The Branding Needle, or The Monastery of Charolles Part 11

"Nothing--except that you hasten my execution."

"I shall be magnanimous; your unshakable firmness pleases me; I shall spare you the torture and I shall leave to you the choice of death. You may choose between poison, iron, fire or water."

"Have my throat cut."

"It shall be as you wish, monk. Have you any other favor to ask?"

"Yes," said Loysik slowly stepping towards the ivory stand on which lay the case of medals, "I would like to take with me this bronze medal; I would like to keep it with me during the short time of life that is left me. It will be sweet to me to die with my eyes fixed upon this glorious effigy."

"Let me see what medal that is--they are all mere antique curiosities.

Truly, this woman is handsome, and proud under her Amazonian casque.

What is the inscription here below? _Victoria, Emperor_. A woman an emperor?"

"The sovereign t.i.tle was bestowed upon her after her death."

"She surely was of royal race?"

"She was of plebeian race."

"What was her life?"

"Simple--austere--ill.u.s.trious! Her great soul was visible in her serenely grave features--an august countenance that this bronze has preserved for posterity. Her life was that of a chaste wife--a sublime mother--a brave Gallic woman. She never left her modest home but to follow her son to war, or to the camps. The soldiers worshipped her; they called her their mother. She brought up her son manfully in the love for his country and set him the example of the loftiest virtues.

Her ambition--"

"This austere woman was ambitious!"

"As much as a mother may be for her son. Her ambition was to render that son a great citizen, the ardent desire of rendering him worthy of being chosen chief of Gaul by the people and the army."

"Brought up by so incomparable a mother, was he elected?"

"Citizens and soldiers acclaimed him with one voice. By choosing him they glorified Victoria--his stout-hearted preceptress. The brilliant qualities that they honored in him were her work. The son's election consecrated the sovereign influence of the mother--truly a sovereign in point of courage, genius and goodness. An era of glory and prosperity then opened to the country. Emanc.i.p.ating herself from the yoke of Rome, Gaul, free and strong, drove the Franks far away from her borders and began to enjoy the blessings of peace. And thus it came about that, from one end of our territory to the other there was one name everywhere idolized. That name--the first that the mothers taught their children after that of G.o.d--that name, so popular, that name wreathed in veneration and devoted love, was the name of Victoria!"

"In short, this woman, this incomparable mother, this divinity, this object of veneration--reigned in her son's name!"

"Yes, as virtue reigns over the world! Invisible to the eyes, it is to the heart that virtue reveals itself. As modest in her tastes as the obscurest matron in the land, Victoria fled from the glamor of honors.

Living privately in a humble dwelling at Treves or Mayence, she delighted in the glory of her son, and in the well-being of Gaul--but not in order to reign as Queen--she despised royalty."

"And what was the cause of her haughty disdain for the great of the earth?"

"She held that the right which kings arrogated to themselves of transmitting to their children the ownership of the country with its people, like a private domain with its cattle, was an outrage to the majesty of man and a crime before G.o.d. She furthermore held that hereditary rule depraves the best dispositions, and produces the monsters that have horrified the world. Faithful to her principles, she refused to render the power hereditary in her grandson."

"She had a grandson?"

"Like you, Victoria was a grandmother."

And Loysik looked fixedly at the Queen. There was, in the manner in which Loysik accented the words addressed to Brunhild: _Like you, Victoria, was a grandmother_--there was in his tone so crushing an emphasis, so withering a condemnation of the shocking means employed by the monster in order to deprave, enervate and morally kill her own grandsons, whose lives she was nevertheless compelled to respect in order that she might reign in their name, that Brunhild turned livid with rage, but controlling herself so as not to expose the wound inflicted upon her pride, dropped her eyes before the aged monk. Loysik proceeded:

"Victoria was a grandmother, and, while ruling Gaul with her genius she never dropped her distaff, which she ever plied near the cradle of her grandson; she watched over him as she had done over the child's father, with solicitous firmness; her hope was to render that child also a good citizen and brave soldier. Her hope was dashed. A frightful plot dragged into their graves both the son and grandson of the august woman. They both perished in a popular uprising."

"Ha! Ha!" cried Brunhild breaking forth into a burst of sardonic laughter, as if her gathering hatred for the Gallic heroine was a.s.suaged. "Such, then, is the justice of G.o.d!"

"Such is the justice of G.o.d--the crime enabled Victoria to bequeath to the admiration of posterity a n.o.ble example of patriotism and abnegation! After the death of her son and grandson, and being urgently requested by the people, the army and the senate to govern Gaul--Victoria refused. Aye," added Loysik in answer to a gesture of surprise that escaped Brunhild, "aye, Victoria refused twice. She designated the men whom she considered worthiest of being chosen chiefs of the country, and rendered to them the all-powerful support of her own popularity and the advice of her exceptional wisdom for the good of the country. Victoria continued to live modestly in her retreat, and so long as her life lasted, Gaul remained powerful and prosperous, rid both of the Romans and the Franks. Victoria died. Her death was the climax of a series of crimes of which her son and grandson were the first victims.

The ill.u.s.trious woman died poisoned."

"Ha! Ha!" cried Brunhild breaking forth anew in a burst of sardonic laughter. "Monk--monk--ever the justice of G.o.d!"

