CHAPTER II
THE CATASTROPHE
When I reached home, my son, I found your mother Ellen and her sister Sampso seated near your cradle. The moment Sampso saw me she cried:
"You arrive in time, Schanvoch, to help me convince Ellen that her fears are groundless – she is weeping – "
"What ails you, Ellen? What afflicts you?"
She dropped her head, made no answer, and continued weeping.
"She does not dare to admit to you the cause of her affliction, Schanvoch; my sister weeps because you are about to depart."
"What?" I asked Ellen in a tone of tender reproach, "you who are always so brave even when I leave for battle, are now timorous and tearful when I am only going on a peaceful journey that will not keep me away more than a few days – a journey into Gaul, where peace reigns! Ellen, your apprehensions are groundless."
"That is exactly what I have been repeating to my sister. Your journey does not expose you to any danger; and if you depart to-night it is because the matter is urgent."
"Yes, indeed! Why, it must be a positive pleasure to journey in the manner that I am about to do – on a mild summer's night, across the smiling fields of our own beautiful country that is to-day so calm and peaceful!"
"I know all that," said Ellen in a tremulous voice. "My alarm is senseless; and yet this journey fills me with dread."
And stretching her arms towards me imploringly:
"Schanvoch, my beloved husband, do not depart; I conjure you – do not depart – "
"Ellen," I replied sadly, "for the first time in my life I am compelled to answer you with a refusal – "
"I beg you, stay near me!"
"I would sacrifice everything to you, my duty excepted. The mission with which I am charged by Victoria is important – I promised to fulfil it. I must keep my word."
"Well, then, go," answered my wife amid a paroxysm of sobs, "and let my fate come upon me; it is your will!"
"Sampso, what fate does she mean?"
"Alas! Since this morning my sister has been a prey to gloomy presentiments. She admitted them to be as unaccountable as I considered them myself, and yet she is unable to overcome them. She says she feels certain that she will never see you again – or that some grave peril threatens you during your journey."
"Ellen, my beloved wife," I said, clasping her to my heart, "need I tell you that, short as our separation may be, it is always hard for me to be away from you? Would you add to that sorrow, the even greater one of having to leave you in such a desolate state?"
"Pardon me," answered Ellen making a strong effort over herself. "You are right; such weakness is unworthy of the wife of a soldier. See; I have stopped weeping. I am calm; your words have reassured me; I am ashamed of my timorous terrors; but in the name of our child who is now asleep in his cradle, do not go away annoyed at me. Let your good-bye caresses be tender as ever; I shall need that; yes, I shall need that in order to recover the courage that I am deficient in to-day."
Despite her apparent resignation, my wife seemed to suffer so much under the restraint that she imposed upon herself, that for a moment I thought of requesting Victoria to transfer the commission to Captain Marion, to the end that I might remain at home. One consideration held me back from putting the thought into execution; the time was too short. Seeing that the journey had to be undertaken that same night, Captain Marion could not possibly start on the spot. It would take hours in order to post the captain upon a matter of which he knew absolutely nothing, and which demanded promptness for success. Yielding to my duty, and, I must also say, convinced of the idleness of Ellen's fears, I decided to depart. I clasped her in my arms, and recommending her to the tender care of Sampso, I mounted my horse and rode off.
It was ten o'clock at night. A rider was to serve as my escort and messenger in case I had occasion to write to Victoria on the road. The rider was chosen for me by Captain Marion, to whom I applied for a reliable man; I found him ready, waiting for me at one of the gates of Mayence, and we trotted forth together. Although the moon was not to rise until late, the night was luminous by the light of the stars. I noticed, although without attaching at the time any importance to the circumstance, that, despite the mildness of the season, my traveling companion had on a heavy coat the hood of which fell down deep over his casque, so that even in full daylight it would have been difficult for me to see the man's face. Although a simple soldier like myself, instead of riding beside me, he allowed me to ride ahead of him without exchanging a word. On any other occasion, and being like all Gauls of a chatty disposition, I would not have accepted this mark of exaggerated deference; it would have deprived me of the conversation of a companion during a long ride. But I was saddened by the condition in which I had left my wife, and as despite myself, my mind insisted upon turning upon the sad forebodings that alarmed her, the sense of sadness grew upon me in the measure that the distance separating us increased; consequently I did not regret being left to my reflections during a part of the night. Thus, the rider following me, we traveled away from the town.
