by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER III.
THE SPECTRE OF WISIGARDE.
While her lord and master, Neroweg, together with his leudes, wasdrinking himself to the point of intoxication in the banquet hall,Godegisele, the count's fifth wife, sat in her chamber amidst her femaleslaves and diligently plied her distaff by the light of a copper lamp.Although still young, Godegisele was of delicate health and frail. Hercomplexion was waxen; her long pale-blonde hair was braided in twostrands and fell from under her _obbon_--the name given by the Franks toa sort of skull-cap woven of gold and silver thread--over her shoulders,that were bare like her arms. The advanced stage of pregnancy in whichshe was imparted to her sweet sad features an expression of suffering.Godegisele wore the costume of the Frankish women of high condition--along decollete robe with open and flowing sleeves, and held by a scarfaround her now unshapely waist. Her arms were ornamented with goldbracelets, studded with precious stones, while a sea-eel necklace thatderived its name from the fish, which, when captured, twists itselfaround the arm in such a manner that its head touches the tip of itstail--wound its golden, ruby-dotted coil around her neck. One thingthere was about Godegisele's robe that rendered it incongruous. Itswearer was frail, slender and short, but the rich robe seemed to havebeen made for a large and robust woman. About a score of youngwretchedly clad female slaves sat around Godegisele upon the leaves thatthe floor was strewn with, while the count's wife occupied an armedstool over which a silver embroidered carpet was thrown. Several of thegirl slaves were handsome. Some worked at their distaffs like theirmistress, others were engaged at their needles; occasionally theyexchanged a few words in a low voice and in the Gallic tongue, whichtheir mistress, being herself of Frankish extraction, understood poorly.One of them, named Morise, a young and handsome girl with raven-blackhair who was sold to a noble Frank when ten years of age, spoke thelanguage of the conquerors fluently, on account of which Godegiseleconversed with her in preference. At this moment the count's wifedropped her distaff which she held across her knees and said to theslave in a tremulous voice:
"And so, Morise, you saw her assassinated?"
"Yes, madam, I witnessed the sad scene. On that day she wore that samegreen robe with silver flowers that you have on, she also had on thehandsome necklace and bracelets that I see on your arms and neck."
Godegisele shuddered and could not withhold a fearful glance from herbracelets and robe, the latter of which was twice too large for her.
"And--for what reason did he kill her, Morise? What was it that angeredhim?"
"He had drunk more than usual on that evening--he entered here, where wenow are, unsteady of foot. It was winter--there was a fire in thehearth. His wife Wisigarde sat at a corner of the chimney. The seigneurcount then had among us a washerwoman, named Martine, for his favorite.He said to Martine: 'Come, come, confounded wench--let's to bed--andyou, Wisigarde,' he added addressing his wife, 'take a lamp and lightus.'"
"That, certainly, was a great shame upon Wisigarde."
"All the more, madam, seeing she was of a proud temper and impetuousnature. She often whipped and bit us, and she quarrelled a good dealwith the seigneur count."
"What, Morise! Did she dare quarrel with him?"
"Oh, she feared nothing--nothing! When she was in a rage, she roared andground her teeth like a lioness."
"What a terrible woman!"
"Well, madam, that evening, instead of yielding to the whim of theseigneur count, and taking the lamp to light him to his bed, Wisigardebegan scolding them both--the count and Martine."
"She certainly invited death! My blood freezes in my veins at thethought of it."
"Thereupon, madam, I saw, as clearly as I see you now, the count's eyesgrow bloodshot and froth rise to his lips. He threw himself upon hiswife, struck her in the face with his fist, and then, giving her a kickin the stomach, threw her to the ground. She was in as towering a rageas himself, and did not cease hurling invectives at him; she even triedto bite him, when, after he had thrown her upon the ground, he plantedboth his knees upon her chest. Finally, he held her throat so tight inboth his large hands that her face became violet and she was strangled.After she lay dead, he went to bed with Martine."
"Morise, I fear me the same fate for myself, some day. That terriblecount will yet kill me."
And shuddering over her whole frame, Godegisele dropped her head uponher bosom, and her distaff fell down at her feet.
"Oh, madam, you should not be so alarmed. As long, at any rate, as youwill be pregnant, you will have nothing to fear--the seigneur count willnot want to kill at one blow both his wife and child."
"But after I shall have given birth to that child--I shall then bekilled like Wisigarde!"
"That will depend, madam, upon the humor of the seigneur count. He mayprefer to cast you off and return you to your parents, as he did theother wives whom he did not kill."
