by Eugène Sue
“But they killed him, Chrotechilde — they killed him — they killed my lover, my Protade!”
“Come, madam; we are here among ourselves; admit that a Queen never suffers any dearth of lovers. You need only choose among the handsomest, the youngest, the most appetizing nobles of the court. Moreover, madam, without meaning to make you any reproaches on that score, if they did kill your Protade, did you not in turn kill their Bishop Didier?”
“Perchance he did not merit his fate?”
“Never was punishment more condign! The wily prelate! He schemed to supplant us in our amorous manoeuvres! Why, the fellow plotted the marriage of your grandson to the Spanish princess, in order to snatch him from the voluptuous life in which we kept him, and thereby withdraw him from your domination! And what happened to the tonsured schemer? The current of the Chalaronne washed his corpse down the stream, while the Spanish woman, upon whom he reckoned in order to evict you and, by means of her, to rule Thierry and through Thierry Burgundy, that Spanish woman has been repudiated by your grandson, she went back to her own country only six months after her wedding, and we have appropriated her dower. Finally, Thierry died this year of a dysentery,” added the hag with a horrid smile, “and so you now are absolute mistress and sovereign Queen of this country of Burgundy, seeing that Sigebert, the eldest son of Thierry, your great-grandson, is now only eleven years old. We must prevent these kinglets from dying out, else Fredegonde’s surviving son would fall heir to their kingdoms. All that is needed is that they vegetate, in order that you may reign in their stead. Well, madam, they vegetate. But all this takes us far away from the young female slave whom you wish to buy from Samuel.”
“On the contrary, Chrotechilde, the review leads us directly to the slave.”
“In what manner?”
“There can no longer be any doubt about it; age is softening your brains; formerly so quick to grasp my purposes, it is now fully a quarter of an hour that you have been giving me distressful proofs of your waning intellect.”
“I, madam?”
“Yes; in former days, instead of asking me what I intended doing with one of Samuel’s slaves, you would have guessed on the spot. I have been able to convince myself at leisure of the senility of your understanding — it is sad, Chrotechilde.”
“As sad to me as to you, madam. But deign to explain yourself, I pray you. For me to hear is to obey.”
“What! Dullard! You know that I have the guardianship of my great-grandchildren, and yet you stupidly ask me what I propose to do with one of the two pretty slaves! Do you now understand?”
“Oh! Yes! I now begin to understand, madam; but yet your reproaches were unmerited. You forget that Sigebert is not yet eleven.”
“All the better! The debauch will begin so much earlier.”
“That is true,” remarked the other monster with a horrid peal of laughter. “That is true; all the better. The debauch will start so much sooner.”
During this shocking conversation the august bronze effigy remained motionless in the case of medals on the ivory stand; it never once as much as winked, nor did its metal mouth utter a cry of malediction to shake the walls of the apartment like a trumpet blast of the day of judgment.
The conversation between the two matrons proceeded.
“You mean to furnish a concubine to your great-grandson, Sigebert,” said Chrotechilde to the Queen, “although he is not yet eleven.”
“Yes,” repeated Brunhild; “but what happened with Bilichilde makes me pause: I do not know which of the two slaves to take. What is your opinion, in view of your experience?”
“The tall brunette who weeps constantly will never be dangerous; she is mild, candid, and stupid as a sheep. There is no fear that the silly thing will ever instil Sigebert with evil thoughts against you.”
“I also am strongly inclined in favor of the weepful one; the other girl seems to me rather too bold a piece. The impudent thing never once lowered her eyes before mine, that terrify the otherwise firmest and most daring men.”
“It is quite possible, madam, that the frisky little imp may have too large a measure of what the tall one has too little — there may be profit in that. Let us look at things as they are. Sigebert is not yet eleven, he is very childish, thinks only of his top and huckle-bones; besides, he is quiet and timid, a veritable lamb. Now, then, if the tall silly thing associates with him like a sheep — you understand me, madam? On the other hand, the little gay imp might set our lamb afire. I always remember the fear of Theudebert at the sight of the girl with the green eyes and curly hair. The matter requires careful consideration, madam. Let us first study the nature of the two girls. Moreover, there is no great hurry in the matter. Sigebert is now in Germany with Duke Warnachaire, the mayor of the palace of Burgundy.”
