The Infant's Skull; Or, The End of the World. A Tale of the Millennium

Day was waning. Darkness began to invade the spacious apartment where seventy-five years before Francon, archbishop of Rouen, informed Charles the Simple that he was to give his daughter Ghisele together with the domains of Neustria to Rolf the Norman pirate, and where now King Louis and his wife Blanche had spent the day.

Louis the Do-nothing was asleep at full length upon his lounge near to the table that was still covered with the dishes and vases of gold and silver. The King's sleep was painful and restless. A cold sweat ran down his forehead that waxed livid by the second. Presently an overpowering torpor succeeded his restlessness, and Louis remained plunged in apparent calmness, although his features were rapidly becoming cadaverous. Standing behind the lounge with his elbows resting against its head, Yvon the Calf contemplated the King of the Franks with an expression of somber and savage triumph. Yvon had dropped his mask of stupidity. His features now revealed undisguised intelligence, hidden until then by the semblance of idiocy. The profoundest silence reigned in the apartment now darkened by the approach of night. Suddenly, emitting a deep groan, the King awoke with a start. Yvon stooped down and disappeared behind the lounge while the King muttered to himself: "There is a strange feeling upon me… I felt so violent a pain in my heart that it woke me up…" then looking towards the window: "What! Is it night!.. I must have slept long… Where is the Queen?.. Why was I left alone?.. I feel heavy and my feet are cold… Halloa, someone!" he called out turning his face to the door, "Halloa, Gondulf!.. Wilfrid!.. Sigefried!" At the third name that he pronounced, Louis' voice, at first loud, became almost unintelligible, it sunk to a husky whisper. He sat up. "What is the matter with me? My voice is so feeble that I can hardly hear myself. My throat seems to close … then this icy feeling … this cold that freezes my feet and is rising to my legs!" The King of the Franks had barely uttered these words when a shudder of fear ran through him. He saw before him Yvon the Calf who had suddenly risen and now stood erect behind the head of the lounge. "What are you doing there?" asked Louis, and he immediately added with a sinking voice: "Run quick for some one… I am in danger…", but interrupting himself he observed: "Of what use is such an order; the wretch is an idiot… Why am I left thus alone?.. I shall rouse myself," and Louis rose painfully; but hardly had he put his feet down when his limbs gave way under him and he fell in a heap with a dull thud upon the floor. "Help! Help!.. Oh, God, have pity upon me!.. Help!"

"Louis, it is too late!" came from Yvon in a solemn voice. "You are about to die … barely twenty years old, Oh, King of the Franks!"

"What says that idiot? What is the Calf doing here?"

"You are about to die as died last year your father Lothaire, poisoned by his wife! You have been poisoned by Queen Blanche!"

Fear drew a long cry from Louis; his hair stood on end over his icy forehead, his lips, now purple, moved convulsively without producing a sound; his eyes, fixed upon Yvon, became troubled and glassy, but still retaining a last glimmer of intelligence, while the rest of his body remained inert.

"This morning," said Yvon, "the Count of Paris, Hugh the Capet, met your wife by appointment in the forest. Hugh is a cunning and unscrupulous man. Last year he caused the poisoning of your father by Queen Imma and her accomplice the bishop of Laon; to-day he caused you to be poisoned by Blanche, your wife, and to-morrow the Count of Paris will be King!" Louis understood what Yvon was saying, although his mind was beclouded by the approach of death. A smile of hatred contracted his lips. "You believed yourself safe from danger," Yvon proceeded, "by compelling your wife to eat of the dishes that she served you. All poison has its antidote. Blanche could with impunity moisten her lips in the wine she had poisoned – " Louis seemed hardly to hear these last words of Yvon; his limbs stiffened, his head dropped and thumped against the floor; his eyes rolled for a last time in their depths; a slight froth gathered on his now blackened lips; he uttered a slight moan, and the last crowned scion of the Carlovingian stock had passed away.