"Oh, Morise! Would to heaven that monseigneur the count would return meto my family! What a misfortune to me it was that Neroweg should haveseen me when he visited Mayence! What a misfortune that the wisp ofstraw which he threw at my breast when he took me to wife was not asharp-pointed dagger! I would have at least died amidst my own family."
"What wisp of straw was that, madam?"
"Do you not know that it is the custom with us, that when a Frank weds afree girl, he takes her right hand, and with his left throws a wisp ofstraw into her bosom?"
"No, madam, I did not know that."
"It is the custom in Germany. Alas, Morise, I repeat it, would that thatwisp of straw had been a dagger! I would have died without undergoing mypresent agony. And now that I know about the murder of Wisigarde, mylife will be but one long and cruel agony."
"But, madam, you should have refused to wed the count, seeing heinspired you with such horror."
"I dared not, Morise. Oh, he will surely kill me! Woe is me! He willkill me!"
"Why think you, madam, that he will commit such a crime again? You neveras much as whisper a word, whatever he may do or say. He abuses us, thefemale slaves, seeing he is master, and you never complain; you neverset foot outside of the women's apartments, except for a short walkalong the fosse of the burg. Why, madam, I ask you, do you apprehendthat your husband will kill you?"
"When he is intoxicated he does not reason."
"That is true--there is always that danger."
"But that danger is continuous; he is every day intoxicated. Oh, why didI come to this distant region of Gaul, where I feel an utter stranger!"
And after a long interval of sad revery:
"Morise--my good Morise!"
"Madam, I am at your orders."
"You, all of you slaves, do not hate me, do you?"
"No, madam; you are not wicked like Wisigarde--you never whip and biteus."
"Morise, listen to me."
"Madam, I listen. But why are you silent? And your cheeks, otherwise sopale, growing incarnate--"
"It is because I dare not tell you. But listen, you are--you are--one ofmonseigneur the count's favorites."
"I have no choice--if not willingly, I must submit by force. Despite myrepugnance for him, I prefer to share his bed whenever he orders me,than to be striped by his whip, or be sent out to turn the wheel of themill; and by quietly submitting, I am employed in household work; thatis easier than to be employed at the hard labor of the fields--it is achoice of evils--this is the lesser, and the food is not as poor."
"I know--I know. I do not blame you, Morise. But answer me withoutlying: when you are with the count, you do not, do you, seek to irritatehim against me? Alas, we know of slaves who have in that way caused thedeath of their mistresses, and who thereupon became their seigneur'swife."
"I have such an aversion for him, madam, that I swear I never open mymouth but to say 'yes' or 'no' in answer to any question that he may putto me. Moreover, since he is always intoxicated at night when he callsme in, he hardly speaks. You see I have neither the chance nor the wishof speaking to him against you."
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"Is that really true, Morise? Really?"
"Yes, yes, madam."
"I would like to make you some little present, but monseigneur neverlets me have any money. He keeps all his money under lock and key in hiscoffers, and for only _morgen-gab_, the morning present that it iscustomary in our country for the husband to make to his wife, the counthas given me the robes and jewels of his fourth wife, Wisigarde. Everyday he demands of me that I show them to him, and he counts them. Ihave nothing to offer you, Morise, nothing but my friendship, if youpromise me not to irritate monseigneur against me."
"My heart would have to be very wicked, if I were to anger monseigneuragainst you."
"Ah, Morise! How I would like to be in your place!"
"You, a count's wife--you would prefer to be a slave! Impossible!"
"He will not kill you."
"Bah! He would as soon kill me as any one else, if the fancy tookhim--but you, madam, have in the meantime, beautiful dresses, richjewels, slaves to serve you--and besides, you are free."
"I do not step out of the burg."
"Because you do not wish to. Wisigarde rode on horseback and hunted. Youshould have seen her on her black palfrey, with her purple robe, and herfalcon on her finger! At any rate, though she be dead, she never wastedtime grieving--while you, madam, do nothing else than work at yourdistaff, or gaze at the sky from your window, or weep--what a life! Whata sad existence!"
"Alas, it is because I am always thinking of my own country, of myparents, so far away--so far away from this country of Gaul, where I aman utter stranger."
"Wisigarde did not trouble herself about such matters--she drank deeply,and ate almost as much as the count."
"He always told me and my father that she died of an accident. And soyou assure me, Morise, that it is there--on that spot--that he killedher?"
"Yes, madam, he threw her down with a kick--she fell near that beam--andthen--"
"What ails you, Morise--why do you tremble?"
"Madam, madam, do you not hear?"
"What? Everything is quiet."
"There is someone walking in seigneur the count's room--I hear the seatspushed about."
"Oh, it is he--it is my husband!"
"Yes, madam, it is his step."
