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, come and 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 he owned 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 distractedly before 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 and to 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 your face—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 blowing upon 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-sister combated 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 took the 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 valuing the 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 like verses, 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, I prefer 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 entertained for 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 at the 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 how slender 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 the fruit 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 equality among 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 dispossessment against 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!"
At this point, Victoria's voice, that until then was calm and collected, broke out indignant and threatening:
"Tetrik! The compact that you are proposing to me is sacrilegious—infamous! Yesterday I thought you were demented—to-day, when you repeat your proposition and expose to my gaze, even clearer than you did before, the abysmal depths of your infernal soul, I see in you a monster of ambition and of felony! At this hour the past lights up the present before me, and the present lights the future! Blessed be you, Hesus! I was not alone when this plot was unrolled to my ears! You inspired me, Oh, Hesus! I wished to have a witness, who, in case of need, could verify the reality of this monstrous proposal—Victoria herself would not be believed upon her unsupported testimony when she uncovers such dark designs! Come, brother—come, Schanvoch!"
At Victoria's call I presented myself, crying:
"Sister, I no longer say as I once did: 'I suspect this man!' To-day I accuse the criminal!"
"Schanvoch!" answered Tetrik disdainfully, "your accusations are stale. This is not the first time that such silly words have dropped before my contempt—"
"I formerly only suspected you, Tetrik," I said determinedly, "of having by your machinations brought on the death of Victorin and his son, who was still in his cradle. To-day I accuse you of that horrible plot. I prefer against you the charge of murder!"
"Take care!" Tetrik answered pale, somber and with a threatening gesture. "Take care! My power is great—I can annihilate you—"
"Brother," Victoria said to me, "your thought is mine—speak without fear—I also have power."
"Tetrik," I proceeded, "I once only suspected you of being at the bottom of Marion's assassination—to-day I accuse you of that crime also!"
"Crazy wretch! Where are the proofs of the charges that you have the audacity to hurl at me?"
"Oh! You are prudent and skilful as well as patient. You break your tools in the dark after having used them—"
"Those are idle words," answered Tetrik with icy coolness. "Your proofs, where are they! I laugh at your impotent threats."
"The proofs!" cried Victoria. "They are embodied in your sacrilegious propositions. You conceived the project of being the hereditary emperor of Gaul long before Victorin's death; your proposition of having my grandson acclaimed the heir of his father's office was a lure meant at once to lead me off the scent of your designs and to furnish the first step of the ladder that you meant to climb."
"Victoria, anger is blinding you! What a bungler would I have been—if, indeed, the ambitious object that I pursued was a hereditary throne for myself—to advise you to vest the power in your own stock—"
"Aye! For one thing, the principle would have been accepted by the army. For another, once hereditary power was established for the future, you would have rid yourself of my son and grandson, in the manner that you did—by assassination. It is all now clear before me. That cursed Bohemian girl was your instrument; she was sent to Mayence in order to seduce my son, in order to drive him with her refusals to the infamous act that the creature demanded as the price of her favors. The crime once committed, my son would either be killed by Schanvoch, who was hastily called back to Mayence that very night, or he would be slain by the army, which received timely notice and was lashed to fury by your emissaries—"
"Proofs—proofs—Victoria! Proofs!"
"I have none, yet I state the facts! You managed to have my grandson killed the same night—torn from my arms. My stock is extinguished. Your first step towards empire was marked in blood. You thereupon declined power, and proposed the elevation of Marion. Oh! I admit it! Before that prodigy of infernal cunning, my suspicions, which were for a moment aroused, melted away. Two months after his acclamation as Chief of Gaul, Marion fell under the sword of an execrable assassin, your instrument again—"
"Proofs!" broke in Tetrik impassibly. "Furnish the proofs!"
"I have none, yet I state the facts. You remained the only available candidate for the office—Victorin, his son and Marion were killed. Thereupon, I unwittingly became your accomplice. I urged you to accept the government of the country. You triumphed, but only in part; you governed; but, you said it, you were but the first subject of the Mother of the Camps. Oh! I perceive it clearly! The hour has come when my power stands in your way. The army, Gaul, accepted Tetrik for their chief upon my request. It was not they who chose you. With one word I can break you, the same as I raised you to the place that you now are in. Blinded by ambition you judged my heart after your own; you thought me capable of wishing to exchange my influence over the army for the crown of an empress, and of enthroning my stock. You have entered into a dark compact with the Pope and bishops, looking to the eventual brutification and enslavement of this proud Gallic people which freely chooses its chiefs, and remains faithful to the religion of our fathers. Why, centuries ago this people broke the yoke of kingship through the sacred hands of Ritha-Gaur, and yet you now scheme to impose upon it a hated domination by allying your self with the new Church! Very well, I, Victoria, the Mother of the Camps, accuse you before the people in arms of intriguing for the subjugation of Gaul! I accuse you of having denied the faith of our fathers! I accuse you of entering into a secret alliance with the bishops! I accuse you of wishing to usurp the imperial crown and to render it hereditary in your family! I shall bring these charges against you before the people in arms, and shall pronounce you a traitor, a renegade, a murderer, a usurper! I shall demand on the spot that you be tried by the senate, and punished with death for your crimes!"
