A moment later he raised his eyes to my foster-sister and cried surprised:
"You here—here, Victoria? Oh, yes! I was with you shortly ago—I had forgotten. Excuse me. My head swims. Alas! I am a father—I have a son almost of the age of this unfortunate boy. More than anyone else, I pity you!"
"Time presses and the occasion is grave," replied my foster-sister solemnly while she fastened a penetrating look upon Tetrik in order to fathom the man's most hidden thoughts. "Private sorrow is hushed before the public interest. I have my whole life left to weep my son and grandson; but we have only a few hours to consider the succession of the Chief of Gaul and of the general of the army—"
"What!" exclaimed Tetrik. "At such a moment as this—"
"I wish that before daylight breaks upon us, I, Captain Marion and you, Tetrik, my relative, one of my most faithful friends, you, who are so devoted to Gaul, you, who grieve so bitterly over Victorin—I wish that we three revolve in our wisdom what man we shall to-morrow propose to the army as my son's successor."
"Victoria, you are a heroic woman!" cried Tetrik clasping his hands in admiration. "You match with your courage and patriotism the most august women who have honored the world!"
"What is your opinion, Tetrik, as to the successor of Victorin?Captain Marion and myself will speak after you," the Mother of the Camps proceeded to say without noticing the praises of the Governor of Gascony. "Yes, whom do you think capable of replacing my son—to the glory and advantage of Gaul?"
"How can I give you my opinion?" Tetrik replied dejectedly. "How can I give you advice upon a matter of such gravity, when my heart is racked with pain—it is impossible!"
"It is possible, since you see me here—between the corpses of my son and my grandson—ready to give my opinion—"
"If you insist, Victoria, I shall speak, provided I can collect my thoughts. I am of the opinion that Gaul needs for her chief a wise, firm and enlightened man, a man who inclines to peace rather than to war—especially now when we no longer have the neighborhood of the Franks to fear, thanks to the sword of this young hero, whom I loved and will eternally mourn—"
At this moment the governor interrupted himself to give renewed vent to his grief.
"We shall weep later," said Victoria. "Life is long enough, but the night is short. It will soon be morning."
Tetrik wiped his eyes and proceeded:
"As I was saying, the successor of our Victorin should, above all, be a man of good judgment, and of long and approved devotion in the service of our beloved Gaul. Now, then, if I am not mistaken, the only one whom I can think of who unites these virtues, is Captain Marion, whom we see here."
"I!" cried the captain raising his two enormous hands heavenward. "I, the Chief of Gaul! Grief makes you talk like a fool! I, Chief of Gaul!"
"Captain Marion," Tetrik resumed in a dismal accent, "I know that the shocking death of Victorin and his innocent child has thrown my mind into disorder and desolation. And yet I believe that at this moment I speak not like a fool but like a sage—and Victoria will herself be of my opinion. Although you do not enjoy the brilliant military reputation of our Victorin, whom we shall never be able to mourn sufficiently, you have deserved, Captain Marion, the confidence and affection of our troops by your good and numerous services. Once a blacksmith, you exchanged the hammer for the sword; the soldiers will see in you one of their own rank rise to the dignity of chief through his valor and their own free choice. They will esteem you all the more knowing, above all, that, although you reached distinction, you never lost your friendship for your old comrade of the anvil."
"Forget my friend Eustace!" said Marion. "Oh! Never!"
"The austerity of your morals is known," Tetrik proceeded to say; "your excellent judgment, your straightforwardness, your calmness, are, according to my poor judgment, a guarantee for the future. You have put into practice Victoria's wise thought that now the days of barren war are ended, and the hour has come to think of fruitful peace. The task is arduous, I admit; it can not choose but startle your modesty. But this heroic woman, who, even at this terrible moment, forgets her maternal despair in order to turn her thoughts upon our beloved country, Victoria, I feel certain, in presenting you to the soldiers as her son's successor, will pledge herself to assist you with her precious counsel. And now, Captain Marion, if you will hearken to my feeble voice, I implore you, I beg you in the name of Gaul to accept the reins of office. Victoria joins me in demanding of you thisfresh proof of self-sacrificing devotion to our common country!"
"Tetrik," answered Marion in a grave voice, "you have ably described the man who is needed to govern Gaul. There is only one thing to change in the picture that you have drawn, and that is its name. In the place of my name, insert your own—it will then be complete—"
"I!" cried Tetrik. "I, Chief of Gaul! I, who in all my life never have held a sword in my hand!"
"Victoria said it," replied Marion. "The season for war is over, the season for peace has come. In times of war we need warriors—in times of peace we need men of peace. You belong to the latter category, Tetrik; it is your place to govern—do you not think so, Victoria?"
"By the manner in which he has governed Gascony, Tetrik has shown how he would govern Gaul," answered my foster-sister; "I join you, captain, in requesting—my relative—to replace my son—"
"What did I tell you?" broke in Captain Marion, addressing Tetrik. "Would you still refuse?"
"Listen to me, Victoria; listen to me, Captain Marion; listen to me, Schanvoch," replied the governor turning towards me. "Yes, you also, Schanvoch, listen to me, you who are as stricken as Victoria. You, who, in your nervous friendship for this august woman, suspected my sincerity; I wish you all to believe me. I have received an incurable wound here, in my heart, by the occurrences of this fatal night; they have bereft us at once, in the person of our unfortunate Victorin and in that of his innocent son, of the present and the future support of Gaul. It was for the purpose of securing and rendering the future certain that I sought to induceVictoria to propose her grandson to the army as the heir of Victorin, and that I have made this journey to Mayence. My hopes are dashed—an eternal sorrow takes their place—"
After stopping for a moment in order to allow his inexhaustible tears to flow, the governor proceeded:
"My resolution is formed. Not only do I decline the power that is offered me, but I shall also give up the government of Gascony. The few years of life left to me shall henceforth be spent with my son in seclusion and sorrow. At another time I might have been able to render some service to our country, but that is now past with me. I shall carry into my retirement a grief that will be rendered less unbearable by the knowledge that my country's future is in such worthy hands as yours, Captain Marion, and that Victoria, the divine genius of Gaul, will continue to watch over our land. And now, Schanvoch," added the Governor of Gascony turning once more towards me, "have I put an end to your suspicions? Do you still think me ambitious? Is my language, are my actions those of a perfidious or treacherous man? Alas! Alas! I never thought that the frightful misfortunes of this night would so soon afford me the opportunity to justify myself—"
"Tetrik," said Victoria extending her hand to her relative, "if ever I could have doubted the loyalty of your heart, I would at this hour perceive my error—"
"And I admit it freely, my suspicions were groundless," I added in turn. After all that I had seen and heard, I was, as Victoria, convinced of her relative's innocence. And still, as my mind ever returned to the mysterious circumstances that surrounded the events of that night, I said to Marion,who, silent and pensive, seemed overwhelmed with the tender that was made to him:
"Captain, yesterday I asked you for a discreet and safe man to serve me as escort."
"You did."
"Do you know the name of the soldier whom you picked out for me?"
"It was not I who chose him—I do not know his name."
"And who chose him?" asked Victoria.
"My friend Eustace is better acquainted with the soldiers than I am. I commissioned him to find me a safe man, and to order him to repair after dark to the town gate, where he was to wait for the rider whom he was to accompany on the journey."