"Ever the justice of G.o.d--never was the death of the greatest geniuses that ever shed splendor upon the world wept as the death of Victoria was wept! One would have thought it was the funeral of Gaul! In the largest cities, in the obscurest villages, tears flowed from all eyes.

Everywhere these words were heard, broken with sobs: 'We have lost our mother!' The soldiers, those rough warriors of the legions of the Rhine, whose faces a hundred battles had bronzed--those soldiers wept like children. The mourning was universal; imposing as death itself. At Mayence, where Victoria died, the spectacle of sorrow was sublime.

Reclining upon an ivory couch draped in gold cloth, Victoria lay in state a week. Men, women, children, the army, the senate crowded the street of her house. Each came to contemplate for a last time in pious grief the august features of her who was the dearest, the most admired glory of Gaul--"

"Monk!" cried Brunhild seizing the arm of the venerable old man and seeking to drag him after her; "the executioners must be waiting--"

Loysik exerted only the force of inertia to resist the Queen; he remained motionless and continued in a calm and solemn voice:

"The mortal remains of Victoria the Great were placed upon the pyre and disappeared in a flame, pure, brilliant and radiant as the life that she had lived. Finally, in order to do honor to her virile genius across the ages, the people of Gaul decreed to her the sovereign t.i.tle that she had ever declined out of her sublime modesty. It is now more than four centuries ago since that bronze was cast in the effigy of _Victoria, Emperor_."

As he uttered these last words, Loysik took the medal in his hands.

Brunhild, whose rage now reached a paroxysmal pitch, s.n.a.t.c.hed the august image from the old monk's hands, dashed it on the floor, and trampled upon it in blind rage.

"Oh, Victoria! Victoria!" cried Loysik, his face beaming with exalted enthusiasm. "Oh, woman Emperor! Heroine of Gaul! I can now die! Your life will have been to Brunhild the punishment for her crimes!" And turning toward the Queen, who continued a prey to the frenzied vertigo that had seized her, he exclaimed triumphantly: "The glory of Victoria, like the bronze that you are trampling under foot, defies your impotent rage!"

At this point Warnachaire burst into the chamber crying:

"Madam--madam--disastrous tidings! A second messenger has just arrived from the army. By a skilful manoeuvre Clotaire II surrounded our German allies; the prospect of booty carried them over to the enemy's banners; he is now advancing with forced marches upon Chalon. Your presence, together with that of the young princes, in the army, is indispensible at this critical moment. I have just issued the necessary orders for your immediate departure. Come, madam, come! The safety of your kingdoms, perhaps your own life, is at stake--as you know, the son of Fredegonde is implacable!"

Struck with stupor at the sudden news Brunhild at first remained petrified, with her foot still resting upon the medal of Victoria. An instant later she had recovered herself, and in a clamorous voice, that sounded like the roar of an infuriate lioness, she cried:

"To me, my leudes! A horse--a horse! Brunhild will either be killed at the head of her army or the son of Fredegonde will meet his death in Burgundy. Send for the young princes! To horse. All forces on the march!"

PART III.

THE CAMP OF CLOTAIRE.

CHAPTER I.

WEEDING KINGLETS.

The village of Ryonne, situated on the banks of the little river of Vigienne, lies about three days' march from Chalon. Around the village a portion of the troops of Clotaire II, son of Fredegonde, lie encamped.

The King's tent has been set up under a clump of trees in the middle of the village. The sun has only just risen. Not far from the royal shelter stands a farmhouse. It is larger than any other in sight, and also in better condition. Its door is closed, and two Frankish soldiers are on guard before it. The only light that enters the house penetrates through a little window. From time to time one of the soldiers who is posted outside, looks in and listens through the window. A worm-eaten old trunk, two or three stools, a few household utensils, and a long box filled with straw--such are the furnishings of the place. On that rough straw couch are three children. They are clad in gold-and silver-trimmed silk clothes. Who may these children be, so magnificently clad, yet lying on that pallet like the children of slaves? They are the children of Thierry, the late King of Burgundy; they are the great-grandchildren of Brunhild. The three children are asleep in one another's arms.

Sigebert, the eldest, lies between his two brothers; Merovee's head, the youngest of the three, lies on Sigebert's breast. Corbe, the second, has his arm around his eldest brother's neck. The faces of the little princes, as they lie soundly asleep, are half hidden by their long hair, the symbol of the royal family. They seem to lie peacefully, almost happily. Especially the face of the eldest has an expression of angelic serenity. As the sun mounted higher and higher above the horizon, it presently darted its luminous and warm rays upon the group of sleeping children. Awakened by the heat and the brilliancy of the light, Sigebert pa.s.sed his white wan hands over his large and still half-closed eyes; he opened them; looked around with surprise; sat up on the pallet; and, as if suddenly remembering the sad reality, he threw himself back upon the straw. Tears soon inundated his pale visage, and he laid his hands over his lips in order to suppress the sobs that were struggling to escape.

The poor child feared to awaken his younger brothers. They were still soundly asleep, and, despite the movements of Sigebert, who, as he sat up, caused the head of Merovee to roll upon the straw, the latter's profound rest was not interrupted. Corbe, however, who was also half awakened by the heat of the sun, rubbed his eyes and mumbled: