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Books: Antonina

W >> Wilkie Collins >> Antonina




'Dishonour will avenge you--Famine will avenge you--Pestilence will
avenge you!'

'They will avenge my nation; they will not avenge me. I have seen the
blood of Gothic women spilt around me--I have looked on my children's
corpses bleeding at my feet! Will a famine that I cannot see, and a
pestilence that I cannot watch, give me vengeance for this? Look! Here
is the helmet-crest of my husband and your brother--the helmet-crest
that was flung to me as a witness that the Romans had slain him! Since
the massacre of Aquileia it has never quitted my bosom. I have sworn
that the blood which stains and darkens it, shall be washed off in the
blood of the people of Rome. Though I should perish under those
accursed walls; though you in your soulless patience should refuse me
protection and aid; I, widowed, weakened, forsaken as I am, will hold to
the fulfilment of my oath!'

As she ceased she folded the crest in her mantle, and turned abruptly
from Hermanric in bitter and undissembled scorn. All the attributes of
her sex, in thought, expression, and manner, seemed to have deserted
her. The very tones she spoke in were harsh and unwomanly.


Every word she had uttered, every action she had displayed, had sunk
into the inmost heart, had stirred the fiercest passions of the young
warrior whom she addressed. The first national sentiment discoverable
in the day-spring of the ages of Gothic history, is the love of war; but
the second is the reverence of woman. This latter feeling--especially
remarkable among so fierce and unsusceptible a people as the ancient
Scandinavians--was entirely unconnected with those strong attaching
ties, which are the natural consequence of the warm temperaments of more
southern nations; for love was numbered with the base inferior passions,
in the frigid and hardy composition of the warrior of the north. It was
the offspring of reasoning and observation, not of instinctive sentiment
and momentary impulse. In the wild, poetical code of the old Gothic
superstition was one axiom, closely and strangely approximating to an
important theory in the Christian scheme--the watchfulness of an
omnipotent Creator over a finite creature. Every action of the body,
every impulse of the mind, was the immediate result, in the system of
worship among the Goths of the direct, though invisible interference of
the divinities they adored. When, therefore, they observed that women
were more submitted in body to the mysterious laws of nature and
temperament, and more swayed in mind by the native and universal
instincts of humanity than themselves, they inferred as an inevitable
conclusion, that the female sex was more incessantly regarded, and more
constantly and remarkably influenced by the gods of their worship, than
the male. Acting under this persuasion, they committed the study of
medicine, the interpretation of dreams, and in many instances, the
mysteries of communication with the invisible world, to the care of
their women. The gentler sex became their counsellors in difficulty,
and their physicians in sickness--their companions rather than their
mistresses,--the objects of their veneration rather than the purveyors
of their pleasures. Although in after years, the national migrations of
the Goths changed the national temperament, although their ancient
mythology was exchanged for the worship of Christ, this prevailing
sentiment of their earliest existence as a people never entirely
deserted them; but, with different modifications and in different forms,
maintained much of its old supremacy through all changes of manners and
varieties of customs, descending finally to their posterity among the
present nations of Europe, in the shape of that established code of
universal courtesy to women, which is admitted to be one great
distinguishing mark between the social systems of the inhabitants of
civilised and uncivilised lands.

This powerful and remarkable ascendancy of the woman over the man, among
the Goths, could hardly be more strikingly displayed than in the
instance of Hermanric. It appeared, not only in the deteriorating
effect of the constant companionship of Goisvintha on his naturally
manly character, but also in the strong influence over his mind of the
last words of fury and disdain that she had spoken. His eyes gleamed
with anger, his cheeks flushed with shame, as he listened to those
passages in her wrathful remonstrance which reflected most bitterly on
himself. She had scarcely ceased, and turned to retire into the tent,
when he arrested her progress, and replied, in heightened and accusing
tones:--

'You wrong me by your words! When I saw you among the Alps, did I
refuse you protection? When the child was wounded, did I leave him to
suffer unaided? When he died, did I forsake him to rot upon the earth,
or abandon to his mother the digging of his grave? When we approached
Aquileia, and marched past Ravenna, did I forget that the sword hung at
my shoulder? Was it at my will that it remained sheathed, or that I
entered not the gates of the Roman towns, but passed by them in haste?
Was it not the command of the king that withheld me? and could I, his
warrior, disobey? I swear it to you, the vengeance that I promised, I
yearn to perform,--but is it for me to alter the counsels of Alaric?
Can I alone assault the city which it is his command that we should
blockade? What would you have of me?'