"And after that," I asked the captain, "did you see your friend Eustace again?"
"No; he has been mounting guard at the outposts of the camp since last evening, and he was not to be relieved until this morning."
"But at any rate we could learn from him the name of the rider who escorted Schanvoch," observed Victoria. "I shall let you know later, Tetrik, the importance that I attach to that information, and you will be able to counsel me."
"You must excuse me, Victoria, if I do not acceed to your wishes," the governor replied with a sigh. "Within an hour, at earliest dawn, I shall leave Mayence—the sight of this place is too harrowing to me. I have a humble retreat in Gascony; I shall bury my life there in the company of my son; he is to-day the only consolation left to me."
"My friend," said Victoria reproachfully, "do you leave me at such a moment as this? The sight of this place is harrowingto you, you say—and what about myself? Does not this place recall at every turn memories that must distress me? And yet I shall leave Mayence only when Captain Marion will no longer stand in need of whatever counsel he may think that he may be in need of from me at the start of his government."
"Victoria," put in Captain Marion in a resolute tone, "I have said nothing during this conversation in which you and Tetrik have disposed of me. I am not fluent in words, moreover, my heart is too heavy to-night. I have said little, but I have reflected a good deal. These are my thoughts: I love the profession of arms; I know how to execute a general's orders, and I am not altogether unskilful in the management of troops confided to me. At a pinch I can plan an attack like the one which completed Victorin's great victory by the destruction of the camp and reserve forces of the Franks. This is to say, Victoria, that I do not consider myself more of a fool than others—wherefore I have sense enough to understand that I am not fit for the government of Gaul—"
"Nevertheless, Captain Marion," Tetrik broke in, "Victoria will agree with me that the task is not beyond your strength."
"Oh! As to my strength, that is well known," replied Captain Marion soberly. "Fetch me an ox, and I'll carry him on my back, or fell him with a blow of my fist. But square shoulders are not all that is wanted for the chief of a great people. No—no. I am robust—granted. But the burden of state is too heavy. Therefore, Victoria, do not put such a weight upon me. I would break down under it—and Gaul will, in turn, break down under the weight of my weakness. And, moreover, it might as well be said, I love, after servicehours, to go home and empty a pot of beer in the company of my friend Eustace, and chat with him over our old blacksmith's trade, or entertain ourselves with furbishing our arms like skilful armorers. Such am I, Victoria—such have I ever been—and such I wish to remain."
"And these call themselves men! Oh, Hesus!" cried the Mother of the Camps indignantly. "I, a woman—I, a mother—I saw my son and grandson die this very night—and yet I have the necessary fortitude to repress my grief—and this soldier, to whom the most glorious post that can shed luster upon a man is offered, dares to answer with a refusal, giving his love for beer and the polishing of armor as an excuse! Oh! Woe is Gaul, if the very ones whom she regards as her bravest sons thus cowardly forsake her!"
The reproach of the Mother of the Camps impressed Captain Marion. He dropped his head in confusion, remained silent for a moment, and then spoke:
"Victoria, there is but one strong soul here—it is yours. You make me ashamed of myself. Well, then," he added with a sigh, "be it as you will—I accept. But the gods are my witnesses—I accept as a duty and under protest. If I should commit any asininities as Chief of Gaul, none will have a right to reproach me. Very well, I accept, Victoria, but under two imperative conditions."
"What are they?" asked Tetrik.
"This is the first," replied Marion: "The Mother of the Camps shall remain in Mayence to help me with her advice. I am as new a hand at my new work as a blacksmith's apprentice who for the first time dips the iron into the brasier."
"I promised you that I would, Marion," answered my foster-sister. "I shall remain here as long as you may need my services."
"Victoria, if your spirit should withdraw from me, I would be like a body without a soul—accordingly, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know that that promise must cost you a good deal, poor woman. And yet," added the captain with his habitual good nature, "do not run away with the idea that I am so foolishly vainglorious as to imagine that it is to the strong bull of a warrior, named Marion, that Victoria the Great makes the sacrifice of burying her grief in order to guide him. No—no. It is to our old Gaul that she renders the sacrifice. As a good son of my country, I am as thankful for the kind act done to my mother, as if it were done to myself."
"Nobly thought and nobly said, Marion," replied Victoria deeply touched by these words of the captain. "Nevertheless, your straightforwardness and sound judgment will soon enable you to dispense with my advice; then," added she with an expression of profound pain that she strove to repress, "I shall be able, like you, Tetrik, to retire and bury myself in some secluded spot with my sorrows."
"Alas," replied the governor, "to weep in peace is the only consolation for irreparable losses." "But," he proceeded, addressing the captain, "you referred to two conditions. Victoria has accepted the first; which is the second?"
"Oh! As to the second, it is as important to me as the first," and the captain shook his head. "Aye, it is as important as the first—"
"And what is it?" asked my foster-sister. "Explain yourself, Marion."
"I know not," replied the good captain with a naïve andembarrassed mien, "I know not whether I ever spoke to you of my friend Eustace."
"Yes, and more than once," replied Tetrik. "But what has your friend Eustace to do with your new functions?"
"What!" cried Captain Marion, "you ask me what my friend Eustace has to do with me—you might as well ask what has the sheath of the sword to do with the blade, the hammer with the handle, the bellows with the forge."
"You are, in short, bound together by an old and close friendship; we know it," said Victoria. "Would you desire, captain, to accord some favor to your friend?"
"I shall never consent to be separated from him. True enough, he is not of a gay disposition; he is habitually sullen, often peevish. Still, he loves me as I do him, and we can not do without each other. Now, then, it may be considered surprising that the Chief of Gaul should have a common soldier, a former blacksmith, for his intimate friend and chum. But as I said to you, Victoria, if I must be separated from my friend Eustace, the plan falls through—I decline. Only his friendship can render the burden supportable to me."
"Is not Schanvoch, my foster-brother, who remained a simple horseman in the army, a close friend of mine?" observed Victoria. "No one is astonished at a friendship that does honor to us both. It will be so, Captain Marion, with you and your old blacksmith friend."
"And your elevation, Captain Marion, will redouble your mutual affection," put in Tetrik. "In his tender affection your friend will rejoice over your elevation perhaps more than yourself."
"I doubt whether my friend Eustace will greatly rejoice over my elevation," replied Marion. "Eustace is not ambitiousafter glory. Far from it. He loves me, his old companion at the anvil, and not the captain. But, Victoria, always keep this in mind: The same as to-day you say to me: 'Marion, you are needed,' never be backward in saying: 'Marion, be gone; you are of no further use; someone else will fill the place better than you.' I shall understand the slightest hint, and shall gladly return arm in arm with my friend Eustace to our pot of beer and our armor. So long, however, as you will say to me: 'Marion, you are needed,' I shall remain Chief of Gaul"—and smothering a last sigh, "seeing that you insist that I fill the place."
"And chief you will long remain to the glory of Gaul," put in Tetrik. "Believe me, captain, you do not know yourself; your modesty blinds you. But a few hours hence, when Victoria will propose you to the soldiers as their general, the acclamation of the whole army will inform you of the high opinion that is entertained for your merits."
