Back Aa

Gold Sickle, The

Close

<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> THE STORY OF ALBREGE. "Is it a story that you want of me?" asked the unknown guest turning to Joel, and seeing the eyes of all fixed upon himself. "One story?" cried Joel. "Tell us twenty, a hundred! You must have seen so much! so many countries! so many peoples! One story only? Ah, by the good Ormi, you shall not be let off with only one story, friend guest!" "Oh, no!" cried the family in chorus and with set determination. "Oh, no! We must have more than one!" "And yet," observed the stranger with a pensive and severe mien, "there is more serious work in hand than to tell and listen to frivolous stories." "I understand not what you mean," said Joel no less taken back than his family; all turned their eyes upon the stranger in silent amazement. "No, you do not understand me," replied the stranger sadly. "Nevertheless, I shall keep my promise—the thing promised is a thing done;" and pointing to Julyan who had remained at the other end of the hall near the oak-covered body of Armel he added: "We must see to it that that young man has something to tell his brother when he joins him beyond." "Proceed, guest, proceed with your story," answered Julyan, without raising his head from his hands; "proceed with your story; I shall not lose a word.... Armel shall hear it just as you tell it." "Two years ago," said the stranger, beginning his story, "while traveling among the Gauls who inhabit the borders of the Rhine, I happened one day to be at Strasburg. I had gone out of the town for a walk along the river bank. Presently I saw a large crowd of people moving in the direction of where I stood. They were following a man and woman, both young and both handsome, who carried on a buckler, that they held by the edges, a little baby not more than three or four months old. The man looked restless and somber; the woman pale and calm. Both stopped at the river's bank, at a spot where the stream runs especially rapid. The crowd also stopped. I drew near and inquired who the man and woman were. 'The man's name is Vindorix, the woman's Albrege; they are man and wife,' was the answer I received. I then saw Vindorix, whose countenance waxed more and more somber, approach his wife and say to her: "'This is the time.' "'Do you wish it?' asked Albrege. 'Do you wish it?' "'Yes,' answered the husband; 'I doubt—I want to be certain.' "'Then, be it so,' said she. "Thereupon, himself taking the buckler where the little child lay, smiling and stretching out its chubby arms to him, Vindorix walked into the river up to his waist, raised the buckler and child for a moment over his head, and looked back a last time towards his wife, as if to threaten her with what he was about to do. With her forehead high and a steady countenance, Albrege remained erect at the river bank, motionless like a statue, her arms crossed upon her bosom. When her husband now turned to her she stretched out her right hand towards him as if to say: "'Do it!' "At that moment a shudder ran over the crowd. Vindorix deposited upon the stream the buckler on which lay the child, and in that frail craft left the infant to the mercy of the eddies." "Oh, the wicked man!" cried Mamm' Margarid deeply moved by the story as were the other hearers. "And his wife!... his wife ... who remained on the bank?—" "But what was the reason of such a barbarity, friend guest?" asked Henory, the young wife of Guilhern embracing her two children, little Sylvest and little Syomara, both of whom she took on her knees as if fearing to see them exposed to a similar danger. With a gesture the stranger put an end to the interrogatories, and proceeded: "The stream had barely carried away the buckler on which the child lay, than the father raised both his trembling hands to heaven as if to invoke the gods. He followed the course of the buckler with sullen anxiety, leaning, despite himself, to the right when the buckler dipped to the right, and to the left when the buckler dipped on that side. The mother, on the contrary, her arms crossed over her bosom, followed the buckler with firm eyes, and as tranquil as if she had nothing to fear for her child." "Nothing to fear!" cried Guilhern. "To see her child thus exposed to almost certain death ... it is bound to go under...." "That must have been an unnatural mother," cried Henory. "And not one man in all that crowd to jump into the water and save the child!" observed Julyan thinking of his friend. "Oh, that will surely anger the heart of Armel, when I tell him that." "But do not interrupt every instant!" cried Joel. "Proceed, my guest; may Teutates, who presides over all journeys made in this world and in the others, guard the poor little thing!" "Twice," the stranger proceeded, "the