The vehemence of the accusations of my foster-sister notwithstanding, Tetrik maintained his habitual composure. For a moment he had dropped the mask and flown at me with threats. Now he was himself again. Raising his hands heavenward, he answered with the most unctuous voice that he could summon:
"Victoria, I considered the project that I submitted to you advantageous to Gaul—let us drop it. You accuse me; I am ready to answer for my acts before the senate and the army. Should my death, decreed at your instigation, be of any service to my country, I shall not refuse to you the few days of life that are still left to me. I shall await the decision of the senate. Adieu, Victoria. The future will tell which of us two, you or I, understood the country's interests better, and loved Gaul with the wiser love."
Saying this he took a step toward the door. I dashed forward ahead of him, barred his passage and said:
"You shall not go out! You mean to flee from the punishment that is due to your crimes—"
Tetrik looked me from head to feet with icy haughtiness, and half turning towards Victoria, said:
"What! In your house, violence is attempted upon an old man! Upon a relative who comes to you unsuspecting—"
"I shall respect that which is considered sacred in all countries—hospitality," answered the Mother of the Camps. "You came to me freely, you shall go out freely."
"Sister!" I cried. "Be careful! Your confidence has proved fatal once before—"
Victoria interrupted me with a gesture, and said bitterly:
"You are right—my confidence has been fatal to the country; it weighs upon my heart with remorse—but fear not this time."
Saying this she rang the bell. Mora entered almost immediately. Her mistress whispered a few words in her ear and the servant quickly went out again.
"Tetrik," Victoria proceeded, "I have sent for Captain Paul and several officers. They will come here for you. They will accompany you to your lodging—you shall not leave the place but to appear before your judges."
"My judges! Who are to be my judges?"
"The army will appoint a tribunal—that tribunal will judge you."
"I can be tried only by the senate."
"If the military tribunal finds you guilty, you will then be sent before the senate; if the military tribunal acquits you, you will be free. Only divine vengeance will then be able to reach you."
Mora re-entered the room to inform her mistress that her orders were issued to Captain Paul. Afterwards I remembered, but, alas! too late, that Mora exchanged a few words in a low voice with Tetrik who sat near the door.
"Schanvoch," Victoria said to me, "did you hear well the conversation that I had with Tetrik?"
"Perfectly. I lost not one word."
"Transcribe it faithfully."
And turning to the Chief of Gaul she said:
"That will be the indictment that I shall bring against you. It shall be read before the military tribunal that is to sit in judgment upon you."
"Victoria," Tetrik replied calmly, "listen to the advice of an old man, who once was and still is your best friend. It is an easy thing to accuse a man, but to prove his crime is a more difficult affair—"
"Hold your tongue, detestable hypocrite!" cried Victoria angrily. "Drive me not to extremes—"
And clasping her hands:
"Hesus! Give me the strength to be equitable towards this man. Calm down in me, Oh, Hesus! the ebullitions of anger that might unsettle my judgment!"
Having heard steps behind the door, Mora opened it, and returned to her mistress, saying:
"Captain Paul has arrived."
Victoria made a sign to Tetrik to leave the room. He stepped out heaving a profound sigh and saying in penetrating accents:
"Lord! Lord! Dissipate the blindness of my enemies! Pardon them, as I pardon them!"
When the room was cleared of the presence of Tetrik the Mother of the Camps said to her servant, just as the latter was about to leave close upon the heels of Tetrik:
"Mora, my breast is afire. Bring me a cup of water with some honey, to cool me and slake my thirst."
The servant hurriedly nodded her head and vanished with Tetrik, who lingered for a moment at the threshold.
"Oh, my brother!" murmured Victoria despondently when we were again alone. "My long struggle with that man has exhausted me—the sight of evil lames my energies—I feel broken—"
"Want of sleep, excitement, the horror that the sight of Tetrik inspired you with—all this has rendered you feverish. Take a little rest, sister; I shall instantly transcribe your conversation with the man. This very evening justice will be done."
"You are right; I think that if I could sleep a while I should feel relieved. Go, brother, but do not leave the house."
"Would you like Sampso to keep you company?"
"No, I prefer to be alone."
Mora re-entered. She carried a cup filled with the beverage that her mistress had ordered. The latter took the cup and drained its contents with avidity. Leaving my foster-sister to the care of her servant, I went back to my room in order to reproduce the words of Tetrik accurately. I was just about finishing the task, which took me nearly two hours, when Mora dashed in pale and frightened.
"Schanvoch!" she cried panting for breath. "Come! Come quick! Drop your writing! Hasten to my mistress!"
"What is the matter! What has happened?"
"My mistress. Oh! Woe! Woe! Come quick!"
"Victoria! Does any danger threaten her?" I cried, hurrying to the apartment of my foster-sister, while Mora followed me, saying:
"She sent me out of the room—she wanted to be alone. A minute ago I went in—and, woe is me! I saw my poor mistress—"
"Finish speaking—you saw Victoria—"
"I saw her lying on her bed—her eyes open—but they were fixed—she seemed dead—"
I shall never forget the frightful sight that struck my eyes as I stepped into Victoria's chamber. As Mora said, she lay stretched upon her bed motionless, livid, like a corpse. Her fixed, yet sparkling eyes, seemed to have sunk into their orbits; her features, painfully contracted, were of the cold whiteness of marble. A sinister thought flashed through my mind like lightning—Victoria was dying of poison!