“They may be back any moment. I should not be surprised to see them back to-day. Moreover, I am in all the greater hurry to procure a slave girl for Sigebert, seeing that I fear Warnachaire may have gained some influence over him during this journey into Germany. If so, whatever influence Warnachaire may have gained over the boy will be speedily lost in his experiences with love.”
“But, madam, if you mistrust the duke, why did you confide Sigebert to him?”
“Was it not absolutely necessary for Sigebert to be a part of the embassy? The sight of the royal child, with his sweet face, was certain to interest in his behalf the German tribes on the other side of the Rhine whose alliance Warnachaire was to secure for me. Their troops will double my army. Oh, in this last supreme effort, in this merciless war that will now break out between me and Clotaire II, this son of Fredegonde will be ground to dust — it must be — it must be — my vengeance must be complete.”
“And it will be, madam. Until now, your enemies have all fallen under your blows. The death of Fredegonde’s son will crown the work. I must, nevertheless, admit that this Duke Warnachaire makes me feel uneasy. Madam, these mayors of the palaces, who, forty-five or fifty years ago, under the reign of the sons of old Clotaire, began with being the intendants of the royal palaces, and who, ever since, have by little and little become the actual governors of the people, I fear me that these mayors of the palaces will end by swallowing up the kings, if the kings do not suppress them. These able folks say to the princes: ‘Keep concubines, drink, play, hunt, sleep, squander the money that we fill your treasuries with, enjoy your lives, bother not with matters of government, we shall take charge of that burden.’ These are dangerous and wicked proceedings, madam. That a mother, a grandmother should act in that manner towards her sons and grandsons, that is allowable; but with mayors of the palace it becomes usurpation; and this Warnachaire, whom you allowed to retain his office of mayor after Thierry’s death is bent, it seems to me, upon dominating Sigebert and ousting you, madam. I know that with the tall or the short slave we shall be able to hold our own against the duke — but never forget your exile from Metz, madam!”
“You are preaching to one already converted. I recently wrote to Aimoin, who returns with Warnachaire, to kill him on the way back.”
“Oh, glorious Queen, why did you not say so before! I would have spared you my rhetoric.”
“But unfortunately Aimoin failed to carry out my orders. Warnachaire is still alive.”
“Why did he not obey?”
“I do not yet know; I may learn the reason to-day.”
“At any rate we should not be hasty in thinking ill of Aimoin. Perhaps no favorable opportunity presented itself; who knows but you may yet see him return alone with Sigebert. And if not, once Warnachaire is back at Chalon, in this castle, his fate, madam, will be in the hollow of your hand — and you should not hesitate to strike. Oh, these mayors of the palaces, these mayors of the palaces! I look upon them as the gravest danger to the royal family. You may be certain, madam, that the royal family will never enjoy safety until it will have rid itself of these daily more dangerous rivals.”
“We need time to overthrow their power. They have drawn
around them all the beneficiary seigneurs whom the royal generosity enriched. Oh! Time! Time! Oh, how short is life. I need time; combined with it, will-power and force can do all. The time that I need is a long reign; I shall have it. The barbarian tribes on the other side of the Rhine have responded to our call; they will join our army. Thanks to their reinforcements, the troops of Clotaire will be crushed, and the son of Fredegonde will fall into my power! Oh! To inflict upon the son a slow death under the protracted tortures that I prepared for his mother! To avenge by his agony the murder of my sister Galeswinthe, and of my husband Sigebert! To take possession of Clotaire’s kingdom and reign alone, the undisputed mistress of all Gaul for many a long year! That is my aim. And it will be reached. I feel myself full of life, strength and will-power!”
“You will live a hundred years and more.”
