Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Although your hopes can not realize the object that you proposed, they, nevertheless, are an evidence of a generous soul.”

  “By the cap of St. Martin! You Bretons are a strange people. What! If you should believe that I deserve esteem and affection, and if your countrymen should share your opinion, would neither you nor they accept with joy the authority that you now submit to by force?”

  “With us it is no question of having a more or less worthy master. We want no master.”

  “And yet I am your master, ye pagans!”

  “Until the day when we shall have reconquered our independence by a successful insurrection.”

  “You will be crushed to dust, exterminated! I swear it by the beard of the eternal Father.”

  “Exterminate the last of the Breton Gauls, strangle all the children, and you will then be able to reign over the desert of Armorica. But so long as there lives a single man of our race in our country, you may be able to vanquish, but never to subjugate it.”

  “But tell me, old man, is it that my rule is so terrible, and my laws so hard?”

  “We want no foreign domination. To live according to the laws of our fathers, freely and as becomes free men, to choose our chiefs, to pay no tribute, to lock ourselves up within our own frontiers and to defend them — these are our aspirations. Accept them and you will have nothing to fear from us.”

  “To dictate conditions to me! to me, who reign as sovereign master over all Europe! To have a miserable population of shepherds and husbandmen impose conditions to me! to me, whose arms have conquered the world! Impudence can reach no further!”

  “I might answer you that, in order to vanquish that miserable population of shepherds, of woodmen and husbandmen entrenched in their mountain fastnesses, behind their rocks, their marshes and their forests, your veteran bands had to be requisitioned for Gaul—”

  “Yes,” cried the Emperor in a vexed voice, “in order to keep your accursed country in obedience, I am forced to leave there my choicest troops, troops that I may need at any moment here in Germany, where I have hard battles to fight.”

  “That must be an unpleasant thing to you, Charles, I admit. Without mentioning the maritime invasions of the Northmans, there are the Bohemians, the Hungarians, the Bavarians, the Lombards and so many other people whom your arms have overcome, the same as they overcame us, the Bretons — all vanquished, but none subjugated. From one moment to the other they may rise anew, and, what is graver still, menace the very heart of your Empire. As to us, on the contrary, all that we demand is to live free; we never think of going beyond our frontiers.”

  “Who guarantees to me that, once my troops, are out of your infernal country, you will not forthwith resume your armed excursions and attacks against the Frankish forces that are bivouacked on this side of your borders?”

  “The other provinces are Gallic like ourselves. Our duty bids us to provoke them, and to aid them to break the yoke of the Frankish kings. But the thoughtful people among us are of the opinion that the hour for revolt has not yet come. For the last four centuries the Catholic priests have moulded the minds of the people to slavery. Alas, centuries will pass before they re-awaken from their present stupor. You admit that it is dangerous for you to be compelled to keep a portion of your best troops tied up in Brittany. Recall your army. I give you my word as a Breton, and I am, moreover, authorized to make the pledge in the name of our tribes, that, so long as you live, we shall not go out of our frontiers.”

  “By the King of the Heavens! The joke is rather too harsh. Do you take me for a fool? Do I not know that, if I grant you a truce by withdrawing my troops, you will take advantage of it to prepare anew for war after my death? But we shall always know how to suppress your uprisings.”

  “Yes, we shall certainly take up arms if your sons fail to respect our liberties.”

  “And you really expect me — me, the vanquisher, to consent to a shameful truce? To consent to withdraw my forces from a country that it has cost me so much trouble to overcome?”

  “Very well; leave, then, your army in Brittany, but depend upon it that, within a year or two, new insurrections will break out.”

  “Insane old man! How dare you hold such language to me when you, your grandson, and four other Breton chiefs are my hostages! Oh! I swear by the everlasting God, your head will drop at the first sign of an insurrection. Do not lean too heavily upon the good nature of the old Charles. The terrible example I made of the four thousand prisoners whom I took from the revolted Saxons should be proof enough to you that I recoil before no act of necessity. Only the dead are not to be feared.”

