hate those, and abhor on the other side, which are poor and miserable, or by whom we may sustain loss or inconvenience. And even those that were now familiar and dear to us, our loving and long friends, neighbors, kinsmen, allies, with whom we have conversed, and lived as so many Geryons for some years past, striving still to give one another all good content and entertainment, with mutual invitations, feastings, disports, offices, for whom we would ride, run, spend ourselves, and of whom we have so freely and honorably spoken, to whom we have given all those turgent titles, and magnificent eulogiums, most excellent and most noble, worthy, wise, grave, learned, valiant, and else, and magnified beyond measure: if any controversy arises between us, some trespass, injury, abuse, some part of our goods be detained, a piece of land come to be litigious, if they cross us in our suit, or touch the string of our commodity, we detest and depress them upon a sudden: neither affinity, consanguinity, or old acquaintance can contain us, but Caprificus will come out with a broken liver. A golden apple sets altogether by the ears, as if a marrowbone or honeycomb were flung amongst bears: father and son, brother and sister, kinsmen are at odds: and look what malice, deadly hatred can invent, that shall be done, Terrible, dire, pestilential, terrible, ferocious, mutual injuries, desire of revenge, and how to hurt them, him and his, are all our studies. If our pleasures be interrupted, we can tolerate it: our bodies hurt, we can put it up and be reconciled: but touch our commodities, we are most impatient: fair becomes foul, the graces are turned to harpies, friendly greetings to bitter imprecations , mutual feastings to plotting villainies, minings and counterminings; good words to satires and invectives, we revile on the contrary, nought but his imperfections are in our eyes, he is a base knave, a devil, a monster, a caterpillar, a viper, a hog-rubber, and more, the scene is altered on a sudden, love is turned to hate, mirth to melancholy: so furiously are we most part bent, our affections fixed upon this object of commodity, and upon money, the desire of which in excess is covetousness: ambition tyranniseth over our souls, as I have shown, and in defect crucifies as much, as if a man by negligence, ill husbandry, improvidence, prodigality, waste and consume his goods and fortunes , beggary follows, and melancholy, he becomes an abject, odious and "worse than an infidel, in not providing for his family." Subsection two. Pleasant Objects of Love. Pleasant objects are infinite, whether they be such as have life, or be without life; inanimate are countries, provinces, towers, towns, cities, as he said, We see a fair island by description, when we see it not. The sun never saw a fairer city, Thessalian Tempe, orchards, gardens, pleasant walks, groves, fountains, and more. The heaven itself is said to be fair or foul: fair buildings,fair pictures, all artificial, elaborate and curious works, clothes, give an admirable luster: we admire, and gaze upon them, like the bird of Juno's children, as children do on a peacock: a fair dog, a fair horse and hawk, and else Thessalus loves a young horse, an Egyptian cow, a Lacedaemonian cat, and else, such things we love, are most gracious in our sight, acceptable unto us, and whatever else may cause this passion, if it be superfluous or immoderately loved, as Observe the Guyanese. These things in themselves are pleasing and good, singular ornaments, necessary, comely, and fit to be had; but when we fix an immoderate eye, and dote on them too much, this pleasure may turn to pain, bring much sorrow and discontent to us, work our final overthrow, and cause melancholy in the end. Many are carried away with those bewitching sports of gaming, hawking, hunting, and such vain pleasures, as I have said: some with immoderate desire of fame, to be crowned in the Olympics, knighted in the field, and more, and by these means ruin themselves. The lascivious dotes on his fair mistress, the glutton on his dishes, which are infinitely varied to please the palate, the epicure on his several pleasures, the superstitious on his idol, and fats himself with future joys, as Turks feed themselves with an imaginary persuasion of a sensual paradise: so several pleasant objects differently affect different men. But the fairest objects and enticings proceed from men themselves, which most frequently captivate, allure, and make them dote beyond all measure upon one another, and that for many respects: first, as some suppose, by that secret force of stars, which does the star temper me for you? They do singularly dote on such a man, hate such again, and can give no reason for it. I do not love you Sabidi, and else. Alexander admired Ephestion, Adrian Antinous, Nero Sporus, and more. The physicians refer this to their temperament, astrologers to trine and sextile aspects, or the opposite of their several ascendants, lords of their