"Thus end the royal races! Thus, sooner or later, do they expiate their original crime!" thought Yvon contemplating the corpse of the last Carlovingian king lying at his feet. "My ancestor Amæl, the descendant of Joel and of Genevieve, declined to be the jailor of little Childeric, in whom the stock of Clovis was extinguished, and now I witness the crime by which is extinguished, in the person of Louis the Do-nothing, the stock of Charles the Great – the second dynasty of the conquerers of Gaul. Perchance some descendant of my own will in the ages to come witness the punishment of this third dynasty of kings, now raised by Hugh the Capet through an act of cowardly perfidy!"

Steps were heard outside. Sigefried, one of the courtiers, entered the apartment saying to the King: "Seigneur, despite the express orders of the Queen, who commanded us not to disturb your slumber, I come to announce to you the arrival of the Count of Paris."

So saying, Sigefried drew near, leaving the door open behind him. Yvon profited by the circumstance and groped his way out of the apartment under cover of the dark. Receiving no answer from Louis, Sigefried believed the King was still asleep, when, drawing still nearer he saw the King's body lying on the floor. He stooped and touched the icy hand. Struck with terror he ran to the door crying out: "Help!.. Help!" and crossed the next room continuing to call for assistance. Several servitors soon appeared with torches in their hands, preceding Hugh the Capet, who now was clad in his brilliant armor and accompanied by several of his officers. "What?" cried the Count of Paris addressing Sigefried in an accent of surprise and alarm, "The King cannot be dead!"

"Oh, Sire, I found Louis on the floor where he must have dropped down from the lounge. I touched his hand. It was icy!" saying which Sigefried followed Hugh the Capet into the apartment that now was brilliantly lighted by the torches of the servants. The Count of Paris contemplated for an instant the corpse of the last Carlovingian king, and cried in a tone of pity: "Oh! Dead! And only twenty years of age!" and turning towards Sigefried with his hands to his eyes as if seeking to conceal his tears: "How can we account for so sudden a death?"

"Seigneur, the King was in perfect health this morning. He sat down at table with the Queen; after that she left giving us orders not to disturb her husband's sleep; and – " Sigefried's report was interrupted by nearing lamentations, and Blanche ran in followed by several of her women. Her hair was tumbled, her looks distracted. "Is Louis really dead?" and upon the answer that she received she cried:

"Woe is me! Woe is me! I have lost my beloved husband! For pity's sake, seigneur Hugh, do not leave me alone! Oh, promise me to join your efforts to mine to discover the author of his death, if my Louis died by crime!"

"Oh, worthy spouse, I swear to God and his saints, I shall help you discover the criminal!" answered Hugh the Capet solemnly; and seeing Blanche tremble and stagger on her feet like one about to fall he cried: "Help! Blanche is swooning!" and he received in his arms the seemingly fainting body of Blanche who whispered in his ear: "I am a widow … you are King!"

CHAPTER VI.

YVON AND MARCELINE

Upon leaving the room where lay the corpse of Louis the Do-nothing, Yvon descended the stairs to the apartment of Adelaide, the lady of the Queen's chamber, and mistress of the golden-haired Marceline, whom he expected to find alone, Adelaide having followed the Queen when the latter ran to the King's apartment feigning despair at the death of her husband. Yvon found the young female serf at the threshold of the door in a state of great agitation at the tumult that had suddenly invaded the castle. "Marceline," Yvon said to her, "I must speak with you; let us step into your mistress's room. She will not leave the Queen for a long time. We shall not be interrupted. Come!" The young woman opened wide her eyes at seeing for the first time the Calf expressing himself in a sane manner, and his face now free of its wonted look of stupidity. In her astonishment, Marceline could not at first utter a word, and Yvon explained, smiling: "Marceline, my language astonishes you. The reason is, you see, I am no longer Yvon the Calf but … Yvon who loves you! Yvon who adores Marceline!"

"Yvon who loves me!" cried the poor serf in fear. "Oh, God, this is some sorcery!"

