CHAPTER I.
GATHERING SHADOWS.
Several years have elapsed since I wrote for you, my child, the accountthat closed with the great battle of the Rhine.
The utter annihilation of the Frankish hordes and the simultaneousdestruction of their establishment on the other side of the river, freedGaul of the perpetual fear that she stood in, of a threatened invasionof barbarians. Perhaps from their retreat in the woods of northernGermany the Franks are now only awaiting a favorable opportunity toswoop down again upon Gaul. But for all the joy of this deliverance, Inow resume my narrative after having experienced years of bitter sorrow.Great misfortunes have befallen me across this interval. I have seen afrightful intrigue of hypocrisy and malice unfold before my eyes. Sincethen an incurable sadness has taken possession of my soul. I left theborders of the Rhine for Brittany; here I established myself with yoursecond mother and you, my son, at the identical place that long ago wasthe cradle of our family--near the sacred stones of Karnak, thewitnesses of the heroic sacrifice of our ancestress Hena.
Only yesterday, as I was returning from the fields with you--from asoldier I have become a field laborer like our fathers in the days oftheir independence--only yesterday I pointed out to you, on the borderof the stream, two hollow willow trees; they were old. Their age mustnow be more than three hundred years. They are so very, very old thatthey no longer put forth but a few straggling leaves. You asked me totie a rope between the two trees for you to swing yourself. You noticedwith surprise that I grew sad at your request, and that I suddenlybecame pensive.
It occurred to me how, nearly three hundred years ago, by a strangecoincidence it occurred to Sylvest and his sister Syomara to tie a ropebetween those identical trees in order to disport themselves. Nor were,alas! those recollections the only ones that those two centenariantrunks brought back to my mind. I said to you:
"Look at those two trees with sadness and veneration, my son. One of ourancestors, Guilhern, the son of Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak,died an atrocious death bound to one of them; Guilhern's son, a lad alittle older than yourself and named Sylvest, was tied to the otherwillow to die the same death as his father. An unexpected accidentsnatched him from the frightful fate."[3]
"And what was their crime?" you asked me.
"The crime of the father and of his son was to have tried to escape frombondage, so as not to be forced to cultivate under a master's whip, withthe slave's collar on their necks and chains to their feet, the fieldsthat were their own patrimony. They wished to escape cultivating thosefields for the benefit of the Romans who had robbed them of them."
My answer astonished you still more, my child--you who always livedhappy and free, who until now have known no other grief than that of theloss of your dear mother, of whom you have preserved only a vaguememory. You were barely four years and two months old a short time afterthe victory that Gaul won over the Franks on the border of the Rhine.
You will remember that I broke off our conversation, and that I relapsedinto one of those fits of melancholy that I find it impossible toovercome every time I recall the terrible domestic catastrophes thatbefell us on the Rhine. But I always regain courage when I remember theduty imposed upon me by our ancestor Joel, who lived nearly threehundred years ago in the same place where we are now again establishedafter our family's having experienced innumerable vicissitudes.
When you will be old enough to read these pages, my son, you willunderstand the cause of these mortal fits of sadness in which you haveoften seen me steeped, despite your second mother's tenderness, whom Icould not cherish too dearly. Yes, when you will have read the last andsolemn words of Victoria, the Mother of the Camps, dreadful words, youwill then understand that, however painful may be to me the past thatwill throw a shadow over my path until death, the future that is perhapsin store for Gaul by the mysterious will of Hesus, must fill me withstill greater anguish--and you will share my anguish, my son, when youreflect over the wise and profound observation of our ancestor Sylvest:
"Alas, every time the nation is wounded the family bleeds."
Aye, if Victoria was endowed with the science of foreseeing the future,as so many of our venerable female druids have been before her; if everher redoubtable prophecies are verified--then, woe is Gaul! Woe is ourrace! Woe is our family! A longer period of even more cruel sufferingswill lie before our country under the yoke of the Rome of the Bishopsthan it experienced under the yoke of the Rome of the Caesars and theEmperors!
As I said before, I now resume the thread of my narrative where Idropped it several years ago.
After an extensive conversation on the events of the day, Victorin andhis mother returned to Mayence, where they arrived late in the evening.Pretending great fatigue and some pain from the light wound that hereceived, the young general retired. The moment he reached his house hethrew off his armor, and wrapping himself in his cloak repaired to theBohemian girls.
"That woman will be fatal to you," were my words to the young general onour way from the battle field. Alas! My foresight was destined to provetrue. By the way of these creatures, keep in mind, my son, acircumstance with which I later became acquainted; you will presentlyappreciate its importance--those Bohemian girls came to Mayence two daysafter the arrival of Tetrik in the same town, and they arrived fromGascony, the department that he governed.
