by Eugène Sue
“Sampso,” said Victoria, “take this casket — take it away with you — keep it carefully locked — open it in three days — the key is tied to the lid.”
And addressing me:
“Did you transcribe Tetrik’s conversation with me?”
“I was just finishing it when Mora ran in to me.”
“Sampso, take that casket away to your room immediately, and bring me the parchment on which Schanvoch has just been writing. Go, we have not a minute to spare!”
Sampso obeyed and left the room distracted. I remained alone with Victoria.
“Brother,” she said to me, “every minute is precious. Listen to what I have to say to you without interrupting me. I feel that I am dying; I think I know the hand that smote me, without her being herself aware of what she was doing. This crime caps a long series of dark and felonious deeds. My death is at this moment a grave danger to Gaul. We must avert the danger. You are known in the army — my confidence in you is known — call the officers and soldiers together — inform them of Tetrik’s schemes. The conversation that you transcribed will be signed by me, in order to verify your words. My life is ebbing fast. Oh! If I but had the time to gather here around my death-bed the officers of the army who this very evening will surround my funeral pyre. Upon that pyre I wish you to lay the arms of my father, my husband and Victorin, also the cradle of my little grandson!”
“Schanvoch!” cried Sampso precipitately entering the room, “The parchments that you left upon the table — have disappeared. But I saw them lying on your desk when Mora came in to call me. They must have been taken away since.”
“The parchments were taken away! Oh! What a misfortune to Gaul!” murmured Victoria. “What mysterious hand is it that can thus penetrate my house? Woe, woe is Gaul! Hesus! Omnipotent god! You call me to the unknown worlds, where, perhaps, we may hover over this world that we leave for yonder ones. Hesus! Am I to leave this earth without the assurance of the welfare of the country I love so much? The future terrifies me! Oh, Omnipotent! Allow your spirit to enlighten me at this supreme moment! Hesus, have you heard me?” added Victoria in a louder voice, half rising on her couch; and with inspired eyes she proceeded: “What do I see? Is this the future that unveils itself before my eyes? Who is that woman — so pale, lying prostrate? Her robe is blood-bespattered. Also her chaplet of oaken leaves has drops of blood; the sword, that her virile hand once held, lies broken at her side. One of those savage Franks, his head ornamented with a crown, holds the noble woman under his knees; he looks with mild and timid mien at a man splendidly arrayed as a pontiff. Hesus! The bleeding woman — is Gaul! The barbarian who kneels down upon her — is a Frankish king! The pontiff — is the Bishop of Rome! Blood flows! a stream of blood! it carries in its course, to the light of the flames of conflagrations, a mass of ruins, thousands of corpses! Oh! the woman — Gaul, I see her again wan, worn, clad in rags, the iron collar of servitude on her neck; she drags herself on her knees; bending under a heavy burden! The Frankish king and the Roman bishop quicken the march of enslaved Gaul with their whips! Another torrent of blood; still the glamour of conflagration. Oh, Hesus! Enough! Enough ruins and massacre! Heaven be praised!” cried Victoria, whose face seemed for a moment to beam with divine splendor. “The noble woman has risen to her feet! Behold her — more beautiful, prouder than ever before! Her head is wreathed in a crown of fresh oak-leaves! In one hand she holds a sheaf of grain, grapes and flowers; in the other a red flag, surmounted by the Gallic cock. Superbly she tramples under foot the fragments of her collar of slavery, the crown of the Frankish kings and that of the Roman pontiffs! Yes, that woman, free at last, stately, glorious and fruitful — she is Gaul! Hesus! Hesus! Be kind to her! Enable her to break the yoke of Kings and Pontiffs! Lead her to freedom, glorious and fruitful without being compelled to reach the goal by wading from century to century through those seas of tears, those seas of blood that affright me!”
These last words wholly exhausted Victoria’s strength. Still she made one more effort in her divine exaltation. She raised her eyes to heaven, crossed her arms over her breast, heaved a long sigh, and fell back upon her couch.