"The one who will be most astonished at my merits will be myself," replied the good captain naïvely. "Well, I have made the promise; it is promised; count with me, Victoria, you have my word. I shall withdraw—I shall go to my lodging and wait for my good friend Eustace. It is now dawn; he is due from the advanced posts, where he has been on guard since yesterday. He will be uneasy if he does not find me in."
"Forget not, captain," I said to him, "to ask your friend for the name of the soldier whom he chose to escort me."
"I shall remember."
"And now, adieu," said the Governor of Gascony with a smothered voice to Victoria. "Adieu; the sun will soon be up. Every minute that I spend here is torture to me—"
"Would you not stay in Mayence at least until the ashes of my two children are returned to the earth?" Victoria asked the governor. "Will you not accord that religious homage to the memory of those who have just preceded us to those unknown worlds, where we shall one day meet them again? Oh! May it please Hesus that that day be soon!"
"Oh! Our druid faith will always be the consolation of strong souls and the support of the weak!" answered Tetrik. "Alas! But for the certainty of meeting again the beings whom we have loved in this world, how much more dreadful would not their departure in death be to us! Believe me, Victoria, I shall see long before you, these dear beings whom to-day we weep. Agreeable to your wishes, I shall render to them to-day, before my departure, the last homage that is due to them."
Tetrik and Captain Marion withdrew, leaving Victoria, Sampso and myself alone.
Left all alone to ourselves, we no longer repressed our tears. In silent and pious meditation we clad Ellen in her wedding gown, while you, my child, still slept peacefully.
In order to attend to the supreme interests of Gaul, Victoria had heroically curbed her grief. After the departure of Tetrik and Marion she gave way to the overpowering sorrow that heaved her bosom. She wished to wash the wounds of her son and grandson with her own hands; with her maternal hands she wrapped them in the same winding cloth. Two funeral pyres were raised on the border of the Rhine, one destined for Victorin and his son, the other for my wife Ellen.
Towards noon, two war chariots covered with green and accompanied by several of our venerated female druids proceeded to my house. The body of my wife Ellen was deposited on one of the two chariots, on the other the remains of Victorin and his son.
"Schanvoch," said Victoria to me, "I shall follow on foot the chariot on which your beloved wife lies. Be merciful, brother, follow on foot the chariot on which lie the remains of my son and grandson. Before the eyes of all, you, the outraged husband, will thus be giving a token of pardon to the memory of Victorin. And I also, will, before the eyesof all, give token, as a mother, of pardon for the death that, alas! my son but too fully merited!"
I understood the touching appeal that lay in that thought of mutual mercy and pardon. It was so done. A deputation of the cohorts and legions preceded the funeral procession. I followed the hearses accompanied by Victoria, Sampso, Tetrik and Marion. The chief officers of the camp joined us. We marched amidst lugubrious silence. The first outburst of rage against Victorin having spent itself, the army now only remembered his bravery, his kindness, his openheartedness. The crowds saw me, the victim of an outrage that cost Ellen's life, give public token of pardon to Victorin by my following the hearse that carried his remains; they also saw his mother following the hearse on which Ellen reposed, and none had any but words of forgiveness and pity for the memory of the young general.
The funeral convoy was approaching the river bank where the two pyres were raised, when Douarnek, who marched at the head of one of the deputations of cohorts, profited by a halt in the procession to approach me. He said with pronounced sadness:
"Schanvoch, you have my sympathy. Assure Victoria, your sister, that we, the soldiers, remember only the valor of her glorious son. He has so long been our beloved son as well. Why did he disregard the frank and wise words that I carried to him in the name of our whole army, on the evening after our great battle of the Rhine! Had Victorin taken our advice and mended his ways, had he reformed, none of these misfortunes would have happened—"
"Your words, comrade, will be a consolation to Victoria in her grief," I answered Douarnek. "But do you know whateverbecame of the hooded soldier who committed the barbarity of killing Victorin's child?"
"Neither I, nor any of those near me at the time when the abominable crime was committed, was able to catch the felon. He slipped from us in the tumult and darkness. He fled towards the outposts of the camp, but there, thanks to the gods, he met with condign punishment."
"He is dead?"
"Perhaps you know Eustace, the old blacksmith and friend of our brave Captain Marion? He was mounting guard last night at the outposts. It seems that Eustace has a sweetheart in town. Excuse me, Schanvoch, if I mention to you such matters on so sad an occasion, but you asked me, and I am answering—"
"Proceed, friend Douarnek."
"Well, instead of remaining at his post, and despite the watchword, Eustace spent a part of the night in Mayence. He was returning at about an hour before dawn, hoping, as he said to me, that his absence would have passed unnoticed, when he saw a hooded man running breathlessly near the posts on the river bank. 'Whither are you running so fast?' he cried out. 'Those brutes are pursuing me!' was the answer, 'because I broke the head of Victoria's grandson by dashing it against the cobble-stones; they want to kill me.' 'And they are right! You deserve death!' replied Eustace indignantly. Saying this he overtook the infamous murderer and ran his sword through him. The corpse was found this morning on the beach with his cloak and hood."
The soldier's death destroyed my last hope of unraveling the mystery that hung over that fatal night.
The remains of Ellen, Victorin and his son were placedupon the pyres, amidst the chants of the bards and druids. A sheet of flame rose skyward. When the chants ceased only two heaps of ashes remained.
The ashes of the pyre of Victorin and his son were piously gathered by Victoria into a bronze urn, that she placed under a mural tablet bearing the simple and touching inscription:
HERE REST THE TWO VICTORINS.
That same evening the two Bohemian girls left Mayence. Tetrik also took his departure after having exchanged the most touching adieus with Victoria. Captain Marion was presented to the troops by the Mother of the Camps and was acclaimed Chief of Gaul and general of the army. The choice evoked no surprise; moreover, being presented by Victoria, whose influence had in a manner increased with the death of her son and grandson, there was no question of his being accepted. The bravery, the good judgment, the wisdom of Captain Marion were long known and appreciated by the soldiers. After his acclamation, the new general pronounced the following words, which I later found reproduced by a contemporary historian:
"Comrades, I know that the trade of my youth may be objected to in me. Let him blame me who wills. Yes, people may twit me all they please with having been a blacksmith, provided the enemy admits that I have forged their ruin. But, as to you, my good comrades, never forget that the chief whom you have just chosen never knew and never will know how to hold anything but the sword."
Endowed with rare sagacity, a straightforward and firm nature, and ever solicitous of the advice of Victoria, Marion's government was marked with wisdom. The army grew ever more attached to him, and gave him signal proof of its loyalty and admiration up to the day, exactly two months after his acclamation, when he, in turn, fell the victim of another horrible crime. I must narrate to you, my son, the circumstances of this second crime. It is intimately connected, as you will discover, with the bloody plot that drew in its vortex all whom I loved and venerated, leaving you motherless, me a widower, and Victoria desolate.
Two months had elapsed since the fatal night when my wife Ellen, Victorin and his son lost their lives. The sight of my house became insupportable to me; too many were the cruel recollections that clustered around it. Victoria induced me to move to her house with Sampso, who took your mother's place with you.
"Here I am, all alone in the world, separated from my son and grandson to the end of my days," said my foster-sister to me. "You know, Schanvoch, all the affection of my life was centered upon those two beings, so dear to my heart. Do not leave me alone. Come, you, your son and Sampso, comeand stay with me. You will aid me thereby to bear the burden of my grief."
At first I hesitated to accept Victoria's offer. Due to a shocking fatality, I was the slayer of her son. True enough, she knew that, despite the enormity of Victorin's outrage, I would have spared his life, had I recognized him. She was aware of and saw the grief that the involuntary and yet legitimate homicide caused me. Nevertheless, and horrid was the recollection thereof to her, I had killed her son. I feared—despite all her protestations, and despite her warmly expressed desire that I move to her house—that my presence, however much wished for during the first loneliness of her bereavement, might become cruel and burdensome to her. Finally I yielded. Often did Sampso, in later years, say to me:
"Alas, Schanvoch, it was only after I saw how tenderly you always spoke of Victorin to his mother, who, in turn, spoke to you of my poor sister Ellen in the touching terms that she did, that I, together with all those who knew us, understood and admired what at first seemed impossible—the intimacy of you and Victoria, the two survivors of those victims of a cruel fatality!"
Whenever Victoria sufficiently surmounted her grief to consider the interests of the country, she applauded herself on having succeeded in deciding Captain Marion to accept the eminent post of which he daily proved himself more worthy. She wrote several times to Tetrik in that sense. He had left the government of Gascony in order to retire with his son, then about twenty years of age, to a house that heowned near Bordeaux, and where, as he said, he sought in poetry whatever solace he could find for the death of Victorin and his son. He composed several odes on those cruel events. Nothing, indeed, could be more touching than an ode written by Tetrik on the subject of "The Two Victorins," and sent by him to Victoria. Accordingly, the letters that he addressed to her during the two months of Marion's administration were marked with profound sadness. They expressed in a manner at once so simple, so delicate and so tender the affection he entertained for her family, and the sorrow that her bereavement caused him, that my foster-sister's attachment for her relative increased by the day. Even I shared the blind confidence that she reposed in him, and forgot the suspicions that were twice awakened in my mind against the man. Moreover, my suspicions vanished before the answer made to me by Eustace, when I questioned him regarding the soldier, my mysterious traveling companion and perpetrator of the assassination of Victoria's grandson.
"Commissioned by Captain Marion to provide him with a reliable man for your escort," Eustace answered me, "I picked out a horseman named Bertal. He was ordered to wait for you at the city gate. After nightfall I left the advanced post of the camp contrary to orders and went secretly into the city. I was on my way thither when I met the soldier on horseback. He was riding along the bank of the river, and was on the way to meet you. I told him to say nothing of having met me, should he run across any of our comrades on the road. He promised secrecy, and I went my way. Early the next morning, as I was returning along the river bank from Mayence, where I spent part of the night, I saw Bertal running towards me. He was on foot; he was fleeing distractedlybefore the just rage of our comrades. When I learned from his own mouth the horrible crime that he even dared to glory in, I killed him on the spot. That is all I know of the wretch."
So far from the information clearing up, it obscured still more the mystery that brooded over that fatal night. The Bohemian girls had disappeared; and all inquiries set on foot regarding Bertal, my traveling companion and subsequent perpetrator of such a horrible deed as the murder of a child, agreed in representing the man as a brave and honest soldier, incapable of the monstrous deed imputed to him, and explainable only on the theory of drunkenness or insane fury.
Accordingly, my son, Marion governed Gaul for two months to the satisfaction of all. One evening, shortly before sunset, seeking some diversion from the grief that oppressed me, I took a walk into the woods near Mayence. I had been walking ahead mechanically a long time, seeking only silence and seclusion and thus penetrating deeper and deeper into the wood, when my feet struck an object that I had not noticed. I tripped and was thus drawn from my sad revery. At my feet lay a casque the visor and gorget of which were turned up. I recognized on the spot Marion's casque by those features peculiar to the casque that he wore. I examined the ground more attentively by the last rays of the sun which penetrated the foliage with difficulty. I detected traces of blood on the grass; I followed them; they led to a thicket; I entered it.
There, stretched upon some tree branches that were bent and broken with his fall, I saw Marion, bareheaded and bathed in his own blood. I thought he was dead, or at least unconscious. I was mistaken. As I stooped to raise him andto give him some aid, my eyes caught his; they were fixed but still clear, despite approaching dissolution.
"Go away, Schanvoch!" Marion said in a voice that though fainting indicated anger. "I dragged myself to this spot in order to die in peace—I threw myself into this thicket to escape detection. Go away, Schanvoch! Leave me alone!"
"Leave you!" I cried, looking at him in stupor and observing that his blouse was red with blood just above the heart. "Leave you when your blood is flowing over your clothes, and when your wound is perhaps mortal!"
"Oh, perhaps!" replied Marion with a sarcastic smile. "It is certainly mortal, thanks to the gods!"
"I shall run to town!" I cried without stopping to consider the distance that I had just walked, absorbed as I was in my own sorrow. "I shall go for help!"
"Ha! Ha! Ha!—to run to the city—and we are two leagues away!" replied Marion with a lugubrious peal of laughter. "I am not afraid of any help that you may bring, Schanvoch. I shall be dead in less than a quarter of an hour. But, in the name of heaven, go away!"
"Are you resolved to die—did you smite yourself with your sword?"
"You have said it."
"No! You are trying to deceive me. Your sword is in its sheath."
"What is that to you? Go away—"
"You were struck by an assassin!" I exclaimed as I ran forward and picked up a sword still bloody, that my eyes just fell upon and that lay at a little distance. "This is the weapon that was used."
"I fought in loyal combat—leave me—Schanvoch—"
"You did not fight, and you did not wound yourself. Your sword lies beside you in its sheath. No, no! You fell under the blows of some cowardly assassin. Marion, let me examine your wound. Every soldier is something of a surgeon—if the flow of blood is staunched it may be enough to save your life—"
"Stop the flow of blood!" cried Marion casting at me an angry look. "Just you try to stop the flow of the blood from my wound, and you will see how I will receive you—"
"I shall endeavor to save you," I answered, "despite yourself."
As I spoke I approached Marion who lay flat upon his back. Just as I stooped over him he bent both his knees over his stomach and immediately struck out violently with his feet. The kick took me in the chest and threw me over upon the grass—so powerful was the expiring Hercules.
"Will you still bring me help despite myself?" asked Marion as I rose up, not angry but desolate over his brutality. If I should be overcome in this sad struggle, it was clear that I would be compelled to give up the hope of bringing help to the wounded man.
"Very well! Die!" I said to him, "since such is your wish. Die, since you forget that Gaul needs your services. But be sure of one thing—your death will be avenged—we shall discover the name of your assassin—"
"There has been no assassin—I gave myself the wound—"
"This sword belongs to someone," I said picking up the weapon. As I examined it I thought I could see through the blood that covered it that its blade bore an inscription. To ascertain the fact, I wiped it with some leaves. While I was engaged at this Marion cried in agony:
"Will you leave that sword alone! Quit rubbing upon the blade! Oh! My strength fails me, or I would rise and snatch the weapon from your hands. A curse upon you, who have come to disturb my last moments! Oh! It must be the devil who sent you!"
"It is the gods who sent me!" I cried struck almost dumb with horror. "It is Hesus who sent me for the punishment of the most horrible of crimes! A friend slay his friend!"
"You lie! You lie!"