births, love and hatred of planets; Cicogna, to concord and discord of spirits; but most to outward graces. A merry companion is welcome and acceptable to all men, and therefore, says Gomesius, princes and great men entertain jesters and players commonly in their courts. But Peers congregate very easily with peers, tis that similarity of manners, which ties most men in an inseparable link, as if they be addicted to the same studies or sports, they delight in one another's companies, "birds of a feather will gather together:" if they be of different inclinations, or opposite in manners, they can rarely agree. Secondly, affability, custom, and familiarity, may convert nature many times, though they be different in manners, as if they be countrymen, fellow-students, colleagues, or have been fellow-soldiers, brethren in affliction, a bitter society of calamities, even men of different talents unite, affinity, or some such accidental occasion, though they cannot agree amongst themselves, they will stick together like burrs, and bold against a third; so after some discontinuance, or death, enmity ceases; or in a foreign place: He feeds on the living bruise, rests after the fates: And hatreds fall, and sad death overwhelms anger. A third cause of love and hate, may be mutual offices, accepted benefit, commend him, use him kindly, take his part in a quarrel, relieve him in his misery, thou winnest him for ever; do the opposite, and be sure of a perpetual enemy. Praise and dispraise of each other, do as much, though unknown, as Schoppius by Scaliger and Casaubonus: a mule itches a mule; who but Scaliger with him? What encomiums, epithets, eulogiums? Ancient of wisdom, perpetual dictator, ornament of letters, miracle of Europe, noble Scaliger, incredible excellence of genius, and more, but when they began to vary, none so absurd as Scaliger, so vile and base, as his books on the Burdonum family, and other satirical invectives may witness, Ovid, in Ibin, Archilocus himself was not so bitter. Another great tie or cause of love, is consanguinity: parents are clear to their children, children to their parents, brothers and sisters, cousins of all sorts, as a hen and chickens, all of a knot: every crow thinks her own bird fairest. Many memorable examples are in this kind, and 'this portent simile, if they do not: "a mother cannot forget her child:" Solomon so found out the true owner; love of parents may not be concealed, tis natural, descends, and they that are inhuman in this kind, are unworthy of that air they breathe, and of the four elements; yet many unnatural examples we have in this rank, of hard-hearted parents, disobedient children, of disagreeing brothers, nothing so common. The love of kinsmen is grown cold, "many kinsmen", as the saying is, "few friends;" if thine estate be good, and thou ablest, to relate equally, to requite their kindness, there will be mutual correspondence, otherwise thou art a burden, most odious to them above all others. The last object that ties man and man, is comeliness of person, and beauty alone, as men love women with a wanton eye: which par excellence is termed heroic, or love-melancholy. Other loves, saith Picolomineus, are so called with some contraction, as the love of wine, gold, and more, but this of women is predominant in a higher strain, whose part affected is the liver, and this love deserves a longer explanation, and shall be dilated apart in the next section. Subsection three. Honest Objects of Love. Beauty is the common object of all love, "as a jet draws a straw, so doth beauty love:" virtue and honesty are great motives, and give as fair a lustre as the rest, especially if they be sincere and right, not fucate, but proceeding from true form, and an incorrupt judgment; those two Venus' twins, Eros and Anteros, are then most firm and fast. For many times otherwise men are deceived by their flattering gnathos, dissembling camelions, outsiders, hypocrites that make a show of great love, learning, pretend honesty, virtue, zeal, modesty, with affected looks and counterfeit gestures: feigned protests often steal away the hearts and favors of men, and deceive them, in the appearance of virtue and shadow, when as really and indeed, there is no worth or honesty at all in them, no truth, but mere hypocrisy, subtlety, knavery, and the like. As true friends they are, as he that Caelius Secundus met by the highway side; and hard it is in this temporising age to distinguish such companions, or to find them out. Such gnathos as these for the most part belong to great men, and by this glozing flattery, affability, and such like philters, so dive and insinuate into their favors, that they are taken for men of excellent worth, wisdom, learning, demigods, and so screw themselves into dignities, honors, offices; but these men cause harsh confusion often, and as many times stirs as Rehoboam's counselors in a commonwealth, overthrew themselves and others. Tandlerus and some authors make a doubt, whether love and hatred may be compelled by philters or characters; Cardan and Marbodius, by precious stones and amulets; astrologers by choice of times, and else, as I shall discuss elsewhere. The true object of this honest love is virtue, wisdom, honesty, real worth, internal form, and this love cannot deceive or be compelled, to be lovable, love itself is the most potent philtrum, virtue and wisdom, grace doing grace, the sole and only grace, not counterfeit, but open, honest, simple, naked, "descending from heaven," as our apostle hath it, an infused habit from God, which hath given several gifts, as wit, learning, tongues, for which they shall be amiable and gracious, Ephesians Four, 11, as to Saul's stature and a goodly presence, First Samuel Nine, 1, Joseph found favor in Pharaoh's court, Genesis thirty nine, for this person; and Daniel with the princes of the eunuchs, Daniel nineteen, 19. Christ was gracious with God and men, Luke two, 52. There is still some peculiar grace, as of good discourse, eloquence, wit, honesty, which is the first mobile, first mover, and a most forcible loadstone to draw the favors and good wills of men's eyes, ears, and affections unto them When "Jesus spake, they were all astonished at his answers," Luke Two, 47, "and wondered at his gracious words which proceeded from his mouth." An orator steals away the hearts of men, and as another Orpheus, where he wills, where he wills, he pulls them to him by speech alone: a sweet voice causes admiration; and he that can utter himself in good words, in our ordinary phrase, is called a proper man, a divine spirit. For which cause belike, our old poets, the Senate and the people of poets, made Mercury the gentleman-usher to the Graces, captain of eloquence, and those charities to be Jupiter's and Eurymone's daughters, descended from above. Though they be otherwise deformed, crooked, ugly to behold, those good parts of the mind denominate them fair. Plato commends the beauty of Socrates; yet who was more grim of countenance, stern and ghastly to look upon? So are and have been many great philosophers, as Gregory Nazianzen observes, "deformed most part in that which is to be seen with the eyes, but most elegant in that which is not to be seen." Wisdom often hides under worn clothing. Aesop, Democritus, Aristotle, Politianus, Melanchthon, Gesner, and more, withered old men, Sileni Alcibiades, very harsh and impolite to the eye; but who were so terse, polite, eloquent, generally learned, temperate and modest? No man then living was so fair as Alcibiades, so lovely as to the surface, to the eye, as Boethius observes, but he had a most ugly body internally, a most deformed soul; honesty, virtue, fair conditions, are great enticers to such as are well given, and much avail to get the favor and goodwill of men. Abdolominus in Curtius, a poor man, but which my author notes, "the cause of this poverty was his honesty", for his modesty and continence from a private person (for they found him digging in his garden) was saluted king, and preferred before all the magnificoes of his time, "a purple embroidered garment was put upon him, and they bade him wash himself, and, as he was worthy, take upon him the style and spirit of a king," continue his continence and the rest of his good parts. Titus Pomponius Atticus, that noble citizen of Rome, was so fair conditioned, of so sweet a carriage, that he was generally beloved of all good men, of Caesar, Pompey, Antony, Tully, of divers sects, and more, obtained many inheritances, Cornelius Nepos writes, by goodness alone. To hear the work, the price, and else. It is worthy of your attention, Livy cries, "you that scorn all but riches, and give no esteem to virtue, except they be wealthy withal, Quinctius Cincinnatus had but four acres, and by the consent of the senate was chosen dictator of Rome.” Of such account were Cato, Fabricius, Aristides, Antonius, Probus, for their eminent worth: so Caesar, Trajan, Alexander, admired for valor, Haephestion loved Alexander, but Parmenius the king: Titus the delight of the human race, and which Aurelius Victor hath of Vespasian, the darling of his time, as Edgar Etheling was in England, for his excellent virtues: their memory is yet fresh, sweet, and we love them many ages after, though they be dead: He left a pleasant memory of himself, says Lipsius of his friend, living and dead they are all one. “I have ever loved as thou knowest”, so Tully wrote to Dolabella, “Marcus Brutus for his great wit, singular honesty, constancy, sweet conditions; and believe it” “there is nothing so amiable and fair as virtue.” "I do mightily love Calvisinus," so Pliny writes to Sossius, "a most industrious, eloquent, upright man, which is all in all with me:" the affection came from his good parts. And as Saint Austin comments on the eighty fourth Psalm, "there is a peculiar beauty of justice, and inward beauty, which we see with the eyes of our hearts, love, and are enamored with, as in martyrs, though their