  “The Breton chiefs who remained on the way by reason of their wounds, and who will speedily join me and my grandson at Aix-la-Chapelle, would, no more than my grandson and myself, have accepted the post of hostages had the same been without danger. Whatever the fate may be that awaits us, we shall not falter in our duty. We are here in the very center of your Empire, and well in condition to judge of the opportuneness for an uprising. From this very place we will give the signal for a fresh war, the moment we think the time is favorable.”

  “By the King of the Heavens! This audacity has gone far enough!” cried the Emperor, pale with rage. “To dare tell me that these traitors, according to what they may see and spy near my court, will themselves send to Brittany the order to revolt! Oh, I swear by God, from to-morrow, from this very evening, both you and your grandson will be cast into a dungeon so dark that you will need lynx’s eyes to find out what goes on around here. By the cap of St. Martin! Such insolence is enough to turn one into a ferocious beast. Not another word, old man! Here we are at the pavilion. I shall now join my daughters. The sight of them will console me for your ingratitude!”

  Uttering these last words with mingled rage and sorrow, the Emperor put his horse to the gallop in order to reach all the quicker the hunting pavilion, where he expected to meet his daughters, and satisfy his growing hunger. The seigneurs in Charles’ suite were about to follow their master’s example and quicken the steps of their mounts, when the Emperor, suddenly turning around, cried out to them, with an imperious voice:

  “No one shall follow me. I want to be alone with my daughters! You shall await my orders near the pavilion.”

  CHAPTER XI.

  FRANK AND BRETON.

  THE EMPEROR RODE rapidly forward toward the hunting pavilion. The seigneurs of his suite received the angry order of their master with silent obedience, and, reining in their horses, proceeded at a slower gait towards the rendezvous. Lost among them, Amael rode along, steeped in thought, revolving the recent conversation he had with Charles, and at the same time more and more a prey to anxiety at the prolonged absence of Vortigern. The Emperor’s courtiers shivered under their robes of silk and drabbled feathers, and silently grumbled at the whim of their Emperor, whereby the looked-for time was retarded when they might warm themselves at the fire of the pavilion, and revive their spirits with supper. Arrived in the close neighborhood of the pavilion, they alighted from their horses. They had been conversing together about a quarter of an hour, when Amael, who had also alighted and leaned pensively against one of the nearby gigantic trees of the forest, noticed Octave hastening in his direction and calling out to him:

  “Amael, I was looking for you — come quick!”

  The aged Breton tied his horse to the tree and followed Octave. When both had walked a little distance away from the group of the Frankish seigneurs, the young Roman proceeded:

  “I feel mortally uneasy on the score of Vortigern. Your grandson having been carried away by his horse early in the hunt, Thetralde and Hildrude, two of the Emperor’s daughters, followed him on the spot. What may have happened? I can not guess. I am told positively that Hildrude, who seemed greatly irritated, rode back to Aix-la-Chapelle with two other sisters and all the concubines of the Emperor who had come to the chase. Thetralde must have remained alone behind with Vortigern in some part of the forest.”

 
“Finish your account.”

  “I know from experience how easy-going are the morals of this court. Thetralde has taken notice of your grandson. She is fifteen, has been brought up amidst her sisters, who have as many paramours as their own father has mistresses. Despite himself, Vortigern has made a lively impression upon the heart of Thetralde. The two are children. They have vanished together, and must have been lost together, seeing that three of the Emperor’s daughters have returned to the palace and the other two are at the pavilion. Only Thetralde is not to be found. If she lost her way in the company of Vortigern — I would this morning have been of the opinion that it was to be hoped—”

  “Heaven and earth!” broke in the aged Breton, growing pale. “How dare you joke on such a matter!”