"It is Eustace who dealt you the wound!"
"You lie! Oh! Why am I sinking so fast—I would smother those words in your cursed throat!"
"You were struck by this sword, the gift of your friendship to an infamous murderer—"
"It is false!"
"'Marion forged this sword for his dear friend Eustace'—that is the sentence engraved upon this blade," I replied to him pointing with my finger at the inscription graven in the steel. "This is the sword that you forged yourself."
"The inscription proves nothing," observed Marion in great anguish. "The man who struck me stole the sword from my friend Eustace—that's all."
"You still seek to screen that man! Oh! There will be no punishment too severe for the cowardly murderer!"
"Listen, Schanvoch," replied Marion in a sinking and suppliant voice: "I am about to die—nothing is denied to an expiring man—"
"Oh! Speak! Speak, good and brave soldier. Seeing that, to the misfortune of Gaul, fatality prevents me from saving you, speak! I shall execute your last will—"
"Schanvoch, the oath that soldiers give each other at the moment of death—is sacred, is it not?"
"Yes, my brave Marion."
"Swear to me—that you will reveal to no one that you found here the sword of my friend Eustace."
"You, his victim—and you wish to save him!"
"Promise me, Schanvoch, that you will do as I ask you—"
"Save the monster from condign punishment! Never! No, a thousand times no!"
"Schanvoch, I implore you—"
"Your murder shall be avenged—"
"Be, then, yourself accursed! You who say 'No!' to the prayer of an expiring man—to the prayer of an old soldier—who weeps—you see it. Is it agony?—is it weakness?—I know not, but I weep—"
And large drops of tears rolled down his face that gradually grew more livid.
"Good Marion, your kindheartedness distresses me! You, imploring mercy for your murderer!"
"Who else would take an interest in the unhappy fellow—if I did not?" he answered with an expression of ineffable mercifulness.
"Oh! Marion, those words are worthy of the young man of Nazareth, whom my ancestress Genevieve saw put to death in Jerusalem!"
"Friend Schanvoch—mercy—you will say nothing—I rely upon your promise—"
"No! No! Your celestial mercifulness only renders the crime more atrocious. No pity for the monster who slew his friend!"
"Go away from me!" feebly murmured Marion, sobbing.
"It is you who harrow my last moments! Eustace only slew my body—but you, pitiless before my agony, you torture my very soul!"
"Your despair distresses me—and yet listen, Marion. It is not merely the friend, the old friend that the assassin struck at—"
"For twenty-three years we never left each other's side, Eustace and I," Marion mumbled moaning.
"No, it is not the friend only that the monster struck in striking you, it was also, and perhaps especially, the Chief of Gaul and general of the army that he aimed at. The mysterious cause of this crime may be of deep interest to the country's future. The mystery must be fathomed, uncovered—"
"Schanvoch, you do not know Eustace. He cared little, I know, whether or not I was Chief of Gaul or general of the army. Moreover, what does that concern me—now, when I am about to live in yonder new worlds? All I ask of you is that you grant me this last request—do not denounce my friend Eustace. I implore you with clasped hands—"
"Granted! I shall keep the secret, but under one condition, that you inform me how the crime was committed."
"How can you have the heart to drive such a bargain—the peace of mind—a dying man—"
"The welfare of Gaul may be at stake, I tell you! Everything points to an infernal plot in this dark affair, the first victims of which were Victorin and his son. That is why I insist upon learning from you the details of this atrocious murder."
"Schanvoch—a minute ago I could still distinguish yourface—the color of your clothes—now I see before me only a vague shape. Make haste, make haste!"
"Answer—how was the crime committed? By Hesus, tell me, and I swear to you I shall keep the secret—not otherwise."
"Schanvoch—my good friend—"
"Was Eustace acquainted with Tetrik?"
"Eustace never as much as spoke to him—"
"Are you certain?"
"Eustace told me so—he ever felt—without knowing why—an aversion for the governor—I was not surprised at that. Eustace loved only me—"
"And he killed you! Speak, and I swear to you, by Hesus, that I shall keep the secret—otherwise, not!"
"I shall speak—but your silence on the matter will not suffice me. A score of times I proposed to my friend Eustace to share my purse—he met my tender with insults. Oh! his is not a venal soul—not his—he has no money—he must surely be without any resources whatever—how will he be able to flee?"
"I shall help him to flee—I shall furnish him the money that he may need—I shall be only too glad to rid the camp of such a monster with all possible speed!"
"A monster!" murmured Marion reproachfully. "You are very severe towards Eustace."
"How did he manage to inflict a mortal wound upon you, and what was his reason? Answer my question."
"Since I was acclaimed Chief of Gaul and general, my friend Eustace became more peevish than ever before, and more sullen—than he usually was—he feared, poor soul, that my elevation would make me proud—"
Marion choked in his speech. Throwing his arms about at random, he called out:
"Schanvoch, where are you?"
"Here I am, close to you—"
"I see you no longer," he said in a sinking voice. "Lean my back against a tree—I am—smothering—"
With no little difficulty I did what Marion desired; his Herculean body was heavy. Finally, however, I succeeded in drawing him up with his back against the nearest tree. Reclined against it, Marion continued in a voice that steadily grew feebler:
"In the measure that—the ill temper of my friend Eustace increased—I sought to show myself even more friendly than usual towards him. I could understand his apprehensions. Already, when I was only a captain, he could not bring himself to treat me as his former companion at the anvil. When I became general and Chief of Gaul he took me for a potentate. As to myself, certain that I esteemed him none the less—I always laughed in his face at his rudeness—I laughed—I did wrong—the poor fellow was suffering. To make it short—to-day he said to me: 'Marion, it is a long time since we took a walk together, shall we take a stroll in the woods, near the city?' I had a conference with Victoria. But fearing to displease my friend Eustace, I wrote to the Mother of the Camps, excusing myself—and he and I started on our walk arm in arm. I was reminded of the days of our apprenticeship in the forest of Chartres—where we used to go to trap magpies. I felt buoyant—and despite my grey beard—knowing that nobody saw us—I indulged in all manner of boyish tricks in order to amuse Eustace. I mimicked, as in the days of our boyhood, the cry of—the magpies—by blowingupon a leaf held close to my lips. I did other monkey tricks of the same nature—It was singular—I never felt in better spirits than to-day—Eustace, on the contrary did not move—a muscle of his face—not—a smile could be extracted from him. We were a few steps from here, he behind me—he called me—I turned around—and you will see, Schanvoch, that there could not have been any wicked purpose on his part—only insanity—pure insanity. The moment that I turned around he threw himself upon me sword in hand—and—as he plunged the weapon into my side he cried: 'Do you recognize this sword, you who forged it yourself?' I admit—I was not a little surprised—I fell under the blow—I called out to my friend Eustace: 'What ails you? Explain yourself at least. Have I offended you in aught without knowing?' But I was only speaking—to the trees—the poor crazy man had vanished—leaving his sword beside me—another evidence of insanity—the weapon—you will notice—Schanvoch—the weapon—bore on the blade the inscription: 'Marion forged this sword for his dear friend Eustace.'"
These were the last intelligible words of the good and brave soldier. He expired a few minutes later uttering incoherent words, among which these recurred with greatest frequency:
"Eustace," "flee," "save yourself."