"Oh, I am afraid--remain near me!"
It was Neroweg. His latest libations had thrown him into a state ofalmost complete intoxication. He stepped into his wife's apartment witha drunken man's unsteady foot. At the sight of their master, all theslaves rose timidly. As to Godegisele, she was in such a tremor that shewas hardly able to rise from her stool. The count stopped for a momentat the threshold, leaned one hand against the door-case, and, with hisbody swaying backward and forward, let his eyes travel over the scaredslaves with a besotted and semi-libidinous look. After repeatedhiccoughs he called out to his wife's confidant:
"Morise--come--come, confounded wench!"
And looking at Godegisele he added:
"You look pale--you seem troubled--my dove. Why so pale?"
The poor creature's mind doubtlessly ran upon the circumstances of thefateful night when her husband strangled his fourth wife, shortly afterhaving used these very words towards his then favorite slave: 'Come,come, confounded wench!' Neroweg's words threw his wife into greaterperturbation and frightened her to a degree that all she was able to saywas:
"Monseigneur! Monseigneur! Mercy!"
"What! What ails you? Answer!" shouted the count brutally. "Do you,perchance, object that I told Morise to come? Dare you cross me?"
"No! Oh, no! Is not monseigneur master in this place? Are not his femaleslaves at his orders? And am not I, Godegisele, myself, his humbleservant?"
And the unhappy woman, wholly losing her head in her terror, as sheimagined herself on the point of being strangled like Wisigarde, whoowed her death to her refusal to light her husband and his night'scompanion to the conjugal bed, hastened to stammer:
"On the contrary--if monseigneur wishes, I shall light him to his bedwith this lamp."
"Oh, madam!" Morise whispered to her mistress. "What an unfortunateinspiration is that! It is to recall to the count's memory the murder ofhis other wife."
Indeed, at the last words of Godegisele a shudder ran through Neroweg;he brusquely stepped towards her; seized her threateningly by the armand bellowed in a maudlin voice:
"Why do you propose to light me to bed with a lamp?"
"Mercy, monseigneur! Do not kill me!"--and she dropped upon her knees."Oh, do not kill me, your servant, as you killed Wisigarde."
The count suddenly grew as pale as his wife, and, stricken with a terrorthat stimulated his inebriety, he cried:
"She knows that I strangled Wisigarde! She is uttering the same wordsthat Wisigarde uttered when I killed her! This is the work of some evilspirit! Wisigarde herself or her spectre will perhaps appear this nightbefore my bed and torment me! It is a warning from heaven--or from hell.The devil must be conjured away!"
And turning to Morise:
"Run quick for the clerk! He shall pray at my side during the night--heshall not leave me. The spectre of Wisigarde will not dare to approachme with a priest at my side."
The count's terror increased amain while Morise ran out for the clerk,and Godegisele, more dead than alive with fear, clung on her knees tothe beam as she felt her strength wholly leaving her. The count noticednot her distress, but also dropping on his knees smote his chest andcried:
"Lord, God! Have mercy upon a miserable sinner! I paid for my brother'sdeath, I paid for the death of my wife Wisigarde, I shall pay stillmore to keep Wisigarde from haunting me! I shall to-morrow start thebuilding of the chapel in the fastness of Allange; I shall have thevilla of Bishop Cautin rebuilt! Lord! Good Lord God! Have mercy upon amiserable sinner! Deliver me from the devil and from the spectre ofWisigarde!"
And the fervent and devout believer, besotted with terror andintoxication, furiously smote his chest as, filled with frightfulanxiety, he awaited the arrival of the clerk.
Such was the humanity, generousness, enlightenment of the race of theconquerors of old Gaul! What a tender attachment to their wives! What arespect for the sweet bonds of the family and for the sanctity of thedomestic hearth! Oh, our mothers! Virile matrons, so venerated by ourancestors! Proud Gallic women of yore, who sat beside your husbands atthe solemn councils of the state, where peace and war were decided upon!Wives beloved, valiant and strong in arms! Holy virgins! Women emperors!O, Margarid, Hena, Meroe, Loyse, Genevieve, Ellen, Sampso, Victoria theGreat--rejoice! Rejoice that you have quitted this world for themysterious worlds where we shall live forever! Rejoice at the strongnessof your hearts! What indignation, what shame, what a grief to your soulsat the sight of your sisters--although of a different race from your ownand hostile--at the sight of women--the wives of kings, seigneurs andwarriors--treated, the wicked and the good alike, with such contempt andferocity by their barbarous husbands!
Such are those Franks whom the bishops invited to the quarry of Gaul!Such are the conquerors whom the priests of Christ fondle, caress,flatter and bless!