"If so, Marceline, you are the sorceress. But, now, listen to me. When you will have heard me, you will answer me whether you are willing or not to have me for your husband." Yvon entered the room mechanically followed by Marceline. She thought herself in a dream; her eyes did not leave the Calf and found his face more and more comely. She remembered that, often struck by the affectionateness and intelligence that beamed from Yvon's eyes, she had asked herself how such looks could come from a young man who was devoid of reason.

"Marceline," he proceeded, "in order to put an end to your surprise, I must first speak to you of my family."

"Oh, speak, Yvon, speak! I feel so happy to see you speak like a sane person, and such language!"

"Well, then, my lovely Marceline, my great-grandfather, a skipper of Paris named Eidiol, had a son and two daughters. One of these, Jeanike, kidnapped at an early age from her parents, was sold for a serf to the superintendant of this domain, and later she became the wet-nurse of the daughter of Charles the Simple, whose descendant, Louis the Do-nothing, has just died."

"Is the rumor really true? Is the King dead? So suddenly? It is strange!"

"Marceline, these kings could not die too soon. Well, then, Jeanike, the daughter of my great-grandfather had two children, Germain, a forester serf of this domain, and Yvonne, a charming girl, whom Guyrion the Plunger, son of my great-grandfather, took to wife. She went with him to Paris, where they settled down and where he plied his father's trade of skipper. Guyrion had from Yvonne a son named Leduecq … and he was my father. My grandfather Guyrion remained in Paris as skipper. A woman named Anne the Sweet was assaulted by one of the officers of the Count of the city, and her husband, Rustic the Gay, a friend of my father, killed the officer. The soldiers ran to arms and the mariners rose at the call of Rustic and Guyrion, but both of them were killed together with Anne in the bloody fray that ensued. My grandfather being one of the leaders in the revolt, the little he owned was confiscated. Reduced to misery, his widow left Paris with her son and came to her brother Germain the forester for shelter. He shared his hut with Yvonne and her son. Such is the iniquity of the feudal law that those who dwell a year and a day upon royal or seigniorial domain become its serfs. Such was the fate of my grandfather's widow and her son Leduecq. She was put to work in the fields, Leduecq following the occupation of his uncle succeeded him as forester of the canton of the Fountain of the Hinds. Later he married a serf whose mother was a washerwoman of the castle. I was born of that marriage. My father, who was as gentle towards my mother and myself as he was rude and intractable towards all others, never ceased thinking of the death of my grandfather Guyrion, who was slaughtered by the soldiers of the Count of Paris. He never left the forest except to carry his tax of game to the castle. Of a somber and indominable character, often switched for his insubordination towards the bailiff's agents, he would have taken a cruel revenge for the ill-treatment that he was subjected to were it not for the fear of leaving my mother and myself in want. She died about a year ago. My father survived her only a few months. When I lost him, I came by orders of the bailiff to live with my maternal aunt, a washerwoman at the castle of Compiegne. You now know my family."

"The good Martha! When you first came here she always said to me: 'It is no wonder that my grandson looks like a savage; he never left the forest.' But during the last days of her life your grandmother often said to me with tears in her eyes: 'The good God has willed it that Yvon be an idiot.' I thought as she did, and therefore had great pity for you. And yet, how mistaken I was. You speak like a clerk. While you were just now speaking, I said to myself: 'Can it be?.. Yvon the Calf, who talks that way? And he in love?'"

"And are you pleased to see your error dispelled? Do you reciprocate my feelings?"

"I do not know," answered the young serf blushing. "I am so taken by surprise by all that you have been telling me! I must have time to think."

"Marceline, will you marry me, yes or no? You are an orphan; you depend upon your mistress; I upon the bailiff; we are serfs of the same domain; can there be any reason why they should refuse their consent to our marriage?" And he added bitterly: "Does not the lambkin that is born increase its master's herd?"

"Alack! According to the laws our children are born and die serfs as ourselves! But would my mistress Adelaide give her consent to my marrying an idiot?"