After Marion had given up the ghost, I hastened back to Mayence in order to notify Victoria of the occurrence, nor did I conceal from her that my suspicions again pointed to Tetrik as having a hand in the plot. The man, I explained, left again vacant the government of Gaul by the removal of Marion, after Victorin and his son were gotten out of the way. Although desolate by the death of Marion, my foster-sistercombated my suspicions with regard to Tetrik. She reminded me that I myself, more than two months before the murder of Marion, was so struck by the expression of hatred and envy betrayed by the face and words of the captain's old companion, that I said to her before Tetrik that Marion must be very much blinded by his affection to fail to perceive that his friend was devoured by implacable jealousy. Victoria shared the opinion of the good Marion, that the crime to which he had fallen a victim had no other cause than the envious hatred of Eustace, who was driven to the point of insanity by the more recent elevation of his friend. Besides, a singular coincidence, on that same day my foster-sister received from Tetrik, then on his way to Italy, a letter in which he informed her that seeing his health was daily declining, the physicians saw but one chance of safety for him—a trip to some southern country. For that reason he was on the way to Rome with his son.
These facts, Tetrik's conduct since the death of Victorin, the touching letters that he wrote, together with what seemed to be the irrefutable arguments advanced by Victoria, once more overthrew my mistrust toward the Governor of Gascony. I also arrived at the conclusion, which was certainly justified on the face of the events, that, in view of the previous behavior of Eustace, the atrocious murder committed by him had no other motive than a savage jealousy, that was driven to the point of insanity by the recent distinction that fell to the lot of his friend.
I kept the promise that I made to the good and brave Marion at the hour of his death. His assassination was attributed to some unknown murderer, but not to Eustace. I tookthe man's sword with me to Victoria; no suspicion was drawn to the actual felon, who was never more seen either at Mayence, or in the camp. Marion's remains, wept over by the whole army, received the pompous military honors due to a general and a Chief of Gaul.
The direst day of my life since that on which I accompanied the remains of Victorin, his son and my beloved wife Ellen to the funeral pyre that was to consume them, was the day on which the following events took place. They happened, my son, two hundred and sixty years after our ancestress Genevieve saw the young man of Nazareth die upon the cross, and five years after the assassination of Marion, the successor of Victorin in the government of Gaul.
Victoria no longer lived in Mayence, but in Treves, a large and magnificent Gallic city situated on this side of the Rhine. I continued to live with my foster-sister. Sampso, who served you as a mother since the death of my never-to-be-forgotten Ellen, Sampso became my second wife. On the evening of our marriage she admitted to me a fact of which I never had any doubt—that having always felt a secret inclination for me, she had decided never to marry, and to share her life with Ellen, you, my child, and myself.
My wife's death; the affection and profound esteem that Sampso inspired in me; her virtues; the kindnesses that she heaped upon you; the love with which you reciprocated her tenderness towards you—you loved her as a mother, whose place she worthily filled; the requirements of your education; finally also the urgent requests of Victoria, who valuingthe qualities of Sampso, warmly urged the union;—all these circumstances combined to induce me to propose marriage to your aunt. She accepted. But for the distressing recollections of the death of Victorin and Ellen, of whom not a day passed but we spoke with tears in our eyes; but for the incurable grief of Victoria, whose mind ever turned upon her son and grandson;—but for these circumstances I would, after so many misfortunes, have re-embraced happiness when I embraced Sampso as my wife.
Accordingly, I shared Victoria's house in the city of Treves. The sun had just risen; I was engaged with some writing for the Mother of the Camps, seeing that I continued my offices near her. Her confidential servant, called Mora, stepped into the room. The girl claimed to have been born in Mauritania, whence her name of Mora. Like the inhabitants of that region, her complexion was bronzed, almost black, like a Negro's. Nevertheless, despite the somber hue of her face, she was handsome and young. Since the four years (remember the date, my son), since the four years that Mora served my foster-sister, she gained her mistress's affection by her zeal, her reserve and her devotion that seemed proof against all temptation to change her quarters. Occasionally, seeking some diversion from her sorrows, Victoria would ask Mora to sing, because the girl's voice was of remarkable sweetness and sadness. One of the officers of the army who had been as far as the Danube, said to us one day as he heard Mora sing, that he had heard those peculiar songs in the mountains of Bohemia. Mora seemed startled, and said that she learned the songs she was singing as a little child in the country of Mauritania.
"Schanvoch," said Mora to me, "my mistress wishes to speak to you."
"I shall follow you, Mora."
"But before you go, one word, I beg you."
"Speak—what is it?"
"You are the friend, the foster-brother of my mistress—what affects her affects you—"
"Undoubtedly—what are you driving at?"
"You left my mistress last night after having spent the evening with her, your wife and son—"
"Yes—and Victoria withdrew to her room, as usual."
"Now listen—a short time after your departure, I took to her room a man wrapped in a cloak. After a conversation with the unknown man, that lasted deep into the night, instead of going to bed, my mistress was so agitated that she walked up and down the room until morning."
"Who can that man be?" I asked myself aloud, yielding to my astonishment. Victoria was not in the habit of keeping any secrets from me. "What mystery is this?"
Mora believed that I questioned her, an act of indiscretion on my part that I would have carefully guarded against, out of respect for Victoria. The girl answered:
"After your departure, Schanvoch, my mistress said to me: 'Go out by the garden gate. Wait at the little door. You will soon hear a rap. A man in a cloak will present himself—bring him to me—and not a word upon this to anyone whatever—'"
"You should, then, have abstained from making the confidence to me."
"Perhaps I am wrong in not keeping the secret, even from you, Schanvoch, the devoted friend and brother of my mistress.But she seemed to me so agitated after the departure of the mysterious personage, that I thought it my duty to tell you all. There is another reason why I decided to speak to you. I led the man back to the garden gate—I walked a few steps ahead of him—he seemed to be in a towering rage, and he dropped terrible threats against my mistress. It was this that determined me to reveal to you the secret of the interview."
"Did you notify Victoria of the threats made against her?"
"No—I was hardly back to her when she brusquely—she who is otherwise so gentle towards me—ordered me to leave the room. I withdrew to a contiguous apartment, and from there I could hear my mistress walk the room all night in great agitation until dawn when she finally threw herself upon her couch. A minute ago she called me in and ordered me to bring you to her. Oh! If you had seen her! She looked so pale and somber! I thought it best to reveal to you all that had happened—"
I hastened to Victoria in a state of great alarm. The sight of her struck me painfully. Mora had not exaggerated.
Before proceeding with the thread of this narrative, and to the end of helping you to understand it, my son, I must give you some details upon the special arrangement of Victoria's chamber. In the rear of the spacious apartment was a species of niche covered with heavy curtains. In that niche, whither my foster-sister frequently retired in order to think of those whom she had loved so much, hung the casques and swords of her father, her husband and her son Victorin, over the symbols of our druid faith. In the niche also stood—a dear and precious relic—the cradle of the grandson of this woman, whom misfortune had so sorely tried.
Victoria stepped towards me, reached out her hand, and said in a faltering voice:
"Brother, for the first time in my life I have kept a secret from you; brother, for the first time in my life I am about to resort to ruse and dissimulation."