“I believe it. I feel it. Aye, I feel within me indomitable will and vitality. To reign! the ambition of great souls! To reign like the Emperors of Rome! I wish to emulate them in all their sovereign omnipotence! I wish to count by the millions the instruments of my will! I wish, by a mere gesture, to cause the power of my arms to be felt from one confine of the world to the other! I wish to increase my kingdom to an infinite extent! I wish to be able to say: ‘All these countries, from the nearest to the most distant, belong to me! I wish to concentrate the forces of all nations into my own hands and to cause all the peoples of the earth to bend under my yoke! I wish to raise in all parts of Gaul the marvels of art that now cover Burgundy — fortified castles, magnificent palaces, gold-naved basilicas, wide and interminable highways, prodigious monuments, all of which will in all the centuries to come re-echo the name of Brunhild! Should I allow vulgar scruples to stay my hand, having such grand designs in view? No! No! Could these children whom I unman, could these men whom I kill because they hinder my progress — could they or any of them as much as conceive my gigantic designs? Of what value to the world is the life of these obscure victims? Their bones will have turned to dust, their names will be buried in oblivion, when my name, repeated from age to age, will continue to amaze posterity!”
“And these will be valid reasons for the priests and bishops, who besiege you with applications for grants of land and money, to pardon your crimes.”
“I forbid you to say an evil word against the priests; it is they who draw my triumphal car—”
“The team is rather ruinous.”
“Not to me. Do the gifts that I bestow upon them impoverish me? Is not that which I give them, the overflow of my overflow? Moreover, they will aid me in restoring the imposts formerly decreed by the emperors, and thereby to replenish my coffers. Here, take this key; open the little coffer yonder on the table, and look for a roll of parchment tied in a purple ribbon.”
“Here it is, madam.”
“Kiss the parchment, it is written on by the hand of the representative of God on earth, a Pope — the pious Gregory himself—”
“And does the sovereign pontiff, the successor of St. Peter, as he claims, he who holds in his hands the keys of paradise, promise to open them wide for you?”
“It is but just. Have I not amply gilded those keys of paradise? Read over again to me what the parchment contains.”
“‘Gregory to Brunhild, Queen of the Franks. The manner in which you govern the kingdom and preside over the education of your son give witness to the virtues of your Excellency, virtues that must be praised and that are pleasing to God. You did not content yourself with leaving intact to your son the glory of temporal things, you also laid up for him the great riches of eternal life by causing, with pious maternal solicitude the germs of the true faith to take root in his soul.’”
CHAPTER III.
THE ROYAL FAMILY.
THE READING OF the papal epistle was interrupted at this point by the noise of many children’s laughter that proceeded from the contiguous chamber. Almost immediately thereupon the three younger brothers of Sigebert, who was then absent on the journey to Germany, rushed in, followed by their governesses. The little ones ran to their great-grandmother. Childebert, the eldest of the three, was ten years of age; Corbe nine, and Merovee, the youngest, six. The poor children, born of a father who was almost worn out, even before adolescence, through all manner of early excesses, were delicate, frail, dreamy, and painful to behold. Even their mirth had a saddening effect. Their cheeks were hollow, they were sicklied over by a pallor that betrayed ill health, and that rendered their eyes exceptionally large and weird. Their long hair, the symbol of Frankish royalty, fell thin upon their shoulders. They wore short dalmaticas of gold and silver thread. The governesses respectfully bent their knees at the entrance of the hall and remained at the door, while the children ran forward and surrounded their great-grandmother. Childebert remained standing near her; Corbe and Merovee, the two youngest, climbed upon her knees, as she said to them:
“You seem to be in good spirits this morning, my dear children! What is the reason of your joy?”
“Grandmother, it is our brother Corbe, who made us laugh.”
“What did Corbe do that was so funny?”
“He plucked all the feathers off his white turtle dove — and she screeched so — she screeched—”
“And you laughed — you laughed — you little imps!”
“Yes, grandmother, but our little brother Merovee wept.”
“Did he laugh so hard that he cried?”
