Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “After the ceremony of the marriage and of the investiture of the Duchies of Northmandy and Brittany Rolf went to supper. He drank to the point of intoxication and started for his wife’s chamber. However little I commiserate the royal races, the fate of Ghisèle touched me. I made Rolf understand that his wife should be notified of his visit, and taking the mission upon myself, I ordered a servant to conduct me to Ghisèle’s apartment. Her nurse received me. We were considering how, at least for this first night, she might conceal the young bride, so as to save her from the maudlin brutalities of Rolf. While speaking with Jeanike, my eyes accidentally fell upon the words ‘Brenn — Karnak’ burnt into her arm which, as is the custom with the domestics, was half bare—”

  “I understand the rest!” broke in Eidiol. “Recognizing—”

  “Yes; I soon was convinced that Jeanike was your daughter. I told her so! Imagine her joy at the revelation! Unfortunately kept near the bedside of the dying Ghisèle, Jeanike could not fly to you, as she wanted. But you will soon see her, together with her daughter Yvonne and her son Germain, the forester serf, provided he can obtain leave for a day. And now, adieu. I depart happy at the thought that I leave in your heart a good souvenir of myself, seeing that I have returned your daughter to you. That souvenir will remain in your midst.”

  “Where are you going, Gaëlo?”

  “I return to the land of the North with my beloved Shigne.”

  “And what do you purpose to do in that distant region?”

  “War!” boldly answered the heroine wife. “Gaëlo and I are not of the number of the cowards, who, forgetful of their vow never to sleep under a roof, desert the combat of the ocean to live on land, as Rolf and his companions are doing.”

  “Charles the Simple bestowed also the Duchy of Brittany upon Rolf. Vainly did I predict to him that that region will be the grave of his best followers, if they ever try to invade it. He has persisted in his plans of conquest, and wished to give me the command of the fleet which he intends sending to the coast of Armorica in order to take possession. I could not dissuade him.”

  “And you refused to take charge of such a mission, my worthy Gaëlo?”

  “Yes. But how singular are the events that accompany the Frankish conquest of Gaul! One of our ancestors, Amael, the favorite of Charles Martel, served the Franks. He knew how to atone for his error when Charles proposed to him to invade Brittany, the sacred cradle of our family. A century later, my grandfather, my own father and now myself have, out of hatred for the Franks, fought against them, and now Rolf proposes to me to be the leader in his war against Armorica. Oh! Although ridden by the priests and oppressed by seigneurs of the Breton race, Armorica still is free when compared with the other provinces of Gaul. Sooner than seek to invade Brittany I would defend its existing vestiges of freedom against the Northmans themselves.”

  “And what prevents you from obeying that generous prompting and going to Brittany?”

  “Old man!” put in the Beautiful Shigne. “Rolf’s men are of my race. Would you, for instance, fight the men of Brittany?”

  “I can not but approve of your resolution,” answered Eidiol upon a moment’s reflection.

  “And now, before a last adieu,” said Gaëlo placing a sealed roll in the old skipper’s hands, “keep these parchments. You will there find the narrative of the adventures that have led to my wedding Shigne. You will also find there some details on the customs of the Northman pirates, and of the stratagem by the aid of which my companion and myself seized the abbey of St. Denis. If, obedient to the behest of our ancestor Joel, you or your son should some day write a chronicle intended to continue the history of our family, you may narrate my life and join to the narrative the iron arrowhead that you extracted from my wound. Our names will thus be handed down to our descendants.”

  “Gaëlo, your wishes shall be fulfilled,” answered the old skipper, deeply moved. “However obscure my life has until now been, I always had it in mind to narrate the events that have happened since the Northman pirates made their first appearance under the walls of Paris. I shall now do so, bringing the narrative down to the marriage of Rolf with the daughter of Charles the Simple, and I shall supplement the story with the notes that you have furnished me.”

  After a last and tender embrace, Gaëlo and the Beautiful Shigne left the house of Eidiol. Their two holkers — one manned by the champions of Gaëlo, the other by the Buckler Maidens — awaited the couple at the port of St. Landry. With sails spread and swollen to the wind, the two light craft speedily descended the Seine and took the azure route of the swans across the billows of the northern sea.

  EPILOGUE

  I, EIDIOL, WROTE the preceding chronicle shortly after the departure of Gaëlo. I used the notes he left me in the matters that relate to his previous adventures, to the life of the Northman pirates and to the Buckler Maidens.

  The day after Gaëlo’s departure I sailed to Rouen to meet my beloved Jeanike. With joy I embraced her two children, Yvonne and Germain the forester. After the tender pleasures of our first meeting Jeanike narrated to me her conversation with Ghisèle, the conversation of the latter with her father, and lastly the conversation of both with the Archbishop of Rouen at the castle of Compiegne. My daughter had overheard every word, and I have thus been enabled to reproduce with accuracy all the facts connected with the marriage of the pirate Rolf and Ghisèle, the ill-starred and now expiring daughter of King Charles.

  I finished this narrative to-day, the eleventh day of August, in the year 912, a happy day, because this morning I entrusted the fate of Anne the Sweet to Rustic the Gay.

  Alas, only my poor wife Martha was wanting to complete the joy at our hearth.

  THE END

  The Infant’s Skull

  OR, THE END OF THE WORLD. A TALE OF THE MILLENNIUM

  Translated by Daniel de Leon

  It is now the year 987 CE and we meet Hugh, Count of Paris (amongst numerous other titles), a young man who is so preoccupied and fearful of the impending year 1000, that he cannot even accept the advances of his pretty admirer, Blanche, who is no less than the Queen herself. The church has decreed that 1000 will signal the end of the world. Blanche is married, however, to the ineffectual King Louis, but she has no intention of letting this come between her and the man she loves. Louis’s father was poisoned by his wife and before long, Louis too dies from poisoning. Blanche is elated and her lover, Hugh, but his usurpation led to bloody civil conflict. The year 1000 came and went, as did the church’s next ‘calculation’ the end of the world, 1033 and of course, the world went on as before, although 1033 did witness a serious famine. How can the serfs, the humble woodsmen and their families and the labourers in the field, survive this latest challenge?

  CONTENTS

  TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE

  PART I. THE CASTLE OF COMPIEGNE.

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  CHAPTER V.

  CHAPTER VI.

  CHAPTER VII.

  PART II. THE END OF THE WORLD.

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  CHAPTER V.

  CHAPTER VI.

  EPILOGUE.

  TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE

  AMONG THE HISTORIC phenomena of what may be called “modern antiquity,” there is none comparable to that which was witnessed on the first day of the year 1000, together with its second or adjourned catastrophe thirty-two years later. The end of the world, at first daily expected by the Apostles, then postponed — upon the authority of Judaic apocalyptic writings, together with the Revelations of St. John the Divine, — to the year 1000, and then again to thirty-two years later, until it was finally adjourned sine die, was one of those beliefs, called “theologic,” that have had vast and disastrous mundane effect. The Infant’s Skull; or, The End of the World, figures at that period. It is one of that series of charming stories
by Eugène Sue in which historic personages and events are so artistically grouped that, without the fiction losing by the otherwise solid facts, and without the solid facts suffering by the fiction, both are enhanced, and combinedly act as a flash-light upon the past — and no less so upon the future.

  As with all the stories of this series by the talented Sue, The Infant’s Skull; or, The End of the World, although, one of the shortest, rescues invaluable historic facts from the dark and dusty recesses where only the privileged few can otherwise reach them. Thus its educational value is equal to its entertaining merit. It is a gem in the necklace of gems that the distinguished author has felicitously named The Mysteries of the People; or The History of a Proletarian Family Across the Ages.

  DANIEL DE LEON.

  New York, April 20, 1904.

  PART I. THE CASTLE OF COMPIEGNE.

  CHAPTER I.

  THE FOUNTAIN OF THE HINDS.

  A SPRING OF living water, known in the neighborhood by the appropriate name of the “Fountain of the Hinds,” empties its trickling stream under the oaks of one of the most secret recesses of the forest of Compiegne. Stags and hinds, deers and does, bucks and she-goats come to water at the spot, leaving behind them numerous imprints of their steps on the borders of the rill, or on the sandy soil of the narrow paths that these wild animals have worn across the copse.

  One early morning in the year 987, the sun being up barely an hour, a woman, plainly dressed and breathing hard with rapid walking, stepped out of one of these paths and stopped at the Fountain of the Hinds. She looked in all directions in surprise as if she expected to have been preceded by some one at the solitary rendezvous. Finding her hopes deceived, she made an impatient motion, sat down, still out of breath, on a rock near the fountain, and threw off her cape.

  The woman, barely twenty years of age, had black hair, eyes and eye-brows; her complexion was brown; and cherry-red her lips. Her features were handsome, while the mobility of her inflated nostrils and the quickness of her motions betokened a violent nature. She had rested only a little while when she rose again and walked up and down with hurried steps, stopping every now and then to listen for approaching footsteps. Catching at last the sounds of a distant footfall, she thrilled with joy and ran to the encounter of him she had been expecting. He appeared. It was a man, also in plain garb and in the vigor of age, large-sized and robust, with a piercing eye and somber, wily countenance. The young woman leaped at a bound into the arms of this personage, and passionately addressed him: “Hugh, I meant to overwhelm you with reproaches; I meant to strike you; but here you are and I forget everything,” and in a transport of amorous delight she added, suiting the deed to the words: “Your lips! Oh, give me your lips to kiss!”

  After the exchange of a shower of kisses, and disengaging himself, not without some effort, from the embrace of the fascinated woman, Hugh said to her gravely: “We cannot indulge in love at this hour.”

  “At this hour, to-day, yesterday, to-morrow, everywhere and always, I love and shall continue to love you.”

  “Blanche, they are foolhardy people who use the word ‘always,’ when barely fourteen years separate us from the term assigned for the end of the world! This is a grave and a fearful matter!”

  “What! Can you have given me this early morning appointment at this secreted place, whither I have come under pretext of visiting the hermitage of St. Eusebius, to talk to me about the end of the world? Hugh ... Hugh.... To me there is no end of the world but when your love ends!”

  “Trifle not with sacred matters! Do you not know that in fourteen years, the first day of the year 1000, this world will cease to be and with it the people who inhabit it?”

  Struck by the coldness of her lover’s answers, Blanche brusquely stepped back. Her brows contracted, her nostrils dilated, her breast heaved in pain, and she darted a look at Hugh that seemed to wish to fathom the very bottom of his heart. For a few instants her gaze remained fixed upon him; she then cried in a voice trembling with rage: “You love some other woman! You love me no more!”

  “Your words are senseless!”

  “Heaven and earth! Am I also to be despised.... I the Queen!... Yes, you love some other woman, your own wife, perhaps; that Adelaide of Poitiers whom you promised me you would rid yourself of by a divorce!” Further utterances having expired upon her lips, the wife of King Louis the Do-nothing broke down sobbing, and with eyes that glistened with fury she shook her fists at the Count of Paris: “Hugh, if I were sure of that, I would kill both you and your wife; I would stab you both to death!”

  “Blanche,” said Hugh slowly and watching the effect of his words upon the face of the Queen, who, with eyes fixed upon the ground, seemed to be meditating some sinister project: “I am not merely Count of Paris and Duke of France, as my ancestors were, I am also Abbot of Saint Martin of Tours and of Saint-Germain-des-Pres, abbot not only by virtue of my cowl — but by virtue of my faith. Accordingly, I blame your incredulity on the subject of the approaching end of the world. The holiest bishops have prophesied it, and have urged the faithful to hasten to save their souls during the fourteen years that still separate them from the last judgment.... Fourteen years!... A very short period within which to gain the eternal paradise!”