We had ridden about two hours without exchanging a word; the moon due in the sky towards midnight began to show her disk behind a hill that bounded the horizon. We had arrived at a crossing where four highways, built by the Romans, met. I slackened Tom-Bras's pace in order to ascertain the road I was to take, when suddenly my traveling companion raised his voice behind me and cried:
"Schanvoch, ride back home at full tilt – a horrible crime is being committed at this hour in your house!"
At these words I quickly turned in my saddle. By the glamour of the rising moon I could see the rider give a stupendous bound with his horse, clear the hedge that lined the road, and vanish in the shadow of the forest that we had been skirting for some time. Struck dumb with terror, I remained motionless for a moment; when, yielding to an impulse of curiosity and anguish, I thought of dashing after the rider and compelling an explanation of his words, it was too late. The moon was not yet far up enough to justify my pursuing the fugitive through the wood, which, moreover, was unknown to me. Besides, the rider had too much the lead of me. I listened intently for a moment, and I could hear in the profound stillness of the night the rapid gallop of the man's horse. He was far away. It seemed to me that he resumed the road to Mayence through the forest, consequently by a shorter route. For a moment I hesitated what to do. But recalling my wife's unaccountable forebodings and comparing them with the rider's words, I turned my horse's head and dashed back to the city.
"If," I thought to myself, "by some unconceivable accident the announcement to which I hearkened was as ill founded as Ellen's forebodings, with which, however, it strangely coincided; if my alarm turns out to be vain, I shall take a fresh horse at the camp and immediately resume my journey, which will have been delayed by three hours."
With voice and heels I urged on the rapid course of my horse Tom-Bras, and I rode headlong towards Mayence. In the measure that I approached the place where I left my wife and child, the gloomiest thoughts crowded upon me. What crime could it be that was being committed in my house? Was it to a friend, or was it to an enemy that I owed the revelation? At times I imagined the rider's voice was not unknown to me, yet I could not remember where I had heard it before. That which, above all, added fuel to my anxiety was the mysterious accord between the announcement just made to me and the presentiments that alarmed Ellen. The rising moon aided the swiftness of my course as it lighted the road. Trees, fields, houses vanished behind me with giddy swiftness. I consumed less than an hour in covering the same route that I had just spent two hours over. At last I reached the gates of Mayence. I felt Tom-Bras trembling under me, not for want of ardor or courage, but because his strength was spent. Seeing a soldier mounting guard, I said:
"Did you see a rider enter town this night?"
"About a quarter of an hour ago," the soldier answered, "a rider wrapped in a hooded mantle went by at a gallop. He rode towards the camp."
"It is he," I said to myself, and resumed my course at the risk of seeing Tom-Bras expire under me. There could be no doubt; my traveling companion made a short cut through the forest, but why did he proceed to the camp, instead of entering the town? A few moments later I arrived before my house. I leaped down from my horse that neighed gladly as he recognized the place. I ran to the door and knocked hard. No one opened to me, but I heard muffled cries within. Again I knocked with the handle of my sword, but in vain. The cries grew louder; I thought I heard Sampso's voice – I tried to break down the door – impossible. Suddenly the window of my wife's room was thrown open. I ran thither sword in hand. At the instant when I arrived at the casement, the shutters were pulled open from within. I rushed through the passage and found myself face to face with a man. The darkness prevented me from recognizing him. He was in the act of fleeing from Ellen's room, whose heartrending cries then reached my ears. To seize the man by the throat at the moment when he put his foot upon the window sill in order to escape, to throw him back into the pitch dark room, and to strike him several times with my sword while I cried: 'Ellen, here I am!' – all this happened with the swiftness of thought. I drew my sword from the body that lay at my feet and was about to plunge it again into the carcass – my rage was uncontrollable – when I felt two arms clasp me convulsively. I thought myself attacked by a second adversary and forthwith ran the other body through. The arms that had been thrown around my neck immediately loosened their hold, and at the same time I heard these words pronounced by an expiring voice:
"Schanvoch – you have killed me – thanks, my friend – it is sweet to me to die at your hands – I would not have been able to survive my shame – "
It was Ellen's voice.
