“This young man talks like a diplomat. We must be on our guard,” said the Patriarch, turning to the Council. And aloud, he went on: “You speak of sacrilege. The only sacrilege that I am aware of is that which was committed by you in entering these forbidden walls.”
“St. Sarah will forgive me, for she knows that I have come here solely to speak the truth.”
“You seem to be on very good terms with St. Sarah, and a mighty babbler,” returned the Patriarch cuttingly. “In Sever Turn we love brevity of speech. Whom do you accuse of sacrilege?”
“Those three people,” said Rouletabille, pointing to Andréa, Callista and Zina. “It is sacrilege,” he went on in the calmest of tones, “when three scoundrels, appealing to a sacred text, take advantage of the credulity of a people and lead them to believe that the moon is made of green cheese.”
“The moon is made of green cheese! What does that mean?” asked the Patriarch gravely.
The aged librarian had to confess that it was beyond his power to fathom the significance of the expression. He had never met with it in any book. Moreover, in diplomatic circles, represented by the Consul of Wallachia, with which he was familiar, he had never heard it.
“It is a figure of speech,” explained Rouletabille, “and means that you are taking Mademoiselle de Lavardens for the queyra foretold in your sacred writings. Now, Mademoiselle de Lavardens is the victim in this matter of Callista, who is jealous of her and in love with her future husband.”
“Lies! Lies!” shouted Callista.
“If it was to talk such sobradas (nonsense),” interposed one old man, “may the zarapia (plague) take you!”
“I am not very clever,” said the old librarian in a deep voice of mock humility, which could be heard throughout the temple. “I am not very clever” — he was still obsessed by the moon and green cheese simile—” but I believe that in French it means ‘twaddle.’”
“You must in any case be told why you are being deceived, and I can only explain myself by speaking out clearly,” went on Rouletabille, incensed at the contempt with which his accusations were received. “But for this particular twaddle Mademoiselle de Lavardens would still be in France, her country which is claiming her, and from which you had no right to take her.”
“Mademoiselle de Lavardens is a Romany and subject to Romany law.”
“She is French and subject to French law.”
“Her mother was a gipsy.”
“I knew her mother,” several old men declared.
“I held her mother in my arms when she was a child,” said another.
The most infuriated was undoubtedly Zina.
“When her mother died I became her mother. The foreigner stole her from us.... I went with the foreigner.”
“You went with the foreigner,” shouted Rouletabille, “but for all these years you held your tongue, though you knew that your gipsy brethren were searching the world for their princess. Had you known that she was really the queyra, would you have remained silent?”
A dead hush greeted this unanswerable argument. Every eye was fixed on Zina, who, breathing hard, did not speak. And yet she knew that her silence was her condemnation. She hid her face in her hands, and a threatening murmur arose round her.
“I begin to see ‘the right end,’” said Rouletabille to himself; “let me take advantage of it. Forward with the ‘right end of my judgment’ and strike hard.”
“I will tell you why you kept silent for so many years,” he yelled with all his might. “It was because you knew that the child could not be the long-expected princess, because she did not bear on her shoulder the predicted birth-mark, the mark foretold in the Book of Ancestors. Mademoiselle de Lavardens was not born with a birth-mark of the sign of the crown.”
A loud and mournful wail echoed through the building. The people had by now given way to despair.
“No birth-mark! No birth-mark!” they murmured sadly.
“No birth-mark?” echoed Callista, stepping between Rouletabille and Zina, who seemed about to faint. “You say she has no birth-mark!”
At that moment a soft, low voice, a golden voice, seemed to come from the mouth of ivory. Once more the ikon showed signs of life. Odette drew herself up, and, as though she were walking in her sleep, went up to the Patriarch and in her soft voice said:
“Birth-mark? I have no birth-mark.”
Then Callista sprang upon the child like a fury, and with a single gesture, tore off the light wrap that hung over her shoulders.
“Look!” she cried. “See whether she has the sign of the crown or not.”
The only person who had remained calm during this last incident was the Patriarch himself, who, before seating Odette on the throne, had taken the precaution to satisfy himself that she did indeed bear the sacred mark. In his opinion, the sign should not be shown to the people until the coronation day, but events were too strong for him, and he realized that it was necessary to allow them to judge for themselves.
“She has the birth-mark. We may rejoice, for the birth-mark is there.”
Then the people made a rush forward. They wanted to see the sacred sign. They wanted to see this seal of a divine union, to have proof that the birth-mark was not an illusion, nor a tattoed mark, nor a clever counterfeit, but in very truth a birth-mark which was one with the flesh and born of the flesh.
And when they had verified the falsity of the accusation, they turned to him who had tried to deceive them, but he had disappeared.
CHAPTER XLV
ODETTE AND ZINA
“LIKE A FLOWER that is plucked and suffers,
And breathes its perfume and dies.”
— Samain.
ODETTE was taken to the women’s apartments. Bowed down by the weight of her amazing experience, terrified by the hideous mystery of this royal birth, in which nature appeared to have become an accomplice, she allowed herself to be dressed by the women, as insensible as a doll dressed by children for amusement.
And now she lay on cushions in the darkness of the old palace, which had become silent again. Nothing could be heard but the silvery sound of the fountain, whose waters gushed forth like a lily from the deep basin half seen in the light of the marble court, between two Byzantine columns. Odette could think only of this water, whose cool voice allured her. The wafer seemed to say: “Come, I allay griefs. I quench every thirst. When you come to me, if you are without fear, you will long for nothing more. You will not seek to understand.... And, above all, your heart will forget the name of Jean — Jean, who has betrayed you, who has abandoned you as one abandons a little gipsy girl — for that is what you are — on the road!”
She stood up and walked towards the fountain whose plaintive music bewitched her. Her bare feet, round which slavish fingers had placed gold bangles, stole over the polished flagstones and drew her, almost against her will, to the charmed basin.
The basin was of some size and lay between marble steps, and the water looked as black as a grave, the water which would presently close in upon her, lifeless and cold, while the fountain with its water lily would continue to sing above her head its cool, silvery song: “She is dead, is Odette, the impetuous young girl from Camargue, whom the witchcraft of the little old hag of a woman rendered more languid than an eastern idol. She is dead because he to whom she had given her heart did not love her.”
That, too, was written in the book of fate. Odette placed her foot on the first step which led to the depths of this black lake filled with the waters of oblivion.
Oh, how cold it was! How icy-cold it was! And then, how it gave forth the odour of death.... Death had seemed so beautiful from afar.... But courage was needed to face death.... She had never been lacking in courage.
She took another step, murmuring softly Jean’s name. Her heart leapt wildly, as though it could escape from her breast, like the last flutter of a bird dying in its nest. She too, she too would die, since Jean did not love her.... And then a hand drew her back and she caught th
e sound of a sob.
It was the little old witch of a woman.
“Come, you shall not die. I will show you someone you love.”
Odette opened her great eyes in wonder.
“You will show me Jean?”
“I will show you Jean at once.”
“You really mean it? At once? But I don’t trust you, you little old witch of a woman. I know that you can do many things because the heka (the devil) is in you, and you are always telling fortunes. Are you going to show me Jean in a glass of water or in the tea-leaves in a cup? Look! Jean is there, down in the water. I see his face as it used to be when he loved me, and I am going to join him.”
“My dove, he still loves you. Swear that you will live if I show him to you.”
“If you show him to me alive and he loves me, I swear to live, Zina,” said Odette, breathing unevenly and clasping her hands in a gesture of hope and entreaty.
“Why shouldn’t he love you?” went on Zina hurriedly, leading Odette away under cover of a deafening flow of words.... “If you only knew what he has done — all that he has done for you!”
“But where is he? Where is he?”
“Here.”
“Take me to him. Oh dear, T feel now as if I were going to die of joy. But can I believe it? Can I believe it?”
“Hush! Calm yourself, my little dove. Alas, he is in prison.”
“In prison. Poor thing! But why is he in prison?”
“Because, like a madman, like the bravest of men, he hurried after you to rescue you and was taken prisoner. That was how he showed that he didn’t love you!”
“Oh, my Jean,” she cried, bursting into tears, but tears of joy this time. “You will save him, for if you don’t they will have to put me in prison too. Besides, I am the queen. I am the queyra. They must do as I tell them.... Stop kissing my feet, you dear little old witch of a woman, and take me to Jean, so that I may release him from his cell!... Now, tell me, is it really true that they have put him in prison? You are not making game of me?”
She continued to chatter. Life, which had been strangely dormant for so many days, had come back and was flowing in her veins once more.
She was a queer creature was Zina, pretending to be Odette’s slave and yet doing with her what she willed. A look, a word, was enough to transform the handsome child. Zina had the power to change her into a statue. At one time, Odette felt herself turned to stone under the cold gaze of the terrible little old woman, and at another she felt herself yielding to her in all the innocence of her heart, as though Zina were her real mother. Her resistance was but the caprice of a child and powerless against the occult power which mastered her, even when the little old woman was not present and walls separated them.
Zina took her hand and she let herself be led through dark passages, whose twists and turns were almost unknown even to those who were familiar with the mysterious places of the palace. She had to stoop low, descend and mount many stairs, and descend again into the bowels of the earth, in order to make her way along the huge foundations of the temple; foundations which dated from the times of the Pelasgians, and upon which civilizations, long since disappeared, had erected their first sanctuaries. In this way, Zina and Odette reached the dungeons, enclosed with iron rails like cages, in which were incarcerated prisoners condemned to death. Outside one of these cages Andréa stood on guard.
CHAPTER XLVI
THE KISS IN THE TOMB
SO FAR ODETTE had not been lacking in courage, but her courage was in reality an expression of joy: she was about to see Jean. It was a thought which would have helped her to go through purgatory with a smile on her lips. But doubtless she had not pictured a purgatory like this, in whose vaults were the ghosts of crawling human forms, or rather spectres, which half rose as they saw living persons pass in a sort of sulphurous light, seeming to ascend from dizzy depths of the earth, which, perhaps, no soul had ever plumbed. This volcanic region emitted gases like a solfatara.... The light of heaven came from above, the light of the inferno came from below.