  “This morning I would have considered the adventure highly amusing. This evening it seems to me redoubtable. A minute ago, angered at something or other, the Emperor clapped both his spurs to his horse’s flanks, ordered that none should follow him, and rushed towards the pavilion. Rothaide and Bertha, daughters of Charles, notified of their father’s approach by the clatter of his horse, and believing that his whole suite was with him, sped away to the upper chambers of the pavilion — Bertha with Enghilbert, the handsome Abbot of St. Riquier, Rothaide with Audoin, one of the Emperor’s officers.”

  “And then?”

  “The Emperor arrives all alone and dismounts. ‘Where are my daughters?’ he calls out impatiently to the Grand Nomenclator of his table who happens to be superintending the preparations for the supper. The Grand Nomenclator answers in great embarrassment: ‘August Emperor, allow me to go and announce your arrival to the Princesses; they have withdrawn to the upper chambers in order to take some rest while waiting for supper.’ ‘I shall go myself and see them,’ replies Charles, saying which, he clambers up the stairs. Old Vulcan surprising Venus and Mars at their amorous escapade, could not have been more furious than was the august Emperor when he surprised his daughters in the arms of their gallants. The Grand Nomenclator having remained near the door of the staircase soon heard an infernal racket in the chambers above. The irate Charles was plying his hunting whip right and left over the two amorous couples. A profound silence ensued thereupon. The Emperor having the habit of not noising such things about came down again, calm in appearance, but pale with rage, and—”

  Octave’s narrative was at this point suddenly interrupted by tumultuous cries that proceeded from the pavilion. Slaves were seen rushing out of the building with lighted torches in their hands, and immediately the shrill voice of Charles himself was heard calling out:

  “To horse! My daughter Thetralde has lost her way in the forest! She has not returned to the palace — and she is not here in the pavilion. Take the torches — and to horse! To horse!”

  “Amael, in the name of your grandson’s welfare,” whispered Octave precipitately in the Breton’s ear, “follow me at a distance. There is just one chance left to us of saving Vortigern from the Emperor’s rage.” Saying this, the young Roman disappeared among the seigneurs of the court who were hastening towards their horses, while Charles, whose rage, restrained for a moment, now exploded with renewed fierceness, screeched at them:

  “Look at them, gaping open-mouthed, like a herd of startled sheep! Let each one take a torch and follow one of the avenues of the forest, all the while calling out to my daughter as loud as he can. Halloa there — let someone take up a torch and ride ahead of me!”

  At these words, Octave seized a torch and approached the Emperor, while other seigneurs rode rapidly off in several directions in search of the lost Thetralde. The meaning of the hurried recommendation that Octave had addressed to him a minute before flashed at this moment clear through Amael’s mind. Mounting his horse at the same time that Charles and the young Roman who bore the torch did theirs, he allowed the two to take somewhat the lead of him, and then followed them at a distance, guided by the torch that Octave held aloft.

  As Octave later narrated to him, the Emperor alternated between fits of rage, provoked by the freshest proof of the libertinage to which his daughters were addicted, and uneasiness at the disappearance of Thetralde. These several sentiments were given vent to by broken words that from time to time reached the ears of the young Roman who preceded Charles by only a few paces.

  “My poor child! — where can she be? — Perhaps dying of cold and fear — at the bottom of some thicket, perhaps!” murmured the Emperor. Presently he would call out at the top of his voice: “Thetralde! Thetralde! Oh, she does not hear me! King of the Heavens, have pity upon me. So young — so delicate — a chilly night like this is enough to kill her. Oh, my unhappy old age, that this child might have served to console — she would not have resembled her sisters! Her fifteen year forehead was never crimsoned with an evil thought. Oh, dead! Dead, perhaps! No, no — youth is full of pranks! Besides, these daughters, all of whom I have brought up like boys, are all accustomed to fatigue. They accompany me during my long journeys. But yet, the night is so dark — and it is so chilly!” Whereupon the Emperor would again call out: “Thetralde!” and suddenly reining in his horse and listening, the Emperor of the Franks broke the silence with the sudden question: “Did you not hear a sound like the neighing of a horse?”