"This is my project: Adelaide is a favorite and confidante of the Queen. Now, then this is a beautiful day for the Queen."

"What! The day when the King, her husband, died?"

"For that very reason. The Queen is to-day in high feather, and for a thousand reasons her confidante, your mistress, must feel no less happy than the widow of Louis the Do-nothing. To ask for a favor at such a moment is to have it granted."

"What favor would you ask?"

"If you consent to marry me, Marceline, you will need Adelaide's permission and we shall want her promise to have me appointed forester serf with the canton of the Fountain of the Hinds under my charge. Two words of your mistress to the Queen, two words of the Queen to the bailiff of the domain, and our wishes are fulfilled."

"But, Yvon, do you consider that everybody takes you for an idiot? And would they entrust you with a canton? It is out of the question."

"Let them give me a bow and arrows and I am ready to acquit myself as an archer. I have an accurate eye and steady hand."

"But how will you explain the sudden change that has turned you from an idiot to a sane man? People will want to know why you pretended to be an idiot. You will be severely punished for the ruse. Oh, my friend, all that makes me tremble."

"After I am married I shall tell you my reasons for my long comedy. As to my transformation from idiocy to sanity, that is to be the subject of a miracle. The thought struck me this morning while I followed your mistress and the Queen to the hermitage of St. Eusebius. Everything is explainable with the intervention of a saint."

"And why did you follow the Queen?"

"Having woke up this morning before dawn, I happened near the fosse of the castle. Hardly was the sun up when I saw at a distance your mistress and the Queen going all alone towards the forest. The mysterious promenade pricked my curiosity. I followed them at a distance across the copse. They arrived at the hermitage of St. Eusebius. Your mistress remained there, but the Queen took the path to the Fountain of the Hinds."

"What could she be up to at that early hour? My curiosity also is now pricked."

"That is another question that I shall satisfy you upon after we are married, Marceline," answered Yvon after a moment's reflection; "but to return to the miracle that is to explain my transformation from idiocy to sanity, it is quite simple: St. Eusebius, the patron of the hermitage, will be credited with having performed the prodigy, and the monk, who now derives a goodly revenue from the hermitage will not deny my explanation, seeing that the report of the new miracle will double his tithes. His whole fraternity speculate upon human stupidity."

The golden-haired Marceline smiled broadly at the young man's idea, and replied:

"Can it be Yvon the Calf that reasons thus?"

"No, my dear and sweet maid, it is Yvon the lover; Yvon on whom you took pity when he was everybody else's butt and victim; Yvon, who, in return for your good heart, offers you love and devotion. That is all a poor serf can promise, seeing that his labor and his life belong to his master. Accept my offer, Marceline, we shall be as happy as one can be in these accursed times. We shall cultivate the field that surrounds the forester's hut; I shall kill for the castle the game wanted there, and as sure as the good God has created the stags for the hunt, we never shall want for a loin of venison. You will take charge of our vegetable garden. The streamlet of the Fountain of the Hinds flows but a hundred paces from our home. We shall live alone in the thick of the woods without other companions than the birds and our children. And now, again, is it 'yes' or 'no'? I want a quick answer."

"Oh, Yvon," answered Marceline, tears of joy running from her eyes, "if a serf could dispose of herself, I would say 'yes' … aye, a hundred times, 'yes'!"

"My beloved, our happiness depends upon you. If you have the courage to request your mistress's permission to take me for your husband, you may be certain of her consent."

"Shall I ask Dame Adelaide this evening?"

"No, but to-morrow morning, after I shall have come back with my sanity. I am going on the spot to fetch it at the hermitage of St. Eusebius, and to-morrow I shall bring it to you nice and fresh from the holy place – and with the monk's consent, too."

"And people called him the 'Calf'!" murmured the young serf more and more charmed at the retorts of Yvon, who disappeared speedily, fearing he might be surprised by the Queen's lady of the chamber, Adelaide.