Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  The words of the enraptured father reached the ears of Amael, who had remained motionless behind the Emperor, whose life was soon in no slight danger, seeing that, in her first and spontaneous outburst of joy to fall on her father’s neck, Thetralde had struck Vortigern with her feet as she bounded forward. The young Breton, thus awakened with a start, his eyes dazzled by the glare of the torch, and his mind still clouded with sleep, grasped his sword and jumped up. At the sight of the two men at the entrance of the hut, one of them tightly holding Thetralde in his arms, the lad imagined that violence was being attempted upon her. He seized Charles by the throat with one hand and, raising his sword in the other, cried: “I will kill you!” Immediately, however, recognizing the father of Thetralde, Vortigern dropped his weapon, rubbed his eyes, and exclaimed:

  “The Emperor of the Franks!”

  “Himself, my lad!” replied the Emperor in a cheerful voice, while he again kissed the forehead and head of his daughter with almost frantic delight. “The vigor of your clutch proves to me that ill would he have fared who should have entertained any evil designs against my little girl!”

  “We are your enemies, and still you received my grandfather and myself with kindness,” answered the young Breton ingenuously and without lowering his eyes before the penetrating looks that Charles shot at him. “I have watched over your daughter — as I should have watched over my own sister.”

  Vortigern emphasized the words ‘my own sister’ in such a manner that Amael, fully sharing the confidence of Charles, whispered at the latter’s ear:

  “I have no doubt of the purity of these children.”

  “And you here?” exclaimed the Emperor astonished. “Be welcome, my esteemed guest!”

  “You looked for your daughter — I also set out in search of my grandson.”

  “And I have found her, the dear child!” exclaimed Charles with ineffable tenderness, again and again kissing the forehead of Thetralde. “Oh, how I do love her — more than ever before!” And holding the girl close to his breast the Emperor moved toward the interior of the hut, and threw himself down upon the moss-bench, broken with fatigue. There he seated Thetralde upon his knees, and contemplating her with looks of unspeakable happiness, said: “Come now, my little one, tell me all about your adventure. How did you lose track of the hunt? How did you resign yourself to spend the night in this hut?”

  “Father,” answered the girl, lowering her eyes and hiding her face on Charles’ breast, “let me collect my thoughts — I want to tell you all that happened, absolutely everything, without concealing aught.”

  After a short interval that followed Thetralde’s answer, Vortigern drew near Amael, who tenderly pressed him to his heart, while, standing at a little distance, the torch in his hand lighting the scene, the young Roman, it must be admitted, looked more astonished than enthusiastic at the continence of Vortigern.

  “Father,” Thetralde resumed, raising her head and attaching her candid looks upon the Emperor of the Franks, “I must tell you everything. Not so? Everything — absolutely everything?”

  “Yes, my little darling, without omitting anything.” But after a second’s reflection, Charles said to Octave: “Plant that torch in the ground, and watch our horses with this young lad.”

  The Roman bowed and obeyed; accompanied by Amael’s grandson he stepped out of the hut.

  “What, father, you send Vortigern out?” remarked Thetralde in an accent of sweet reproach. “I would on the contrary, have wished him to remain near us, in order to confirm or complete my story, my dear father.”

  “All you tell me, my dear daughter, I shall believe. Speak, speak without fear before me and the grandfather of the worthy lad.”

  “Yesterday,” Thetralde began, “I was on the balcony of the palace when Vortigern rode into the courtyard. Learning that he came hither as a prisoner, so young, and wounded, besides, I immediately took an interest in him. When shortly after, he came near being thrown from his horse, perhaps even killed, I was so frightened that I uttered a cry of dread. But when Hildrude and myself saw that he proved himself an intrepid horseman, we threw our nose-gays to him.”

  “You both told me how you admired the skilfulness of the lad’s horsemanship, but you said nothing about the throwing of your bouquets. Well, let us proceed — continue.”

  “I certainly was very happy at your return home, good father. Yet, I must confess to you, it seems to me that my thoughts turned as much on Vortigern as on yourself. All night my sister and I talked about the young Breton, about his gracefulness, about his comely face that was at once sweet and bold—”

  “That is all very well — that is all very well. Let us skip all that, my daughter. Let us drop the details concerning the lad’s looks.”