My wife had run, dumb with terror, to place herself under my protection. It was her arms that had clasped me. I heard her fall upon the floor. I remained thunder-struck. My sword dropped from my hand; for several seconds the silence of death reigned in the room that was perfectly dark except for a beam of pale light that fell from the moon through the lattice of one of the shutters that the wind had blown to. The shutter was suddenly thrown open again from without, and by the light of the moon I saw a tall and slender woman, clad in a short red skirt and a silvery corsage, resting with her knee upon the outer window sill and leaning her head into the room say:
"Victorin, handsome Tarquin of a new Lucretia, quit the house; the night is far advanced. I saw you enter the door at midnight, the hour agreed upon, the husband being away. You shall now leave your charmer's house by the window, the passage of lovers. You kept your promise – now I am yours. Come, my cart awaits us. Venus will protect us!"
"Victorin!" I cried horrified, believing myself the sport of a frightful nightmare. "It was he – I killed him!"
"The husband!" exclaimed Kidda, the Bohemian, leaping back. "It must be the devil that brought him back!"
And she vanished.
Immediately afterwards I heard the sound of a cart's wheels and the clinking of the bell of the mule that drew it rapidly away, while from another direction, from the quarter of the camp, I heard a distant roar that drew steadily nearer and resembled the hubbub of a tumultuous mob. My stupor was followed by a distressful agony lighted by a faint ray of hope – perhaps Ellen was not dead. I ran to the inside chamber; it was closed from within. I knocked and called Sampso at the top of my voice. She answered me from another room, in which she had been locked up. I set her free, crying aloud:
"I struck Ellen with my sword in the dark – the wound may not be mortal; – run for the druid Omer – "
"I shall run to him on the spot," answered Sampso without asking me any questions.
She rushed to the house door which was bolted from within. As she opened it I saw a mob of soldiers advancing over the square where my house was situated and which was close to the entrance of the camp. Several soldiers carried torches; all uttered loud and threatening cries in which the name of Victorin constantly recurred.
I recognized the veteran Douarnek at the head of the mob. He was brandishing his sword.
"Schanvoch," he cried the moment he recognized me, "the rumor has just run over the camp that a shocking crime was committed in your house!"
"And the criminal is Victorin!" cried several voices drowning mine. "Death to the infamous fellow!"
"Death to the infamous fellow, who violated the wife of his friend!"
"Just as he violated the wife of the tavern-keeper on the Rhine, who killed herself in despair."
"The cowardly hypocrite pretended to have mended his ways!"
"To dishonor a soldier's wife! The wife of Schanvoch, who loved the debauché as if he were his own son!"
"And who, moreover, saved his life in battle!"
"Death! Death to the wretch!"
I found it impossible to dominate the furious cries with my voice; Sampso vainly sought to cross the crowd.
"For pity's sake, let me pass!" Sampso implored them. "I wish to fetch a physician druid. Ellen still breathes; her wound may not be mortal! Let me bring her help!"
Her words only served to redouble the indignation and fury of the soldiers. Instead of opening a passage for my wife's sister, they drove her back as they crowded towards the door. A compact and enraged mass stood there brandishing their swords, shaking their fists and vociferating:
"Death! Death to Victorin!"
"He slew Schanvoch's wife after doing violence to her!"
"She has died as the tavern-keeper's wife on the Rhine!"
"Victorin!" thundered Douarnek. "You will not this time escape punishment for your crimes!"
"We shall be your executioners!"
"Death! Death to Victorin!"
"It is impossible to break through the crowd and fetch a physician for my sister – she is lost!" Sampso cried out to me wringing her hands, while I vainly strove to make myself heard by the delirious crowd.
"I shall try to get out by the window," said Sampso.
Saying this the distracted girl rushed into the mortuary chamber, and I, making superhuman efforts to prevent the infuriated soldiers from invading my house in search of the general, for whose blood they thirsted, cried out to them:
"Withdraw! Leave me alone in this house of mourning! Justice has been done! Withdraw, comrades, withdraw!"
An ever heightening tumult drowned my words. I saw Sampso issuing from your mother's room carrying you, my son, in her arms. She was sobbing aloud and said:
"Brother, there is no hope! Ellen is rigid – her heart has stopped beating – she is dead!"