'I would have you remember,' retorted Goisvintha, indignantly, 'that
Romans slew your brother, and made me childless! I would have you
remember that a public warfare of years on years, is powerless to stay
one hour's craving of private vengeance! I would have you less
submitted to your general's wisdom, and more devoted to your own wrongs!
I would have you--like me--thirst for the blood of the first inhabitant
of yonder den of traitors, who--whether for peace or for war--passes the
precincts of its sheltering walls!'

She paused abruptly for an answer, but Hermanric uttered not a word.
The courageous heart of the young chieftain recoiled at the deliberate
act of assassination, pressed upon him in

Goisvintha's veiled yet expressive speech. To act with his comrades in
taking the city by assault, to outdo in the heat of battle the worst
horrors of the massacre of Aquileia, would have been achievements in
harmony with his wild disposition and warlike education; but, to submit
himself to Goisvintha's projects, was a sacrifice, that the very
peculiarities of his martial character made repugnant to his thoughts.
Emotions such as these he would have communicated to his companion, as
they passed through his mind; but there was something in the fearful and
ominous change that had occurred in her disposition since he had met her
among the Alps,--in her frantic, unnatural craving for bloodshed and
revenge, that gave her a mysterious and powerful influence over his
thoughts, his words, and even his actions. He hesitated and was silent.

'Have I not been patient?' continued Goisvintha, lowering her voice to
tones of earnest, agitated entreaty, which jarred upon Hermanric's ear,
as he thought who was the petitioner, and what would be the object of
the petition,--' Have I not been patient throughout the weary journey
from the Alps? Have I not waited for the hour of retribution, even
before the defenceless cities that we passed on the march? Have I not
at you instigation governed my yearning for vengeance, until the day
that should see you mounting those walls with the warriors of the Goths,
to scourge with fire and sword the haughty traitors of Rome? Has that
day come? Is it by this blockade that the requital you promised me over
the corpse of my murdered child, is to be performed? Remember the
perils I dared, to preserved the life of that last one of my
household,--and will you risk nothing to avenge his death? His
sepulchre is untended and solitary. Far from the dwellings of his
people, lost in the dawn of his beauty, slaughtered in the beginning of
his strength, lies the offspring of your brother's blood. And the
rest--the two children, who were yet infants; the father, who was brave
in battle and wise in council--where are they? Their bones whiten on
the shelterless plain, or rot unburied by the ocean shore! Think--had
they lived--how happily your days would have passed with them in the
time of peace! how gladly your brother would have gone forth with you to
the chase! how joyfully his boys would have nestled at your knees, to
gather from your lips the first lessons that should form them for the
warrior's life! Think of such enjoyments as these, and then think that
Roman swords have deprived you of them all!'

Her voice trembled, she ceased for a moment, and looked mournfully up
into Hermanric's averted face. Every feature in the young chieftain's
countenance expressed the tumult that her words had aroused within him.
He attempted to reply, but his voice was powerless in that trying
moment. His head drooped upon his heaving breast, and he sighed heavily
as, without speaking, he grasped Goisvintha by the hand. The object she
had pleaded for was nearly attained;--he was fast sinking beneath the
tempter's well-spread toils!

'Are you silent still?' she gloomily resumed. 'Do you wonder at this
longing for vengeance, at this craving for Roman blood? I tell you that
my desire has arisen within me, at promptings from the voices of an
unknown world. They urge me to seek requital on the nation who have
widowed and bereaved me--yonder, in their vaunted city, from their
pampered citizens, among their cherished homes--in the spot where their
shameful counsels take root, and whence their ruthless treacheries
derive their bloody source! In the book that our teachers worship, I
have heard it read, that "the voice of blood crieth from the ground!"
This is the voice--Hermanric, this is the voice that I have heard! I
have dreamed that I walked on a shore of corpses, by a sea of blood--I
have seen, arising from that sea, my husband's and my children's bodies,
gashed throughout with Roman wounds! They have called to me through the
vapour of carnage that was around them;--'Are we yet unavenged? Is the
sword of Hermanric yet sheathed?' Night after night have I seen this
vision and heard those voice, and hoped for no respite until the day
that saw the army encamped beneath the walls of Rome, and raising the
scaling ladders for the assault! And now, after all my endurance, how
has that day arrived? Accursed be the lust of treasure! It is more to
the warriors, and to you, than the justice of revenge!'