  “Then you object, father, to my telling you all? He made a deep impression upon us.”

  “Let us come to the episode of the chase.”

  “It was dawn before I fell asleep, but only to dream about Vortigern. We saw him again at church. When I was not contemplating his bold and sweet face, I was praying for the safety of his soul. After mass, when I learned that there was to be a hunting party, my only fear was that he might not be one of the party. Judge, then, of my joy, father, when I saw him in your retinue. Suddenly his horse took fright and carried him off! Before I could reflect I plied the whip upon my palfrey to join him. Hildrude followed and tried to pass me. That irritated me. I struck her horse on the head. The animal bolted and carried her off in another direction. I was alone when I overtook Vortigern. The mist, then the rain and thereupon the night fell upon us. We noticed this woodcutter’s hut and a brasier that was almost extinct. We then said to each other: ‘It is impossible to find our way back, let us spend the night here.’ Happily we noticed some chestnuts that had dropped on the ground from the trees. We gathered them, roasted them under the cinders — but we forgot to eat them—”

  “Because, I suppose, you were both tired, no doubt — and, in order to take rest, you lay down on this moss-bench, and the lad across the threshold?”

  “Oh, no, no, my father! Before falling asleep we chatted a good deal, we disputed a good deal. It was due to our discussion that Vortigern and myself forgot all about the chestnuts. Thereupon sleep overtook us and we stretched ourselves to rest.”

  “But what was the subject, my child, of the discussion between you and the lad?”

  “Alack! I had wicked thoughts — those thoughts were combatted by Vortigern with all his might. It was upon that that our dispute ran. But I must admit that, after all, he was right. You will never believe me. I wanted to flee from Aix-la-Chapelle and go to Brittany with Vortigern — to marry him.”

  “To leave me — my daughter — abandon your father — me, who love you so much?”

  “Those were the very arguments of Vortigern. ‘Thetralde, dost thou think well,’ he said to me, ‘to leave thy father who loves thee? Wouldst thou have the regrettable courage to cause him so deep a grief? And as to myself, whom, as well as my grandfather, he has treated with kindness, should I be thy accomplice? No! No! Moreover, I am here a prisoner on parole. To flee would be to disgrace myself. My mother would refuse to see me.’ ‘Thy mother loves thee too much not to pardon thee,’ I said to Vortigern; ‘my father also will pardon me; he is so good! Did he not show himself indulgent towards my sisters, who have their lovers as he has his mistresses? To love can neither hurt nor injure others. Once married, we shall return to my father. Happy at seeing us again, he will forget everything else, and we shall live near him as do Eginhard and my sister Imma.’ But Vortigern, ever inflexible, returned incessantly upon his word as a prisoner and the grief that his flight would cause his mother and grandfather. His warm tears mingled with mine as he consoled and chide me for the child that I was. Finally, after our dispute had lasted a long while, and we had wept a good deal, he said to me: ‘Thetralde, it is now late; thou surely must feel fatigued; thou shouldst lie down on this bed of moss; I shall lay myself across the entran
ce with my bare sword at my side, to defend thee, if need be.’ I did begin to feel sleepy; Vortigern covered me with his tunic; I fell asleep and was dreaming about him when I was awakened by you, my father.”

  The Emperor of the Franks listened to the naïve recital with a mixture of tenderness, apprehension and grief. At its close he heaved a sigh of profound relief that seemed to issue from the silent reflection: “What a danger did not my daughter escape!” This thought soon dominated all the others that crowded to his mind. Charles again embraced Thetralde effusively, and said:

  “Dear child, your candor charms me. It makes me forget that even for a moment you could entertain the thought of running away from your father, which would have been a mean thing to do.”

  “Oh! Vortigern made me renounce the wicked project. And, now, as a reward to him, you will be good, you will marry us, will you not, father?”

  “We shall talk later about that. For the present we must think of regaining the pavilion, where you will rest awhile. We shall depart to Aix-la-Chapelle. Stay here a moment I have a few words to exchange with this good old man.”