"Dead! Oh, dead! Hesus, have pity upon me!" I moaned and leaned against the wall of the vestibule; I felt my strength leaving me. Suddenly, however, a thrill ran through my frame. From mouth to mouth these words began to circulate among the soldiers:
"Here is Victoria! Here comes our mother!"
As the words were uttered the crowd swayed back from the entrance of my house to make room for my foster-sister. Such was the respect that the august woman inspired in the army, that silence speedily succeeded the tumultuous clamors of the soldiers. They realized the terrible position of that mother, who, attracted by the cries for justice and vengeance uttered against her own son, accused of an infamous crime, approached the scene in all the majesty of her maternal grief.
As to me, my heart felt like breaking. Victoria, my foster-sister, the woman in whose behalf my life had been but one continuous day of devotion – Victoria was about to find in my house the corpse of her son, slain by me – by me who knew him since his birth, and who loved him like my own! The thought of fleeing flashed through my mind – I lacked the physical strength. I remained where I was, supporting myself against the wall – distracted – vaguely looking before me, unable to stir.
The crowd of soldiers parted; they formed a long passage; and by the light of the moon and the torches I saw Victoria, clad in her long black robe and her little grandson in her arms, advancing slowly. She doubtlessly hoped to soothe the exasperation of the soldiers by presenting the innocent creature to their sight. Tetrik, Captain Marion and several other officers, who had notified Victoria of the tumult and its cause, followed behind her. They seemed to succeed in calming the seething fury of the troops. The silence grew solemn. The Mother of the Camps was only a few steps from my house when Douarnek approached her, and bending his knee said:
"Mother, your son has committed a great crime – we pity you from the bottom of our hearts. But you will see to it that justice is rendered us – we demand justice – "
"Yes, yes, justice!" cried the soldiers, whose irritation, after being checked for a moment, now broke out with renewed violence. The cry broke forth from all parts: "Justice! Or we will do justice ourselves!"
"Death to the infamous wretch!"
"Death to the man who dishonored his friend's wife!"
"Cursed be the name of Victorin!"
"Yes, cursed – cursed!" repeated a thousand threatening voices. "Cursed be his name forever!"
Pale, calm and imposing, Victoria stopped for a moment before Douarnek, who bent his knee as he addressed her. But when the cries of: "Death to Victorin!" "Cursed be his name!" exploded anew, my foster-sister, whose virile and beautiful countenance betrayed mortal anguish, stretched out her arms with the little child in them, as if the innocent creature implored mercy for its father.
It was then that the cries broke forth with fiercest violence:
"Death to Victorin! Cursed be his name!"
And immediately I perceived my recent traveling companion, recognizable by his cloak and hood, in which he still kept himself closely wrapped, push himself with a menacing air toward Victoria, and shaking his fist at her, cry:
"Yes, cursed be the name of Victorin! Let his stock be uprooted!"
Saying this the man violently tore the child from Victoria's arms, took it by the two feet, and dashed it with such fury upon the cobble-stones that its head was instantly shattered. The deed of ferocity was done with such brutality and swiftness that, although it aroused instant indignation, neither Douarnek nor any of the soldiers who precipitated themselves upon the hooded man to save the child were in time. The innocent child lay dead and bleeding upon the ground. I heard a heartrending cry escape Victoria, but immediately lost sight of her; fearing that some sort of danger threatened her life, the soldiers speedily surrounded and built with their breasts a wall around their mother. The rumor also reached my ears that, thanks to the tumult which ensued, the perpetrator of the horrible murder had succeeded in making his escape. Presently the ranks of the soldiers opened anew amid mournful silence, and again I perceived Victoria, her face bathed in tears, holding in her arms the now lifeless and bleeding body of Victorin's son. At the sight, I cried out from the threshold of my house to the crowd that was now dumb and in consternation:
"You demand justice? Justice has been done. I, Schanvoch, I have killed Victorin myself. He is innocent of my wife's death. Now, withdraw. Allow the Mother of the Camps to enter my house that she may weep over the bodies of her son and grandson."
Victoria thereupon said to me in a firm voice as she stood at the threshold of my house:
"You killed my son; you were right to avenge the outrage done to you."
"Yes," I answered her in a hollow voice, "yes, and in the dark I also killed my wife."
"Come, Schanvoch, join me in closing the eyelids of Ellen and Victorin."