This discovery, together with many others, imparted to me such accurateinformation on certain facts that I am enabled to describe them the sameas if I had been present.
As I said, Victorin left his house at night to keep his assignation withKidda, the Bohemian girl. He had met her only the previous evening forthe first time. She made a deep impression upon him. He was young,handsome, bright and generous. That very day he had won a gloriousbattle. He was well aware of the easy morals of those strolling singers,who, in effect, were nothing but courtesans. He felt certain that hewould possess the object of this latest whim. How great must hissurprise have been when Kidda said to him with well simulated firmness,sadness and repressed passion:
"Victorin, I shall not speak to you of my virtue; you will laugh at thevirtue of a strolling Bohemian singer. But you may believe me when I saythat long before I saw you, your glorious name had reached me. Yourrenown for valor and goodness made my heart beat, unworthy of you asthat heart is, seeing that I am a poor, degraded creature. Believe me,Victorin," she added with tears in her eyes, "if I were pure, you wouldhave my love and my life; but I am soiled; I do not deserve yourattention. I love you too passionately, I honor you too much ever tooffer to you the remains of an existence debased by men, who are notworthy of being compared with you."
So far from cooling, the hypocritical language fired the ardor ofVictorin; it exalted him beyond measure. His sensual whim for the womanwas speedily transformed into a consuming and mad passion. Despite hisprotestations of devotion, despite his entreaties, despite his tears--heactually wept at the feet of the execrable woman--the Bohemian remainedinexorable. Victorin's nature underwent thereupon a marked change. Frommirthful, pleasant and open, it became retired and morose. He grewsomber and taciturn. Both his mother and I were ignorant at the time ofthe cause of the change. To our pressing questions the young generalwould answer that, being struck by the manifestations of displeasurethat the army had shown towards him, he did not wish to expose himselfto a recurrence of their anger; thenceforth his life was to be austereand retired. With the exception of a few hours that he consecrated everyday to his mother, Victorin now rarely left his house, and he avoidedthe company of his former boon companions. Struck, on their part, by hissudden change of deportment, the soldiers saw in it only the salutaryeffect of the remonstrances made to their young general in their name byDouarnek. They cherished him more than ever before. I later learnedthat, in his self-imposed solitude, the unhappy man habitually drankhimself into utter stupor in order to forget his fatal passion, and thatevery evening he repaired to the Bohemian dancer's, only, however, tofind her pitiless as ever.
&
nbsp; About a month passed in this manner. Tetrik remained in Mayence in orderto overcome Victoria's repugnance to the idea of having her grandsonacclaimed the heir of his father's office. But Victoria ever answeredthe Governor of Gascony, saying:
"Ritha-Gaur, who made himself a blouse of the beard of the kings whom heshaved, overthrew royalty in Gaul about ten centuries ago. He held that,under royalty, it is the people and their descendants who aretransmitted by hereditary right, to kings, and that these are rarelygood, and generally bad. More and more enlightened by our venerabledruids, the Gauls have wisely preferred to elect the chief whom theyconsider worthiest to govern them. They thus constituted themselves intoa Republic. My grandson is still a child in his cradle; no one can knowwhether he will later have the qualities that are necessary for thegovernment of a great people like ours. To acknowledge this child to-dayas the heir of his father's office is tantamount to restoring theroyalty that we have wisely overthrown. I hate royalty as much as didRitha-Gaur."
Still hoping to overcome the resolution of the Mother of the Camps byhis persistence, Tetrik prolonged his stay in Mayence--at least I waslong under the impression that such was the only reason for hispostponing his departure. Nor did Tetrik seem to be less surprised atthe unaccountable change that came over Victorin. The latter, althoughplunged in brooding sadness, still preserved his affection for me. Ieven thought that more than once he was on the point of opening hisheart to me and of confiding to me what he there kept hidden. Later,however, he ceased calling at my house as he formerly used to, andseemed even to avoid meeting me. His features, once so handsome andopen, were no longer the same. Pale with suffering, worn by excessiveand solitary indulgence in wine, their expression gradually assumed asinister aspect. At times a sort of dementia seemed to speak out of hisalternately fixed and wandering gaze.