"Mora!" I cried throwing myself upon my knees beside the couch of the Mother of the Camps. "Send immediately for the druid physician, and run and tell Sampso to come here!"
The servant rushed out. I took one of Victoria's hands. It was limp and icy.
"Sister! It is I!" I cried—"Schanvoch!"
"Brother," she murmured.
As I heard her muffled, feeble voice, methought the answer proceeded from the bottom of a tomb. A moment later, her eyes, that until then were fixed, turned slowly towards me. The divine intelligence that formerly illumined the beautiful, august and sweet look of my foster-sister seemed extinguished. Nevertheless, by degrees, she recovered consciousness, and said:
"Is it you—brother? I am dying—"
Tossing her head painfully from one side to the other as if seeking something, she made an effort to raise her arm; it dropped immediately beside her; she then proceeded to say:
"See yonder large trunk—open it—you will find in it—a bronze casket—bring it to me—"
I did as I was bid, and deposited a rather heavy bronze casket near her on the couch. At that moment Sampso, whom Mora notified of Victoria's condition, came in.
"Sampso," said Victoria, "take this casket—take it away with you—keep it carefully locked—open it in three days—the key is tied to the lid."
And addressing me:
"Did you transcribe Tetrik's conversation with me?"
"I was just finishing it when Mora ran in to me."
"Sampso, take that casket away to your room immediately, and bring me the parchment on which Schanvoch has just been writing. Go, we have not a minute to spare!"
Sampso obeyed and left the room distracted. I remained alone with Victoria.
"Brother," she said to me, "every minute is precious. Listen to what I have to say to you without interrupting me. I feel that I am dying; I think I know the hand that smote me, without her being herself aware of what she was doing. This crime caps a long series of dark and felonious deeds. My death is at this moment a grave danger to Gaul. We must avert the danger. You are known in the army—my confidence in you is known—call the officers and soldiers together—inform them of Tetrik's schemes. The conversation that you transcribed will be signed by me, in order to verify your words. My life is ebbing fast. Oh! If I but had the time to gather here around my death-bed the officers of the army who this very evening will surround my funeral pyre. Upon that pyre I wish you to lay the arms of my father, my husband and Victorin, also the cradle of my little grandson!"
"Schanvoch!" cried Sampso precipitately entering the room, "The parchments that you left upon the table—have disappeared. But I saw them lying on your desk when Mora came in to call me. They must have been taken away since."
"The parchments were taken away! Oh! What a misfortune to Gaul!" murmured Victoria. "What mysterious hand is it that can thus penetrate my house? Woe, woe is Gaul! Hesus! Omnipotent god! You call me to the unknown worlds, where, perhaps, we may hover over this world that we leave for yonder ones. Hesus! Am I to leave this earth without the assurance of the welfare of the country I love so much? The future terrifies me! Oh, Omnipotent! Allow your spirit to enlighten me at this supreme moment! Hesus, have you heard me?" added Victoria in a louder voice, half rising on her couch; and with inspired eyes she proceeded: "What do I see? Is this the future that unveils itself before my eyes? Who is that woman—so pale, lying prostrate? Her robe is blood-bespattered. Also her chaplet of oaken leaves has drops of blood; the sword, that her virile hand once held, lies broken at her side. One of those savage Franks, his head ornamented with a crown, holds the noble woman under his knees; he looks with mild and timid mien at a man splendidly arrayed as a pontiff. Hesus! The bleeding woman—is Gaul! The barbarian who kneels down upon her—is a Frankish king! The pontiff—is the Bishop of Rome! Blood flows! a stream of blood! it carries in its course, to the light of the flames of conflagrations, a mass of ruins, thousands of corpses! Oh! the woman—Gaul, I see her again wan, worn, clad in rags, the iron collar of servitude on her neck; she drags herself on her knees; bending under a heavy burden! The Frankish king and the Roman bishop quicken the march of enslaved Gaul with their whips! Another torrent of blood; still the glamour of conflagration. Oh, Hesus! Enough! Enough ruins and massacre! Heaven be praised!" cried Victoria, whose face seemed for a moment to beam with divine splendor. "The noble woman has risen to her feet! Behold her—more beautiful, prouder than ever before! Her head is wreathed in a crown of fresh oak-leaves! In one hand she holds a sheaf of grain, grapes and flowers; in the other a red flag,[4] surmounted by the Gallic cock. Superbly she tramples under foot the fragments of her collar of slavery, the crown of the Frankish kings and that of the Roman pontiffs! Yes, that woman, free at last, stately, glorious and fruitful—she is Gaul! Hesus! Hesus! Be kind to her! Enable her to break the yoke of Kings and Pontiffs! Lead her to freedom, glorious and fruitful without being compelled to reach the goal by wading from century to century through those seas of tears, those seas of blood that affright me!"