It was the misfortune of those shadowy forms behind their barred cages that death did not come to them from these poisonous gases. Death came by the slow process of starvation.... A few skeleton-like figures were clinging to the bars, as if they had ended their torment in a final convulsion, which exposed their teeth.
Zina threw a light veil over Odette’s face, and led her along at a quickened pace, but it was not at a moment when she was hoping to see Jean that she would allow her eyes to be veiled. She tore off the wrap and uttered a cry of horror. Almost immediately afterwards she caught sight of Andréa. He seemed to be the all-powerful guardian of the inferno.... Her horror gave way to fear.
Zina gathered her to her breast and placed her arms round her, while Andréa took a step forward, and in a threatening voice asked the old woman:
“What are you doing here with the queyra?”
“I’ve come to ask you to unlock the door of the cell in which the stranger is imprisoned,” was the calm reply.
“You must be mad, Zina,” exclaimed Andréa, with a grim laugh, though not a little taken aback. “What is your object in asking such a thing?”
“I would like her to see him before he dies. It would be a kindness to both of them and St. Sarah would be pleased.”
Andréa burst out laughing.... Zina bent forward and whispered a few words in his ear.... Andréa ceased laughing, but his face wore a smile, and the smile was more hideous than his laugh. He took a bunch of keys from his belt and, pointing to one of them, handed her the bunch and walked quickly away.
When his footsteps had died down Zina turned to Odette.
“Don’t be afraid. He’s gone,” she said, and she carried rather than led her to Jean’s cell.
Zina now kept watch in the darkness of the passage in which dwelt so touch anguish and torture.... She stood on guard while Jean and Odette mingled their tears of happiness and despair.
“And I thought you didn’t love me any more,” sighed the poor child in a faltering voice. “That is a crime, Jean, the worst of crimes.”
“She is not the only one to commit that crime,” thought Jean, filled with remorse. “And perhaps it is because of it that I am being punished.” All his terrible suspicions which were due to de Lauriac’s malign influence and Rouletabille’s strange behaviour vanished, dispelled for ever by her presence. Jean had but one fear — lest Odette should ever suspect him of harbouring the awful thought for a moment.
“Just fancy,” she said, clasping him in her arms, “the hateful de Lauriac told me that when you heard of my gipsy birth you would have nothing more to do with me.”
“And you believed him,” said Jean sadly and reproachfully.
“No, I did not believe him. But de Lauriac came after me, Rouletabille came after me, and I heard nothing about you, except from this wretch who told me that you no longer cared for me. So my disappointment knew no bounds. I don’t know what I thought. I was half mad, and would gladly have died.”
“Dearest... dearest.”
“Because I wouldn’t listen to de Lauriac, but turned away from him with loathing, he took me back to the gipsies. I preferred that rather than stay with him. But the terrible thing is, that he brought me here to force me to marry him according to their rites and as it was written in the book.... But I am not afraid, because I am the queyra, and the queyra does what she pleases. Zina told me so. Therefore these people will have to marry us, since I insist upon it. And de Lauriac shall be put into prison as he deserves. After he has had a few week’s reflection we will set him free again, and I believe that this time we shall get rid of him for good.”
Jean listened to her bird-like chatter in an ecstasy of delight, which caused him a momentary forgetfulness. Nevertheless, her last words recalled him to the horror of his situation and he smiled sadly.
“Do you not know, my love, that anyone who is put in these dungeons never comes out again?”
“But I shall mak
e you king,” she cried.
“My love, hasn’t Zina told you?”
“What? What? She hasn’t said a word. But you must tell me. I must know everything. I am the queen. I am entitled to know everything.”
“Well, they have imprisoned me here for life.”
“Don’t say that. It’s ridiculous.’ I am the only one to command here. What sentence did they pass on you?”
“They sentenced me to death.”
She uttered a cry.
“Don’t! Don’t! You are my Jean. You are my love. They may have sentenced you when I was not here, but now that I am here everything will be changed. I have only to say the word. If you knew how these people worship me! They fall at my feet. They kiss the hem of my robe. They shout ‘Hosannah!’ when I pass.... I have but to lift a finger.... Oh, it was a fine idea of de Lauriac’s to bring me here! Providence, you see, willed it so. The good God is with us. It was written, as the dotards in the cathedral say. It was written that I should save your life, my dear Jean.... So they sentenced you to death! Well, they’re going to be nicely disappointed. I can picture to myself de Lauriac’s face when he knows! But kiss me and don’t look so glum. Do I look glum?... Oh, and to satisfy my curiosity, tell me what sort of death they sentenced you to?”
She asked him the question with a smile.
“They sentenced me to death by starvation.”
“How awful! Oh, my dearest, and I have been chattering and laughing away.... To die of starvation! Then you have had nothing to eat. Good heavens, how long have you been here? It’s terrible. Why didn’t you tell me so before. Zina! Zina!” She made a rush at the bars; she called the old woman; she stamped her feet.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 128