  Charles stepped out of the hut with Amael, and as soon as they were a few paces away, he turned towards the aged Breton with a radiant face on which, however, deep concern was depicted:

  “Your grandson is a loyal lad; yours is a family of worthy and brave people. You saved my grandfather’s life; your grandson has respected the honor of my daughter. I know but too well the dangers that lie, at the age of these children, in the wake of the first impulse of love. Had Vortigern yielded, he would have had to pay for it with his life. I am happy and by far prefer to praise than to punish.”

  “Charles, when a few hours ago I expressed to you my uneasiness concerning Vortigern’s absence, you answered me: ‘Good! He will have run across some pretty woodcutter’s daughter. Love is meet for his years. You do not mean to make a monk of the lad?’ What, now, if he had treated your daughter like a woodcutter’s child?”

  “By the King of the Heavens! Vortigern would not have left the hut alive!”

  “Accordingly, it is permissible to dishonor the daughter of a slave, and yet shall the dishonor of the daughter of an emperor be punished with death? Both are the children of God, alike in His eyes. Why the difference in your mind?”

  “Old man, these words are senseless!”

  “You pretend to be a Christian, and you treat us as pagans! My grandson has conducted himself like an honest man; that is all. Honor is dear to us Gauls of old Armorica, whose device is: Never did Breton commit treason. Will you render me a favor? I shall be eternally grateful to you.”

  “Speak! What do you wish of Charles?”

  “A short while ago you seemed struck with the beauty of a poor slave girl. You mean to make her one of your concubines. Be magnanimous towards the unhappy creature; do not corrupt her; render their freedom to her and her family; give those people the means to live industriously and honorably.”

  “It shall be so, by the faith of Charles; I promise you. Besides, I consent to withdraw my troops from your country, provided you pledge to me your faith as a Breton that, during my life, you will not make any incursions beyond your own frontiers. Give me your hand, Amael — your loyal hand in sign of acceptance.”

  “Here it is, Charles,” promptly answered Amael, grasping the hand proffered by the Emperor. “Let it be the hand of a traitor, and that it fall under the axe if our people break the promise! We shall live at peace with you. If your descendants respect our liberties, we shall live at peace with them.”

  “Amael, it is sworn!”

  “Charles, it is accepted and sworn!”

  “Instead of returning to Aix-la-Chapelle, you and your grandson shall spend the night in the pavilion of the forest. To-morrow, at early daybreak, I shall have your baggage forwarded to you, together with an escort, charged to accompany you as far as the frontiers of Armorica. You shall depart without delay.”

  “Your directions will be followed to the letter.”

  “I shall now return to the pavilion alone with my daughter. I shall tell my courtiers that I found her in the hut. Alack! the calumnies of the court are cruel. People will not believe in the innocence of Thetralde, and if, besides, they should learn that she spent a part of the night with your grandson in that obscure retreat, they will take for granted all that they now impute to her sisters. Oh! My father’s heart bleeds strangely. I have loved my daughters too much. I have been too indulgent towards them! And then also, my continuous wars beyond my own kingdom, together with the affairs of state, have prevented me from watching over my children. And yet, during my absence, I always left them in the charge of priests. Neither were they left idle; they embroidered chasubles for the bishops! But, it seems that our Lord God, who has ever and otherwise stood at my side, has willed it so, that I be struck in my family. His will be done! I am an unhappy father!” Charles thereupon called to the Roman:

  “Octave, nobody — do you understand me, nobody — must know that my daughter spent a part of the night in this hut with that young man. Evil tongues do not spare even the chastest and most admirable souls. The secret of this night is known only by me, my daughter, and these two Bretons. I am as certain of their discretion as of my own and Thetralde’s. You are lost if but a word of this adventure circulates at court. It is from you alone that it can have proceeded. If, on the contrary, you help me to keep the secret, you may rely upon increasing favors from me.”

  “August Emperor, I shall carry that secret with me into my grave.”