buckler threatened to be swallowed up by the eddies of the rapid stream. Of all present, only the mother moved not a muscle. Presently the buckler was seen riding the waters like an airy skiff and peacefully following the course of the stream beyond the rapids. Immediately the crowd cried, beating their hands: "'The boat! The boat!' "Two men ran down the bank, pushed off a boat, and swiftly plying their oars, quickly reached the buckler, and took it up from the water together with the child that had fallen asleep—" "Thanks to the gods! The child is saved!" exclaimed almost in chorus the family of Joel, as if delivered from a painful apprehension. Perceiving that he was about to be again interrupted by fresh questions, the stranger hastened to resume his narrative. "While the buckler and child were being taken from the water, its father Vindorix, whose face was now as radiant with joy as it was somber until then, ran to his wife, and stretching out his arms to her said:" "'Albrege!... Albrege!... You told me the truth.... You were faithful!'" "But repelling her husband with an imperious gesture, Albrege answered him proudly: 'Certain of my honor, I did not fear the trial.... I felt at ease on my child's fate. The gods could not punish an innocent woman with the loss of her child.... But ... a woman suspected is a woman outraged.... I shall keep my child. You never more shall see us, nor him, nor me.... You have doubted your wife's honor!'" "The child was just then brought in triumph. Its mother threw herself upon it, like a lioness upon her whelp; pressed it closely to her heart; so calm and peaceful as she had been until then, so violent was she now with the caresses that she showered upon the baby, with whom she now fled away." "O, that was a true daughter of Gaul!" said Guilhern's wife. "A woman suspected is a woman outraged. Those are proud words.... I like to hear them!" "But," asked Joel, "is that trial one of the customs of the Gauls along the Rhine?" "Yes," answered the stranger; "the husband who suspects his wife of having dishonored his bed, places the baby upon a buckler and exposes it to the current of the river. If the child remains afloat, the wife's innocence is proved; if it sinks under the waves, the mother's crime is considered established." "And how was that brave wife clad, friend guest?" asked Henory. "Did she wear a tunic like ours?" "No," answered the stranger; "the tunics in that region are very short and of two colors. The corsage is generally blue, the skirt red. The latter is often embroidered with gold and silver thread." "And their head-gear?" asked one of the young girls. "Are they white and cut square like our own?" "No; they are black and bell-shaped, and they are also embroidered in gold and silver." "And the bucklers?" queried Guilhern. "Are they like ours?" "They are longer, and they are painted with lively colors, usually arranged in squares. Red and white is a very common combination." "And the marriages, how are they celebrated?" inquired another young girl. "And the cattle, are they as fine as ours?" an old man wanted to know. "And have they like us brave fighting cocks?" asked a child. The stranger was being assailed with such a shower of questions that Joel said to the questioners: "Enough; enough.... Let our friend regain his breath. You are screaming around him like a flock of sea-gulls." "Do they pay, as we do, the money they owe the dead?" asked Stumpy, despite Joel's orders to cease questioning the stranger. "Yes; their custom and ours is the same as here," answered the stranger; "and they are not idolaters like a man from Asia whom I met at Marseilles, and who claimed that, according to his religion, we continued to live after death, but not clad in human shape, according to him we were clad in the form of animals." "Her! ... Her!" cried Stumpy in great trouble. "If it were as those idolatrous people claim, then Gigel, who departed instead of old Mark, may be now inhabiting the body of a fish; and I would have sent him three pieces of silver with Armel who might now be inhabiting the body of a bird. How could a bird deliver silver pieces to a fish. Her! ... Her!" "Our friend told you that that belief is idolatry, Stumpy," put in Joel with severity; "your fear is impious." "It must be so," said Julyan sadly. "What would I become who am to proceed to-morrow to meet Armel by oath and out of friendship, were I to find him turned into a bird while I may be turned into a stag of the woods or an ox of the fields?" "Fear not, young man," said the stranger to Julyan, "the religion of Hesus is the only true religion; it teaches us that after death we are reclad in younger and handsomer bodies." "I pin my hopes on that!" said Stumpy. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2