She then took me by the hand, led me to the niche, drew back the heavy curtain that closed it from sight, and added:
"Every minute is precious; step into that niche; remain there silent, motionless, and lose not a word of all that you shall hear. I hide you in time in order to remove suspicion."
The curtains of the niche closed upon me; I remained in the dark; for a while I heard only Victoria's steps over the floor as she walked the room in evident agitation. I was in my hiding place for over half an hour when I heard the door of Victoria's room open and close. Someone stepped in and said:
"Greeting to Victoria the Great!"
It was Tetrik's voice, the same mellifluous and insinuating voice. The following conversation took place between him and Victoria. As she recommended to me, I engraved every word in my memory, and that same day I transcribed them, realizing the gravity of the dialogue. Another circumstance which I shall presently inform you of dictated the precaution to me.
"Greeting to Victoria the Great," said the former Governor of Gascony.
"Greeting to you, Tetrik."
"Did the night bring counsel, Victoria?"
"Tetrik," answered Victoria in a perfectly calm voice that was in strong contrast with the agitation under which I had just seen her laboring, "Tetrik, you are a poet?"
"It is true—I sometimes seek in the cultivation of letters a little recreation from the cares of state—especially from my undying sorrow over the untimely departure of our glorious Victorin, whom, contrary to my expectations, I have survived. I must repeat it to you, Victoria, let us not speak of that young hero, whom I loved with the deep love of a father. I had two sons; I have only one left to me.—I am a poet, say you? Alas! Fain would I be one of those geniuses who render immortal the heroes of their songs—Victorin would then live in all posterity as he lives in the hearts of those who knew and mourn for him! But why do you broach the subject of verses? Have they any connection with the subject that brings me back to you this morning?"
"Like all poets—you surely read your verses many times over in order to correct them—and then you forget them, if the term can be used, to the end that when you read them over anew, you may be struck all the more forcibly by anything that may hurt your eyes or ears."
"Certes, after having written some ode under the inspiration of the moment, it has sometimes happened to me that, as the saying is, I let my verses sleep for several months, and then, reading them over again, was shocked at things that had at first escaped me. But poetry is not the question before us."
"There is, indeed, a great advantage in first letting thoughts sleep and then taking them up again," answered my foster-sister with a phlegma that surprised me more and more. "Yes, the method is a good one. That which, under the heat of inspiration may not have at first wounded us—sometimes shocks our senses when the inspiration has cooled down. If the test is useful in the instance of frivolous matters likeverses, should it not be all the more useful when grave matters affecting our lives are concerned?"
"Victoria, I do not grasp your meaning!"
"I yesterday received from you a letter that ran thus: 'This evening I shall be in Treves unknown to anybody. I conjure you, in the name of the most vital interests of our beloved country, to receive me in secrecy, and not to mention the matter to anyone, not even to your friend Schanvoch. Towards midnight I shall await your answer. I shall be found wrapped in my cloak near your garden gate.'"
"And you granted me the interview, Victoria. Unfortunately for me it led to no decisive results, and so, instead of my returning to Mayence, as I should have done, I find myself compelled to remain at Treves, seeing you demanded time until this morning to arrive at a conclusion."
"I shall be unable to arrive at any conclusion before submitting your proposition to the test that we just spoke of. Tetrik, I let your offers sleep, or rather I slept with them. Repeat to me, now, what you said to me last night. Mayhap what wounded me then may no longer seem so objectionable—"
"Victoria, can you joke at such a moment?"
"She who, even before having had to weep over her father and her husband, over her son and her grandson, rarely laughed—such a woman will assuredly not choose the hour of eternal mourning to indulge in jokes. Believe me, Tetrik, I repeat it, your last night's propositions seemed so extraordinary to me, they have thrown my mind into such perplexity, they have raised such strange thoughts, that instead of uttering myself under the shock of my first impressions, Iprefer to forget all that we said, and to listen to you once more, as if you broached those matters for the first time."
"Victoria, your eminent intellect, your powerful mind that has always been prompt and unerring in taking a decision, did not, I must confess, prepare me for such caution and hesitation."
"Simply because never before in my life, now a long one, have I been called upon to utter myself upon questions of such moment."
"Pray, remember that yesterday—"
"I wish to remember nothing. To me our last night's interview is as if it had not been. Consider that it is now midnight, Mora has just let you in by the garden gate, and has brought you to me. Speak—I listen."
"Victoria—what is it that you have in mind?"
"Be careful—if you refuse to broach the matter in full, I might give you the answer that my first impressions dictated—and you know, Tetrik, that when I once utter myself, I do so irrevocably."
"Your first impression is, accordingly, unfavorable," cried Tetrik in an accent of anguish. "Oh! It would be a misfortune, a great misfortune!"
"Speak, then, if it is your desire to avert the misfortune."
"Be it as you desire, Victoria, although such singular conduct on your part disturbs me. You desire it? I shall satisfy you—our last night's interview did not take place—I see you now for the first time after a rather long absence, although a frequent exchange of correspondence kept us in close touch with each other, and I say to you: It is now five years ago since, struck at my very heart by the death of Victorin—a fatal event, that carried away the hopes I entertainedfor the glory of Gaul—I lay almost dying in Italy, at Rome, whither my son accompanied me. According to the opinion of the physicians, the trip was to restore my health. They erred. My ailments increased. It pleased God that a Christian priest, whom a recently converted friend secretly introduced into my house, succeeded in reaching my bedside. The faith enlightened me—and, while enlightening me, performed a miracle—it saved me from death. I returned, so to speak, to a new life with a new religion. My son abjured, as I did, only in secret, the false gods that we had until then adored. At that stage I received a letter from you, Victoria. You informed me of the assassination of Marion. Guided by you, and as I had expected, he had governed Gaul wisely. I remained overwhelmed by such tidings; they were as distressing as they were unexpected. You conjured me in the name of the most sacred interests of our country to return to Gaul. None, you said to me, was capable of replacing Marion except myself. You even went further. I alone, in the new and peaceful era that opened to our country, could promote her prosperity by taking the reins of government. You made a vehement appeal to my old friendship for you, to my devotion for our country. I left Rome with my son. A month later I was near you at Mayence. You pledged me your far-reaching influence with the army—you were what you still are, the Mother of the Camps. Presented by you to the army I was acclaimed by it. Yes, thanks to you alone, I, a civil governor, who in my life had never touched a sword, I was acclaimed the sole Chief of Gaul, and you boldly and proudly declared on that day to the Emperor that Gaul, strong and feared, and henceforth independent, would render obedience only to a Gallic chief, freely elected. Engaged atthe time in his disastrous war in the Orient against Queen Zenobia, your heroic peer, the Emperor yielded. I alone governed our country. Ruper, an old and tried general in the wars of the Rhine, was placed in command of the troops. In its undying idolatry for you, the army wished to keep you in its midst. I was engaged in developing in Gaul the blessings of peace. Always faithful to the Christian faith, I did not consider it politic to make a public confession of my belief, and I concealed from even you, Victoria, my conversion to a religion whose Pope is in Rome. Since the last five years Gaul has been prospering at home, and is respected abroad. I established the seat of my government and of the senate at Bordeaux, while you remained with the army, which covers our frontier, and is ever ready to repel either new invasions attempted by the Franks, or any attack undertaken by the Romans, should the latter attempt to curtail the complete independence that we enjoy and conquered so dearly. As you know, Victoria, I always sought inspiration from your eminent wisdom, either by visiting you in Treves, after you left Mayence, or through correspondence with you upon the affairs of the country. But I indulge in no delusions, Victoria; I am proud to admit the truth; it was only your powerful hand that raised me to headship; it is only your hand that keeps me there. Yes, from the seclusion of her modest retreat in Treves, the Mother of the Camps is in fact the Empress of Gaul—despite the power that I enjoy, I am only your first subject. That rapid glance over the past was necessary in order to clearly formulate the present—"
"Proceed, Tetrik, I am listening attentively."