  “I rely upon it. Fetch me my horse and my daughter’s. You are to accompany us to the hunting pavilion, and thence to Aix-la-Chapelle. I will place you in command of the escort that I give these two hostages to return to their own country. I shall furnish you with an order to the commander of my army in Brittany. You will start to-morrow, early, with the escort to the pavilion of the forest, and you will thence depart for Armorica.”

  Octave bowed, and the Emperor proceeded, addressing Amael:

  “The moon has risen. It sheds sufficient light upon the route. Jump upon your horse, with your grandson. Follow this avenue of trees until you reach a clearing. Wait there. You will shortly be sent for. I shall despatch my messengers to take you to the pavilion, where you are to stay until your departure early to-morrow morning. And now, Adieu!”

  Amael returned to his grandson, whom he found in a deep study, seated on the stump of a tree that bordered the route. The lad was silently weeping with his face hidden in his hands, and heard not the steps of his grandfather approaching him.

  “Come, my boy,” said Amael to him in a mild and grave voice. “Let us to horse, and depart.”

  “Depart!” exclaimed Vortigern, with a tremor, rising impetuously to his feet and wiping with his hand the tears that moistened his face.

  “Yes, my boy! To-morrow we start for Brittany, where you will see again your mother and sister. The nobility of your conduct has borne its fruit. We are free. Charles recalls his troops from Brittany.”

  * * * * * * *

  Shortly after our return home from Aix-la-Chapelle, my grandfather, Amael, wrote the above narrative, which I have faithfully joined to the preceding ones of our family. Myself, Vortigern, buried my grandfather not long after at the ripe age of one hundred and five years, shortly after my own marriage with the loving Josseline. Charles the Great died at Aix-la-Chapelle in the year 814.

  PART II. THE CONQUEST OF BRITTANY

  CHAPTER I.

  IN THE BLACK MOUNTAINS.

  IN THE YEAR 818, seven years after Amael and his grandson Vortigern left the court of Charles, the Emperor of the Franks, to return to their home in Brittany, three riders, accompanied by a footman, were one evening painfully climbing one of the steep hills of the ridge of the Black Mountains, that raise their rugged ribs to the southwest of Armorica. When, having reached the top of the rocky pile over which the path wound its way, the travelers looked below, they saw at their feet a long chain of p
lains and hillocks, some covered with rye and wheat ready for the harvesters, others running northward like vast carpets of heather. Here and yonder, vast moors also were perceived stretching out as far as the eye could follow. A few straggling villages, reached by an avenue of trees, raised the roofs of their houses in the midst of impassible bogs that served for natural defences. The panorama was enlivened by herds of black sheep that browsed over the ruddy heath or the green valleys, watered by innumerable running streams. Among the green were also seen steers and cows, and especially a large number of horses of the Breton stock, strong for the plow, fiery in war.

  The three riders, preceded by the footman, now proceeded to descend the further slope of the rugged hill. One of the three, clad in ecclesiastical robes, was Witchaire, considered one of the richest abbots of Gaul. The vast lands of his almost royal abbey bordered on the frontiers of Armorica. His two companions, on horseback like himself, were monks belonging to his dependency, and both wore the garb of the religious Order of St. Benoit. The two monks rode behind the abbot at a little distance, leading between them a packsaddle mule loaded with the baggage of their superior, a man of short stature, sharp eye, and a smile that was at times pious, at other times cunning. The mountain guide, a robust, thick-set man in the vigor of life, wore the antique costume of the Breton Gauls — wide breeches of cloth held at the waist by a leather belt, a jacket of wool, and, hanging from his shoulders on the same side with his wallet, a cloak of goat-skin, although the season was summer. His hair, only partly covered with a woolen cap, fell over his shoulders. From time to time he leaned upon his pen-bas, a long staff made of holly and terminating in a crook.

  The burning August sun, now at its hottest, darted its rays upon the guide, the two monks and Abbot Witchaire. Reining in his horse, the latter said to the guide:

  “The heat is suffocating; these granite rocks radiate it upon us as hot as if they issued from a furnace; our mounts are exhausted. I decry yonder, at our feet, a thick forest; could you not lead us to it? We could then take rest in the shade.”