by Eugène Sue
“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 ki
ndheartedness 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 l
etters 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.
CHAPTER VI.
THE TRAITOR UNMASKED.
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.