The Mother of the Camps, Victoria the Great, was dead!
While she spoke I made superhuman efforts to control my despair. When, however, I saw her expire, I became dizzy, my knees sank under me, my strength, my thoughts fled. I lost consciousness, but I still recollect the sound of many voices and a great tumult in the contiguous apartment whence I heard distinctly the words:
“Tetrik, the Chief of Gaul, is in his death agony — he is dying of poison—”
CHAPTER VIII.
CRIME TRIUMPHANT.
FOR SEVERAL DAYS I lay at death’s door, constantly attended, my son, by your second mother. About two weeks passed after the death of Victoria, before I was able to collect and co-ordinate my recollections, and speak with Sampso of our irreparable loss. The last words that struck my ears when, broken with grief, I wholly lost consciousness beside the death-bed of my foster-sister were these:
“Tetrik, the Chief of Gaul, is in his death agony — he is dying of poison.”
Indeed Tetrik was, or rather seemed to have been, poisoned at the same time as Victoria. He had hardly stepped into the house of the general of the army, when he seemed seized with severe pangs. When two weeks later I myself returned to life, the life of Tetrik was still despaired of.
I must admit I was stupefied at the strange information; my reason refused to believe the man guilty of a crime of which he was himself a victim.
Victoria’s death threw the city of Treves, the army, and later the whole nation into consternation. The funeral of the august Mother of the Camps seemed to be the funeral of Gaul herself. In her sudden taking-off people saw the presage of new evils to the country. The Gallic senate decreed the apotheosis of Victoria. It was celebrated at Treves in the midst of universal sorrow and tears. The pompous solemnity of the druid cult, the chant of the bards, imparted imposing splendor to the ceremony. Embalmed and lying on an ivory couch covered with cloth of gold, Victoria lay in state to the veneration of the citizens who crowded in mass to the house of mourning. The place was constantly invaded by that army of the Rhine of which Victoria was truly the mother. Finally her remains were placed upon the pyre, agreeable to the custom of our fathers. Incense rose along the streets of Treves, crossed by the funeral procession, which was headed by the bards singing on their golden harps the praises of the illustrious woman. The pyre was then set on fire and disappeared in a sheet of flame.
A medal, struck on the very day of the funeral ceremony, represents, on its obverse, the head of the Gallic heroine, casqued as Minerva, and on its reverse, an eagle with outstretched wings flying into space with its eyes fixed upon the sun, the symbol of the druid faith — the soul leaving this world and flying towards the unknown world where it is to be clad in a new body. Under the symbol the ordinary formula was engraved: “Consecration,” followed below by these words:
Victoria, Emperor.
By that virile appellation Gaul immortalized in her enthusiasm the glorious Mother of the Camps, and wreathed her memory in a title that she had steadily declined during life — a life that was at once modest and sublime, and wholly consecrated to her father, her husband, her son and to the glory and welfare of her country.
My perplexity was profound. The poisoning of Tetrik, who, as it was claimed, still struggled with death, the disappearance of the parchments that contained the traitor’s conversation with Victoria, and which she was thereby prevented from signing before dying — all these circumstances rendered the prosecution of the traitor difficult, if not impossible. An accusation lodged by me, an obscure soldier, against Tetrik, who survived as the supreme Chief of Gaul, and whose power was now all the greater, seeing it was no longer counterbalanced by the vast influence of the Mother of the Camps, could not lead to favorable results. Before deciding upon a final course in the matter, I waited for my shattered frame and mind t
o recover their former vigor.
Three days after Victoria’s death, and obedient to the last wishes of the Mother of the Camps, Sampso opened the casket that Victoria gave her. In it my wife found a last touching proof of the thoughtfulness of my foster-sister. There was a parchment with these words inscribed in her own hand:
“We shall never part until death,” did we, my good brother Schanvoch, often say to each other; it is your wish, it is mine; but if I am called away before you to live in the unknown worlds, where we shall one day meet again, I shall feel happy on the day when we shall meet again elsewhere than here, at the thought that you have gone back to Brittany, the cradle of your family.