  “I did, august Prince,” answered the young Roman.

  “Listen! Listen again!”

  Octave kept silent. Soon again the sound of distant neighing broke upon the stillness of the forest.

  “No doubt any longer. Despairing of finding her way, my daughter must have tied her palfrey to a tree!” exclaimed the Emperor, his heart bounding with hope. Calling out to Octave, he ordered: “Gallop! Gallop faster!” and himself increasing his own speed to the utmost cried out uninterruptedly: “Thetralde! Thetralde! Thetralde, my daughter!”

  Amael, who followed Charles at a goodly distance, keeping himself well in the shadow, also fell into a gallop the moment he noticed the torchlight that guided him suddenly move with increased swiftness into the darkness. The Emperor and Octave were close upon the spot where, before entering the woodcutter’s hut, Vortigern and Thetralde had tied their mounts. The glimmer of the torch fell upon and lighted the white body of Thetralde’s palfrey, throwing into the shade Vortigern’s horse that was tied a few steps further away. The Emperor recognized his daughter’s favorite mount, and cried out:

  “Thetralde’s palfrey!” and immediately thereupon perceiving the hut itself by the light of the torch borne by Octave, he added: “Oh, King of the Heavens! Thanks be to you!” The Emperor quickly dismounted and walking precipitately towards the hut which lay about twenty paces from the path, he called back to Octave: “Walk faster! My daughter is there. Precede me!”

  Gifted with an eye even more piercing than Charles’, Octave had recognized with a shudder the horse of Vortigern close to Thetralde’s palfrey. Foreseeing the outburst of fury that the Emperor was about to fall into at the spectacle that Octave surmised awaited his aged eyes, the Roman resorted to an extreme measure. Affecting to stumble, he dropped the torch in the hope of extinguishing it at his feet, as if by accident. But Charles quickly stooped down, as quickly raised it and rushed forward towards the entrance of the hut. Trembling with fear, the young Roman followed closely behind the Emperor. Charles suddenly stood still as if petrified at the threshold of the hut, whose interior was now brilliantly lighted by the torch in the Emperor’s hand. Having also dismounted, Amael was enabled, without his steps being heard by Charles, to draw nearer, and stood close to him at the very moment that, struck with stupor, the Emperor of the Franks stopped, motionless.

  Profoundly asleep, and stretched out upon the floor with his unsheathed sword beside him, Vortigern barred the entrance to the hut. In order to enter it, an intruder would have been compelled to walk over his body that lay across the threshold. In the depth of the retreat, stretched on a bed of moss and carefully wrapped in the lad’s tunic, Thetralde enjoyed a slumber as profound as her guardian at the entrance. The gir
l’s head and face, charming in their candor, rested on one of her arms that lay folded beneath. So deep was the sleep of the two, that neither the young girl nor Vortigern was at first awakened by the glare of the torch.

  Thick drops of perspiration rolled down from the forehead of the Emperor of the Franks. The stupor that first seized him at finding his daughter in a solitary hut in the company of the young Breton, was soon followed by an expression of undefinable agony. Presently the cruel doubts concerning the chastity of his youngest daughter made room for hope when he noticed the serenity of the slumber of the two children. The Emperor gathered additional comfort from the precaution that Vortigern had taken in laying himself athwart the entrance, obedient, no doubt, to a thought of respectful and chivalrous solicitude.

  Thetralde was the first to open her eyes. The glare of the torch fell upon her face. She half raised her head; still half asleep, carried her hand to her eyes, and sat up. In a second, seeing her father before her, she uttered a cry of such sincere joy, her charming features expressed a happiness so utterly free from all embarrassment, that, bounding to her father’s neck, she was pressed by Charles to his heart with delirious rapture:

  “Oh!” the Emperor exclaimed, “I fear naught, her forehead is free from shame.”