'Listen! listen!' cried Hermanric entreatingly.

'I listen no longer!' interrupted Goisvintha. 'The tongue of my people
is as a strange language in my ears; for it talks but of plunder and of
peace, of obedience, of patience, and of hope! I listen no longer; for
the kindred are gone that I loved to listen to--they are all slain by
the Romans but you--and you I renounce!'


Deprived of all power of consideration by the violence of the emotions
awakened in his heart by Goisvintha's wild revelations of the evil
passion that consumed her, the young Goth, shuddering throughout his
whole frame, and still averting his face, murmured in hoarse, unsteady
accents: 'Ask of me what you will. I have no words to deny, no power to
rebuke you--ask of me what you will!'

'Promise me,' cried Goisvintha, seizing the hand of Hermanric, and
gazing with a look of fierce triumph on his disordered countenance,
'that this blockade of the city shall not hinder my vengeance! Promise
me that the first victim of our righteous revenge, shall be the first
one that appears before you--whether in war or peace--of the inhabitants
of Rome!'

'I promise,' cried the Goth. And those two words sealed the destiny of
his future life.

During the silence that now ensued between Goisvintha and Hermanric, and
while each stood absorbed in deep meditation, the dark prospect spread
around them began to brighten slowly under a soft, clear light. The
moon, whose dull broad disk had risen among the evening mists arrayed in
gloomy red, had now topped the highest of the exhalations of earth, and
beamed in the wide heaven, adorned once more in her pale, accustomed
hue. Gradually, yet perceptibly, the vapour rolled,--layer by layer,--
from the lofty summits of the palaces of Rome, and the high places of
the mighty city began to dawn, as it were, in the soft, peaceful,
mysterious light; while the lower divisions of the walls, the desolate
suburbs, and parts of the Gothic camp, lay still plunged in the dusky
obscurity of the mist, in grand and gloomy contrast to the prospect of
glowing brightness, that almost appeared to hover about them from above
and around. Patches of ground behind the tent of Hermanric, began to
grow partially visible in raised and open positions; and the song of the
nightingale was now faintly audible at intervals, among the solitary and
distant trees. In whatever direction it was observed, the aspect of
nature gave promise of the cloudless, tranquil night, of the autumnal
climate of ancient Italy.

Hermanric was the first to return to the contemplation of the outward
world. Perceiving that the torch which still burnt by the side of his
tent, had become useless, now that the moon had arisen and dispelled the
mists, he advance and extinguished it; pausing afterwards to look forth
over the plains, as they brightened slowly before him. He had been thus
occupied but a short time, when he thought he discerned a human figure
moving slowly over a spot of partially lightened and hilly ground, at a
short distance from him. It was impossible that this wandering form
could be one of his own people;--they were all collected at their
respective posts, and his tent he knew was on the outermost boundary of
the encampment before the Pincian Gate.

He looked again. The figure still advanced, but at too great a distance
to allow him a chance of discovering, in the uncertain light around him,
either its nation, its sex, or its age. His heart misgave him as he
remembered his promise to Goisvintha, and contemplated the possibility
that it was some miserable slave, abandoned by the fugitives who had
quitted the suburbs in the morning, who now approached as a last
resource, to ask mercy and protection from his enemies in the camp. He
turned towards Goisvintha as the idea crossed his mind, and observed
that she was still occupied in meditation. Assured by the sight, that
she had not yet observed the fugitive figure, he again directed his
attention--with an excess of anxiety which he could hardly account for--
in the direction where he had first beheld it, but it was no more to be
seen. It had either retired to concealment, or was now still advancing
towards his tent through a clump of trees that clothed the descent of
the hill.