The Roman conquest plundered your family of its ancestral fields. Free once more, Gaul should, in the name of right or by force, have revanquished the heritage of your children from the descendants of the Romans. I know not what will be our country’s condition, at the time of our separation. But, hap what hap may, there are three means by which you will be able to revindicate your just heritage — right, money or force. You have the right, you have the force, you have the money — you will find in this casket the sufficient sum with which to buy back, if need be, the fields that belonged to your family, and thenceforth live happy and free near the sacred stones of Karnak, the witnesses of the heroic death of your ancestress Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen.
You have often shown to me the pious relics of your family — I wish to join to them a souvenir of my own. You will find in this casket a bronze lark. I wore that ornament on my casque the day of the battle of Riffenel, at which I saw my son Victorin flash his virgin sword. I wish that you and your family may continue to keep this memento of our fraternal friendship. It is left to you by your foster-sister Victoria; she is of your family — did she not drink the milk of your brave mother?
When you read these lines, my good brother Schanvoch, I shall have been re-born beyond, near those whom I have loved.
Persevere in your fidelity to Gaul and the faith of our fathers. You have approved yourself worthy of your family. May your descendants approve themselves worthy of you, and write, without having to blush, the history of their lives, as Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak, has desired them to do.
Victoria.
Need I tell you, my son, how deeply I was moved by such solicitude on her part? I was at the time steeped in gloom and absorbed by the fear of the grave events that might follow in the wake of Victoria’s death. I remained almost insensible to the hope of speedily returning to Brittany, in order to end my days there, on the spot where my ancestors lived. When my health was completely restored, I repaired to the general who commanded the army of the Rhine. An old soldier himself, he was certain to appreciate better than anyone else the serious dangers that Gaul remained exposed to with Victoria’s death. I frankly told him the schemes that Tetrik was hatching; I also expressed to him my suspicions regarding the poisoning of my foster-sister. The general made me the following answer:
“The crimes and plots that you accuse Tetrik of are so monstrous, they would bespeak so infernal a soul, that I would hardly believe them, even if they were attested by Victoria herself, our august mother, whom we can never forget. Schanvoch, you are a brave and honest soldier, but your deposition will not suffice to bring the Chief of Gaul to the bar of the senate and the army. Besides, Tetrik is himself about to die; even his own poisoning proves to a certainty that he is innocent of Victoria’s death. You would be the only witness against the Chief of Gaul, who has been loved and venerated up to now, seeing that he has always conducted himself as the first subject of Victoria, the real empress of the nation. Take my advice, Schanvoch, invigorate your spirit, that the sudden death of this august woman has so severely shaken. It may be that, shocked by the disaster, your judgment is led astray, and mistakes vague apprehensions for facts. Until now, Tetrik has governed Gaul wisely, thanks to the inspiration of our august Mother. If he dies, he will be regretted by us; if he survives the mysterious crime which he has himself narrowly escaped, we shall continue to honor the man who was pointed out to us by Victoria herself as the fit object of our choice.”
The general’s answer proved to me that I would never succeed in causing the senate and the army to share my suspicions and convictions, both being so thoroughly prejudiced in favor of the Chief of Gaul.
Tetrik did not die. Hearing of his father’s predicament, his son hurried to Treves, and took his father in charge. When he became convalescent, Tetrik held lengthy interviews with the senators and the chiefs of the army. He manifested on the subject of Victoria’s death so profound and, to all appearance, sincere a grief; he honored her memory in so pious a manner by a funeral ceremony at which he glorified the illustrious woman, whose omnipotent hand, he said, had so long supported him, and to whom he felt proud of owing his elevation; in short, he seemed so heart-stricken when, pale, worn with his illness, frequently breaking out into tears, and leaning on the arm of his son, he dragged himself with unsteady step to the sad solemnity, that he conquered the affection of the people and the army more completely than ever by the last homage that he rendered to the memory of Victoria.