  “By the hell that burns in my heart, the man is delivering a sermon to me!” cried the Queen with an outburst of caustic laughter. “What are you driving at? Are you spreading a snare for me? Malediction! this man is a compound of ruse, artifice and darkness, and yet I love him! I am insane!... Oh, there must be some magic charm in this!” and biting into her handkerchief with suppressed rage, she said to him: “I shall not interrupt again, even if I should choke with anger. Proceed, Hugh the Capet! Explain yourself!”

  “Blanche, the approach of the dreadful day when the world is to end makes me uneasy about my salvation. I look with fright at our double adultery, seeing we are both married.” Stopping with a gesture a fresh explosion of rage on the part of the Queen, the Count of Paris added solemnly raising his hand heavenward: “I swear to God by the salvation of my soul, were you a widow, I would obtain a divorce from the Pope, and I would marry you with holy joy. But likewise do I swear to God by the salvation of my soul, I wish no longer to brave eternal punishment by continuing a criminal intercourse with a woman bound, as I am myself, by the sacrament of marriage. I wish to spend in the mortification of the flesh, in fasting, abstinence, repentance and prayer the years that still separate us from the year 1000, to the end that I may obtain from our Lord God the remission of my sins and of my adultery with you. Blanche, seek not to alter my decision. According as the caprice of your love led you, you have alternately boasted over and cursed the inflexibility of my character. Now, what I have said is said. This shall be the last day of our adulterous intercourse. Our carnal relations shall then end.”

  While Hugh the Capet was speaking, the wife of Louis the Do-nothing contemplated his face with devouring attention. When he finished, so far from breathing forth desperate criminations, she carried both her hands to her forehead and seemed steeped in mediation. Looking askance upon Blanche, the Count of Paris anxiously waited for the first word from the Queen. Finally, a tremor shook her frame, she raised her head, as if struck by a sudden thought, and curbing her emotions she asked: “Do you believe that King Lothaire, the father of my husband Louis, died of poison in March of last year?”

  “I believe he was poisoned.”

  “Do you believe that Imma, his wife, was guilty of poisoning her husband?”

  “She is accused of the crime.”

  “Do you believe Imma guilty of the crime?”

  “I believe what I see.”

  “And when you do not see?”

  “Doubt is then natural.”

  “Do you know that in that murder Queen Imma’s accomplice was her lover Adalberon, bishop of Laon?”

  “It was a great scandal to the church!”

  “After the poisoning of Lothaire, the Queen and the bishop, fina
lly delivered from the eyes of her husband, indulged their love more freely.”

  “A double and horrible sacrilege!” cried the Count of Paris with indignation. “A bishop and a Queen adulterers and homicides!”

  Blanche seemed astonished at the indignation of Hugh the Capet and again contemplated him attentively. She then proceeded with her interrogatory:

  “Are you aware, Count of Paris, that King Lothaire’s death is a happy circumstance for you — provided you were ambitious? Bishop Adalberon, the accomplice and lover of the Queen, that bishop, expert in poisons, was your friend!”

  “He was my friend before his crime.”

  “You repudiate his friendship, but you profit by his crime. That is high statecraft.”

  “In what way, Blanche, have I profited by that odious crime? Does not the son of Lothaire reign to-day? When my ancestors, the Counts of Paris, aspired at the crown they did not assassinate the kings, they dethroned them. Thus Eudes dethroned Charles the Fat, and Rothbert, Charles the Simple. A transmission of crowns is easy.”

  “All of which did not prevent Charles the Simple, the nephew of Charles the Fat from re-ascending the throne, the same as Louis Outer-mer, the son of Charles the Simple, also resumed his crown. On the other hand, King Lothaire, who was poisoned last year, will never reign again. Whence we see, it is better to kill the kings than to dethrone them ... if one wishes to reign in their stead. Not so, Count of Paris?”

  “Yes, provided one does not care for the excommunications of the bishops, nor for the eternal flames.”

  “Hugh, if perchance my husband, although young, should die?... That might happen.”

  “The will of the Lord is all-powerful,” answered Hugh with a contrite air. “There be those who to-day are full of life and youth, and to-morrow are corpses and dust! The designs of God are impenetrable.”