bodies be torn in pieces with wild beasts, yet this beauty shines, and we love their virtues.” The stoics are of opinion that a wise man is only fair; and Cato in Tully’s third diaglog of de Finibus bonorum et malorum contends the same, that the features of the mind are far fairer than those of the body, incomparably beyond them: wisdom and valor according to Xenophon, especially deserve the name of beauty, and denominate one fair, and incomparably more beautiful, as Austin holds, is the truth of the Christians than the Helen of the Greeks. "Wine is strong, the king is strong, women are strong, but truth overcomes all things," Esdras one, 3, 10, 11, 12. "Blessed is the man that findeth wisdom, and getteth understanding, for the merchandise thereof is better than silver, and the gain thereof better than gold: it is more precious than pearls, and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared to her," Proverbs Two, 13, 14, 15, a wise, true, just, upright, and good man, I say it again, is only fair: it is reported of Magdalene Queen of France, and wife to Lewis the eleventh, a Scottish woman by birth, that walking forth in an evening with her ladies, she spied Alanus, one of the king's chaplains, a silly, old, hard-favoured man fast asleep in a bower, and kissed him sweetly; when the young ladies laughed at her for it, she replied, that it was not his person that she did embrace and reverence, but, with a platonic love, the divine beauty of his soul. Thus in all ages virtue hath been adored, admired, a singular glory hath proceeded from it: and the more virtuous he is, the more gracious, the more admired. No man so much followed upon earth as Christ himself: and as the Psalmist saith, forty-five, 2, "He was fairer than the sons of men." Chrysostom, Bernard de Omnia Sanctus; Austin, Cassiodorus, interpret it of the beauty of his person; there was a divine majesty in his looks, it shone like lightning and drew all men to it: but Basil, Theodoret, Arnobius, and more, of the beauty of his divinity, justice, grace, eloquence, and more. Thomas in Psalm fourteen, of both; and so doth Baradius and Peter Morales, lib de pulchritud. Jesus and Mary, adding as much of Joseph and the Virgin Mary, this other form preceded them all, according to that prediction of Sibylla Cumea. Be they present or absent, near us, or far off, this beauty shines, and will attract men of many miles to come and visit it. Plato and Pythagoras left their country, to see those wise Egyptian priests: Apollonius traveled into Ethiopia, Persia, to consult with the Magi, Brachmanni, gymnosophists. The Queen of Sheba came to visit Solomon; and "many," says Hierom, "went out of Spain and remote places a thousand miles, to behold that Livy speaks:" they visited and heard one thing, and departed from the Gads. No beauty leaves such an impression, strikes so deep, or links the souls of men closer than virtue. Not through the gods or the painter could. Or imagine any sculptor, Such beauty as virtue has; "no painter, no graver, no carver can express virtue's lustre, or those admirable rays that come from it, those enchanting rays that enamour posterity, those everlasting rays that continue to the world's end." Many, saith Phavorinus, that loved and admired Alcibiades in his youth, knew not, cared not for Alcibiades a man; but the beauty of Socrates is still the same; virtue's luster never fades, it is ever fresh and green, always alive to all succeeding ages, and a most attractive loadstone, to draw and combine such as are present. For that reason alike, Homer feigns the three Graces to be linked and tied hand in hand, because the hearts of men are so firmly united with such graces. "O sweet bands, Seneca exclaims, which so happily combine, that those which are bound by them love their binders, desiring withal much more harder to be bound," and as so many Geryons to be united into one. For the nature of true friendship is to combine, to be like affected, of one mind, Willing and unwilling both are the same, And satisfied with the whole. The mind is old. As the poet says, still to continue one and the same. And where this love takes place there is peace and quietness, a true correspondence, perfect friendship, a diapason of vows and wishes, the same opinions, as between David and Jonathan, Damon and Pythias, Pylades and Orestes, Nysus and Euryalus, Theseus and Pirithous, they will live and die together, and pursue one another with good turns. For they think it most wretched to be conquered in love, not only living, but when their friends are dead, with tombs and monuments, ghosts, epitaphs, elegies, inscriptions, pyramids, obelisks, statues, images, pictures, histories, poems, annals, feasts, anniversaries, many ages after, as Plato's scholars did, they will still parent, omit no good office that may tend to the preservation of their names, honors, and eternal memory. That with colors, that with wax, that with brass, and more. "He did express his friends in