About five weeks after the great battle of the Rhine, Victorin resumedhis visits to my house. The turn was marked, both in point of suddennessand assiduity. Noticeable was the circumstance that the hours which hechose for his visits were those during which Sampso and my wife werehome alone, I being at Victoria's writing the letters which shedictated. Ellen received the son of my foster-sister with her wontedaffability. At first I imagined that, sorry at having kept himself awayfrom me without cause and by a mere whim, he sought to bring about areconciliation by means of my wife. I believed this all the more seeingthat, despite his persistence in seeking to avoid me, he never spoke ofme to Ellen except in terms of deep affection. Sampso was usuallypresent at the conversations between her sister and Victorin. Only oncedid she leave them alone, and then, when she returned she was struck bythe painful expression on my wife's face and the visible embarrassmentshown by Victorin, who speedily took his departure.
"What is the matter, Ellen?" asked Sampso.
"Sister, I conjure you, never again leave me alone with Victoria's son.May it please the gods that I am mistaken! But to judge from some brokenwords that Victorin let drop, to judge by the expression of his face, Iimagine that he is moved by a guilty love for me--and yet he is aware ofmy devotion to Schanvoch!"
"Sister!" exclaimed Sampso, "Victorin's excesses have ever shocked me,but latterly he seems to have changed. The sacrifice of his unregulatedpleasures doubtlessly costs him much; notwithstanding the younggeneral's changed conduct is praised by everyone, they all comment onhis profound sadness. I can not believe him capable of thinking ofdishonoring your husband, who loves Victorin as if he were his ownchild, and who even saved his life in battle. You must be mistaken,Ellen! No! Such baseness is not possible!"
"I only hope you are right, Sampso; nevertheless, I must conjure you notto leave me alone with Victorin if he comes again. At any rate, I meanto tell all to Schanvoch."
"Be careful, Ellen. If, as I believe, you are mistaken, you would butraise a frightful and unjustified suspicion in your husband's breast.You know how attached he is to Victoria and her son. Only imagineSchanvoch's despair at such a revelation! Ellen, follow my advice,receive Victorin once more alone. Should your suspicions grow intocertainty, then, hesitate no longer--reveal Victorin's treachery toSchanvoch. It would otherwise be imprudent on your part to awaken in himsuspicions that may be wholly baseless. An infamous hypocrite, however,should be unmasked, when there is no longer any doubt as to hispurpose."
Ellen promised her sister to follow her advice. But Victorin neverreturned. I learned all these details only later. This happened in thecourse of the fifth or sixth week after the great battle of the Rhine,and exactly eight days before the catastrophe that it is my duty, myson, to relate to you.
On that fateful day I spent the early part of the evening near Victoriaconferring with her upon an urgent mission on which I was to depart onthat very evening, and which might keep me several days from home.Although Victorin promised his mother to be present at the conference,the purpose of which was known to him, he remained away. I did notwonder at his absence. For some time, and without it being possible forme to fathom his whimsical conduct, he had avoided all opportunity ofencountering me. Victoria said to me pathetically when I left her at theusual hour:
"Private feelings must be hushed before interests of state. I havespoken to you fully on the subject of the mission that I have chargedyou with, Schanvoch. And now the mother will unbosom her private grief.I had this morning a sad conversation with my son. I vainly implored himto confide to me the cause of the secret sorrow that is consuming him.He answered me with a distressful smile:
"'Mother, one time you reproached me with my levity and my too strongtaste for pleasures--those days are now far behind--I now live insolitude and meditation. My lodging, where formerly the joyful din ofsong and revelry by torch light used to keep the night astir, is nowlonely, silent and somber--like myself. Our scrupulous soldiers feeledified at my conversion, and now no longer reproach me with too muchlove for joy, wine and women! What more do you want, mother?'
"'I want much more,' I replied to him, unable to restrain my tears. 'Iwant to see you happy as in the past. You suffer, my son; you suffer apain that you conceal from me. The consciousness of a wise andthoughtful life, as becomes the chief of a great people, imparts to hisface a grave yet serene expression. Your face, however, is haggard,sinister, pale, like that of a man distracted and in despair--'"
"And what did Victorin say to that?"
"Nothing. He relapsed into the gloomy brooding in which I find him sooften plunged, and from which he emerges only to cast wandering looksabout. I then showed him his child, whom I held in my arms. He took it,kissed it several times with great tenderness, put it back into itscradle, and left abruptly without saying a word. I believe he wished tohide his tears from me. I saw that he wept. Oh! Schanvoch, my heartbreaks when I think of the future that seemed to me so rosy for Gaul,for my son and for me!"
I sought to console Victoria by joining her in conjecturing the cause ofher son's mysterious grief. The hour grew late. I was to travel all thatnight in order to fulfil my mission as promptly as possible. I left myfoster-sister's and proceeded home in order to embrace your mother andyou, my son, before starting on my journey.