“Oh, no; I wept because the bird bled.”
“And I thereupon told Merovee: ‘You have no courage, if blood frightens you! And when we go to battle, will you weep there also at the sight of blood?’”
“And while Corbe was saying so to Merovee, I took a knife and cut the dove’s head off. Oh, I am not afraid of blood; not I; and when I am a big man I shall go to war, not so grandmother?”
“Ah, children! You know not what you are wishing. It is easy to amuse yourselves cutting off the heads of doves, without feeling obliged some day to go to war. To make war means to ride day and night, suffer hunger, heat and cold, to sleep under tents, and what is worst of all, run the risk of being wounded and killed, all of which causes great pain. Is it not far better, dear children, to promenade quietly in a cart or a litter, to lie down in a soft bed, eat dainties, have fun all day long, and please your whims? The blood of royal families is too precious a thing to expose it recklessly, my pretty little kinglets. You have your leudes to go to war and fight the enemy in battle, your servants to kill the people who may displease or offend you; your priests to order the people to obey you. So, you see, all you have to do is to amuse yourselves, to enjoy the delights of life, happy children that you are, having nothing to say but ‘I will.’ Do you understand these words well, my dear little ones? Answer, Childebert, you being the eldest and therefore most intelligent.”
“Oh, yes, grandmother; I am no more anxious than other people to go to war in search of lance-thrusts; I prefer to amuse myself, and do what I please. But why, then, did our brother Sigebert go away on horseback, followed by armed men, and accompanied by Warnachaire?”
“Your brother is ailing; the physicians have advised letting him undertake a long trip for the good of his health.”
“Will he be back soon?”
“To-morrow, perhaps — perhaps even to-day.”
“Oh, so much the better, grandmother! So much the better! His place will not then be empty in our room — we miss him—”
“Be not too glad on that score, my little kinglets. Henceforth, Sigebert will inhabit his own royal mansion, he will have his own servants and his separate room. Oh, he will be like a little man!”
“But he is only one year older than I!”
“Oh, oh! In a year you also will be a little man, my little Childebert,” replied Brunhild exchanging a diabolical glance with Chrotechilde; “you will then also have your royal establishment and your separate room — your chamberlains, your equerries, your slaves, all of them submissive to your every whim, like dogs to the switch.
”
“Oh, how I would like to be a year older, so as to have all those things that you promise me!”
“And so would I like to see you older — and Corbe also — and also Merovee, I would like to see you all of the age of Sigebert.”
“Patience, madam,” said Chrotechilde again exchanging infernal glances with Brunhild; “patience; it will all come about — but what noise is that in the large hall? I hear numerous steps approaching — it must be seigneur Warnachaire!”
CHAPTER IV.
QUEEN AND MAYOR OF THE PALACE.
CHROTECHILDE WAS NOT mistaken. The mayor of the palace of Burgundy had arrived, and now stepped, accompanied by Sigebert, into the chamber where Brunhild and her confidante were conversing with the kinglets, and anticipating the future with diabolical foresight.
Sigebert, a boy of barely eleven, was like his brothers, frail, sickly and pale. Nevertheless, what with the excitement of the journey and the joy at seeing his brothers, a slight flush suffused his sweet, wan face, which not all the execrable precepts of his grandmother had succeeded in depriving of its angelic appearance. He ran to embrace the aged Queen and then joyfully reciprocated the caresses and answered the volley of questions of his little brothers, who crowded around him. To each he handed some slight presents, which he brought from his journey and were locked in a small coffer that he took from the hands of one of his suite, and impulsively opened in order to give his brothers a token of remembrance. Chrotechilde availed herself of a favorable moment, and approaching the Queen said in a low voice:
“Madam, if you will take my advice, keep the two slaves until evening — between now and then we shall have time to make up our minds.”
“Yes, that will be the best thing to do,” answered Brunhild; and addressing the child: “You should now retire for rest, and you can talk with your brothers about your journey. I have matters of importance to consider with Duke Warnachaire.”