"The deplorable death of Victorin and his son, the assassination of Marion, all these catastrophes tell you upon howslender a thread elective sovereignty hangs. Gaul is at peace; her brave army is more devoted to you than it has ever been to any of its generals; it overawes our enemies; all that our beautiful country now stands in need of, in order to reach the highest pinnacle of prosperity, is stability. The country needs an authority that will not be dependent upon the caprice of an election, which, however intelligent to-day, may be stupid to-morrow. We need a government that is not personified in a man, ever at the mercy of those who elected him, or of the dagger of an assassin. The monarchic institution, based as it is, not upon a man, but upon a principle, existed in Gaul centuries ago. It alone could to-day impart to the nation the vigor and prosperity that it lacks. Victoria, you dispose of the army, I govern the country. Let us join our strength for a common aim—the insurance of our glorious country's future; let us join, not our bodies—I am old, while you are still handsome and young, Victoria—but our souls before a priest of the new religion. Embrace Christianity, become my wife before God—and proclaim us, yourself Empress, me Emperor of the Gauls. The army will have but one voice in favor of elevating you upon a throne—you will reign alone and without sharing your power with anyone. As to me, you know it, I have no ambition to subserve. Despite my idle title of Emperor, I shall continue to be your first vassal. As to my son, we shall adopt him for our successor to the throne. He is of marriageable age; we shall choose for him some sovereign alliance—and the monarchy of Gaul will be established for all time. That, Victoria, was the proposal that I made to you last night—I repeat it to-day. I have again laid my projects bare before you and in the interest of our country. Adopt the plan; it is thefruit of long years of meditation—and Gaul will march at the head of the nations of the world."
A long silence on the part of my foster-sister followed these words of her relative. She then replied with the calmness that marked her words since the entrance of Tetrik into the room:
"It was a wise inspiration that caused me to wish to hear you a second time, Tetrik. You abjured in favor of the new religion the ancient religion of our fathers; but almost all Gaul is still loyal to the druid faith."
"Hence it is that I considered it politic to keep my abjuration a secret, and in this I have acted in accord with the views of the Pope of Rome. But if you should accept my offer, and should yourself abjure your idolatry at our marriage, I shall then loudly proclaim my new belief, and, according to the opinion of the bishops, our conversion will draw in its wake the conversion of our people. Moreover I have the promise of the bishops that they will glorify you as a saint with all the magnificent pomp of the new Church. And, believe me, Victoria, a power that is consecrated in the name of God by the Gallic prelates and by the Pope of Rome, will be clothed in the eyes of the people with almost divine authority."
"Tell me, Tetrik; you abjured the belief of our fathers in favor of the new, in favor of the gospel preached by the young man of Nazareth who was crucified two centuries ago. I have read that gospel. An ancestress of Schanvoch's witnessed the last days of Jesus, the friend of the slave and the afflicted. Now, then, nowhere have I found in the gentle and divine words of the young master of Nazareth aught but exhortations to renounce wealth, to meekness, to equalityamong men—and here are you, a fervent and recent convert, dreaming of royalty! The young man of Nazareth, so sweet, so tender of the sufferers, the sinners and the oppressed as he was, nevertheless broke out at times into terrible threats against the rich, the powerful, the worldly happy—above all and always he thundered against the princes of the church whom he branded as infamous hypocrites—and, here are you, a fervent and recent convert, seeking to place the royalty that you are striving after under the consecration of just such princes of the church, the bishops! The young man of Nazareth said to his disciples: 'When you pray, enter into your closet, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father which is in secret, and your Father which sees in secret will reward you openly'—and here are you, a fervent and recent convert, proposing to me to render our abjuration and prayers in public, pompously and solemnly, seeing that the bishops are to glorify my conversion in the face of the world. Truly, my feeble intellect, still closed to the light of the new faith, is unable to reconcile such shocking contradictions."
"Nothing more simple. The gospel of our Lord—"
"Of what 'Lord' do you speak, Tetrik?"
"Of our Lord Jesus Christ, the son of God, or rather the incarnate God."
"How the times have changed! During his life the young man of Nazareth did not call himself 'Lord'—far from it; he called himself the son of God, in the sense that our druid faith teaches us that we are all children of the same God. And in line with the teachings of our druids he declared that our spirit, emancipated of its terrestrial bonds, proceeds to unknown worlds where it animates rejuvenated bodies."
"The times have changed—you are right, Victoria. Taken in an absolute sense, the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ would be but a weapon of eternal rebellion in the hands of the poor against the rich, the servant against his lord, the people against their chiefs—it would be the negation of all authority. Creeds on the contrary have the mission to strengthen authority."
"I am aware of that. In the days of their primitive barbarism, and before they became the sublimest of men, our druids rendered themselves redoubtable to the ignorant, struck them with terror, and crushed them under their yoke. But the young man of Nazareth smote the atrocious knavery when he indignantly denounced the princes of the church saying: 'They bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers.' All the more, if he is God, should his words be held sacred. You speak, Tetrik, very much after the fashion of the Pharisees of old, who caused the young man of Nazareth to be crucified."
"Those are only sentimental views. Cultured minds, like yours, will understand the true meaning of those bitter criticisms, and the violent attacks of our Lord against the rich, the powerful and the priests of his days. His sermons in favor of community of property, his exaggerated mercifulness towards women of ill fame, the debauched, the prodigals, the vagabonds—in short, his preference for the dregs of the population with which he surrounded himself are not the means of government and authority. The priests and bishops of the new faith alone are able, by means of their sermons, skilfully to turn off the dangerous current of the thought of equality among men, of hatred against the mighty, of dispossessmentagainst the rich, of liberty, of fraternity, of community of goods, of tolerance for the guilty—a fatal current that takes its source in certain passages of the gospel, which vulgar minds wrongfully interpret."
"And yet it is in the name of those generous thoughts that so many martyrs have died in the past, and are still sacrificing their lives!"
"Alas, yes! Jesus our Lord has remained for them the carpenter of Nazareth, who was put to death for having defended the poor, the slaves, the oppressed, the sinners, against those who then enjoyed power; he promised the former the goods of the latter saying that the day would come when 'the first would be the last.' It is for that reason that these martyrs preach with unconquerable heroism the doctrines of Jesus, the friend of the poor, the enemy of the mighty. The interests of both the present and the future, accordingly, dictate to you that you accept my offer. I resume: Take me for your husband; embrace the new faith, as I did; have yourself and me proclaimed Emperor and Empress; adopt my son and his posterity. All Gaul will follow our example and become Christians; we shall heap privileges and wealth upon the bishops, and they will consecrate in us the most sovereign and absolute authority ever vested in any emperor or empress!"