I then realized how utterly futile it would be to press my accusations against Tetrik. With my heart rent at seeing the fate of Gaul in the hands of a man whom I knew for a traitor, I decided to leave Treves with you, my son, and Sampso, your second mother, and repair to Brittany, the country of our family’s nativity, there to seek some consolation for my sorrows.
Nevertheless I felt bound to fulfil what I considered a sacred duty. By dint of constantly interrogating my memory on the subject of the conversation between Tetrik and Victoria, I succeeded in transcribing it a second time, word for word. Of this I made a second copy, and on the eve of my departure took the first draft to the general of the army.
“You are of the opinion,” I said to him, “that my reason wanders — keep this narrative — I hope the future may not prove to you the truth of my accusation.”
The general took the parchment, and dismissed me with the compassionate mien that is bestowed upon people whose mind is deranged.
CHAPTER IX.
KIDDA, THE BOHEMIAN GIRL.
ON LEAVING THE general of the army I walked home disconsolate. Crime was triumphant. I returned home, to the house of my foster-sister, where I remained until my departure for Brittany. I was engaged with Sampso packing up the last articles needed on our journey, when the following unlooked-for events happened on that night.
Mora, the servant, had also remained in the house. The woman’s grief at her mistress’s death touched my heart. On the night that I am writing about, my son, while engaged with your second mother in the preparations for our journey, we found that we needed another trunk. I went downstairs in search of one into a room that was separated from Mora’s chamber by a rough wooden partition. It was past midnight. Upon entering the room where the trunk was, I noticed, to my no slight astonishment, that a bright light shone from the servant’s room through the clefts of the partition. Fearing that the woman’s bed might have taken fire while she slept, I hastened to peep through the clefts in the boards. I bounded back with astonishment, but quickly returned to my place of observation.
Mora was contemplating herself in a little silver mirror by the light of two lamps, the gleam of which had first attracted my attention. But it was no longer Mora the Mauritanian; at least, her bronze complexion had disappeared! I now saw her a pale brunette, coiffed in a rich gold band ornamented with precious stones. The woman smiled at herself in the glass. She put a long pearl earring to one of her ears, and — strangest of all — she wore a corsage of some silvery material and a scarlet skirt.
I recognized Kidda, the Bohemian girl.
Alas! I had seen the creature only once, and then only by the light of the moon, on that fateful night, when, suddenly recalled to Mayence by the mysterious notification given me by my traveling companion, I slew Victorin in my house, together with my beloved wife Ellen.
Rage followed close upon the heels of my stupor — a horrible suspicion flashed through my mind. I bolted from the inside the room in which I was; with a violent thrust of my shoulder — rage multiplied my strength a hundredfold — I broke down one of the boards of the partition, and suddenly I stood before the eyes of the startled Bohemian. With one hand I seized her and threw her upon her knees, with the other I took one of the two heavy iron lamps, and raising it over the woman’s head I cried:
“I shall shatter your skull if you do not immediately confess your crimes!”
Kidda believed she read the decree of her death in my face. She grew livid and murmured:
“Kill me not! I shall speak!”
“You are Kidda, the Bohemian girl?”
“Yes — I am Kidda.”
“You were formerly at Mayence — and, as the price of your favors, you exacted of Victorin that he dishonor my wife Ellen?”
“Yes — that is so!”
“You were acting under orders of Tetrik?”
“No, I never spoke to him.”
“Whose orders were you, then, following?”
“Of Tetrik’s equerry.”
“The man is cautious,” I thought to myself. “And the soldier who on that fateful night announced to me that a heinous crime was being perpetrated in my house — do you know who he was?”
“It was Captain Marion’s companion in arms, he was a former blacksmith, like Marion.”
“Did Tetrik also know that soldier?”
“No, it was Tetrik’s equerry who had secret conferences with him at Mayence.”
“And where is that soldier now?”
“He died.”
“After Tetrik employed him to assassinate Captain Marion?”
The girl looked puzzled.
“Did Tetrik cause him to be put to death? Answer!”
“I think so!”