colors, in wax, in brass, in ivory, marble, gold, and silver", as Pliny reports of a citizen in Rome, "and in a great audience not long since recited a just volume of his life." In another place, speaking of an epigram which Martial had composed in praise of him, “He gave me as much as he might, and would have done more if he could: though what can a man give more than honor, glory, and eternity?” But that which he wrote peradventure will not continue, yet he wrote it to continue. Tis all the reward a poor scholar can make his well-deserving patron, Mecaenas, friend, to mention him in his works, to dedicate a book to his name, to write his life, and else, as all our poets, orators, Historiographers have ever done, and the greatest revenge such men take of their adversaries, to persecute them with satires, invectives, and more, and tis both ways of great moment, as Plato gives us to understand. Paulus Jovius, in the fourth book of the life and deeds of Pope Leo Decimus, his noble patron, concludes in these words, "Because I cannot honor him as other rich men do, with like endeavour, affection, and piety, I have undertaken to write his life; since my fortunes will not give me leave to make a more sumptuous monument, I will perform those rites to his sacred ashes, which a small, perhaps, but a liberal wit can afford." But 1 rove Where this true love is wanting, there can be no firm peace, friendship from teeth outward, counterfeit, or for some by-respects, so long dissembled, till they have satisfied their own ends, which, upon every small occasion, breaks out into enmity, open war, defiance, heart-burnings, whispering, calumnies, contentions, and all manner of bitter melancholy discontents. And those men who have no other object of their love, than greatness, wealth, authority, and more, are rather feared than beloved; they neither love anyone nor are loved by anyone: and however borne with for a time, yet for their tyranny and oppression, griping, covetousness, currish hardness, folly, intemperance, imprudence, and such like vices, they are generally odious, abhorred of all, both God and men. Not your wife wants you saved, not your son, but everyone neighbors hate "Wife and children, friends, neighbors, all the world forsakes them, would feign to be rid of them," and are compelled many times to lay violent hands on them, or else God's judgments overtake them: instead of graces, come furies. So when fair Abigail, a woman of singular wisdom, was acceptable to David, Nabal was churlish and evil-conditioned; and therefore Mordecai was received, when Haman was executed, Haman the favorite, "that had his seat above the other princes, to whom all the king's servants that stood in the gates, bowed their knees and reverenced." Though they flourished many times, such hypocrites, such temporising foxes, and blear the world's eyes by flattery, bribery, dissembling their natures, or other men's weakness, that cannot so apprehend their tricks, yet in the end they will be discerned, and precipitated in a moment: "surely," says David, "thou hast set them in slippery places," Psalm thirty seven, 5, as so many Sejani, they will come down to the Gemonian scales; and as Eusebius in Ammianus, that was in such authority, to command the Emperor, be cast down headlong on a sudden. Or put case they escape, and rest unmasked to their lives' end, yet after their death their memory stinks as a snuff of a candle put out, and those that durst not so much as mutter against them in their lives, will prosecute their name with satires, libels, and bitter imprecations, they shall hear evil in all succeeding ages, and be odious to the world's end. Member three. Charity composed of all three Kinds, Pleasant, Profitable, Honest. Besides this love that comes from profit, pleasant, honest, for one good turn asks another in equity, that which proceeds from the law of nature, or from discipline and philosophy, there is yet another love compounded of all these three, which is charity, and includes piety, love, benevolence, friendship, even all those virtuous habits; for love is the circle equant of all other affections, of which Aristotle dilates at large in his Ethics, and is commanded by God, which no man can well perform, but he that is a Christian, and a true regenerate man; this is, "To love God above all, and our neighbor as ourselves;" for this love is a lychnus kindling and lit, a communicating light, apt to illuminate itself as well as others. All other objects are fair, and very beautiful, I confess; kindred, alliance, friendship, the love that we owe to our country, nature, wealth, pleasure, honor, and such moral respects, and more, of which read copious Aristotle in his morals; a man is beloved of a man, in that he is a man; but all these are far more eminent and great, when they shall proceed from a sanctified spirit, that hath a true touch of religion, and a reference to God. Nature binds all creatures to love their young ones; a hen to preserve her broo