Silently and patiently he continued to look forth over the landscape;
and still no living thing was to be seen. At length, just as he began
to doubt whether his senses had not deceived him, the fugitive figure
suddenly appeared from the trees, hurried with wavering gait over the
patch of low, damp ground that still separated it from the young Goth,
gained his tent, and then with a feeble cry fell helplessly upon the
earth at his feet.


That cry, faint as it was, attracted Goisvintha's attention. She turned
in an instant, thrust Hermanric aside, and raised the stranger in her
arms. The light, slender form, the fair hand and arm hanging motionless
towards the ground, the long locks of deep black hair, heavy with the
moisture of the night atmosphere, betrayed the wanderer's sex and age in
an instant. The solitary fugitive was a young girl.

Signing to Hermanric to kindle the extinguished torch at a neighbouring
watch-fire, Goisvintha carried the still insensible girl into the tent.
As the Goth silently proceeded to obey her, a vague, horrid suspicion,
that he shrunk from embodying, passed across his mind. His hand shook
so that he could hardly light the torch, and bold and vigorous as he
was, his limbs trembled beneath him as he slowly returned to the tent.

When he had gained the interior of his temporary abode, the light of his
torch illuminated a strange and impressive scene.

Goisvintha was seated on a rude oaken chest, supporting on her knees the
form of the young girl, and gazing with an expression of the most
intense and enthralling interest upon her pale, wasted countenance. The
tattered robe that had hitherto enveloped the fugitive had fallen back,
and disclosed the white dress, which was the only other garment she
wore. Her face, throat, and arms, had been turned, by exposure to the
cold, to the pure whiteness of marble. Her eyes were closed, and her
small, delicate features were locked in a rigid repose. But for her
deep black hair, which heightened the ghastly aspect of her face, she
might have been mistaken, as she lay in the woman's arms, for an
exquisitely chiseled statue of youth in death!

When the figure of the young warrior, arrayed in his martial
habiliments, and standing near the insensible girl with evident emotions
of wonder and anxiety, was added to the group thus produced,--when
Goisvintha's tall, powerful frame, clothed in dark garments, and bent
over the fragile form and white dress of the fugitive, was illuminated
by the wild, fitful glare of the torch,--when the heightened colour,
worn features, and eager expression of the woman were beheld, here
shadowed, there brightened, in close opposition to the pale, youthful,
reposing countenance of the girl, such an assemblage of violent lights
and deep shades was produced, as gave the whole scene a character at
once mysterious and sublime. It presented an harmonious variety of
solemn colours, united by the exquisite artifice of Nature to a grand,
yet simple disposition of form. It was a picture executed by the hand
of Rembrandt, and imagined by the mind of Raphael.

Starting abruptly from her long, earnest examination of the fugitive,
Goisvintha proceeded to employ herself in restoring animation to her
insensible charge. While thus occupied, she preserved unbroken silence.
A breathless expectation, that absorbed all her senses in one direction,
seemed to have possessed itself of her heart. She laboured at her task
with the mechanical, unwavering energy of those, whose attention is
occupied by their thoughts rather than their actions. Slowly and
unwillingly the first faint flush of returning animation dawned, in the
tenderest delicacy of hue, upon the girl's colourless cheek. Gradually
and softly, her quickening respiration fluttered a thin lock of hair
that had fallen over her face. A little interval more, and then the
closed, peaceful eyes suddenly opened, and glance quickly round the tent
with a wild expression of bewilderment and terror. Then, as Goisvintha
rose, and attempted to place her on a seat, she tore herself from her
grasp, looked on her for a moment with fearful intentness, and then
falling on her knees, murmured, in a plaintive voice,--

'Have mercy upon me. I am forsaken by my father,--I know not why. The
gates of the city are shut against me. My habitation in Rome is closed
to me for ever!'


She had scarcely spoken these few words, before an ominous change
appeared in Goisvintha's countenance. Its former expression of ardent
curiosity changed to a look of malignant triumph. Her eyes fixed
themselves on the girl's upturned face, in glaring, steady, spell-bound
contemplation. She gloated over the helpless creature before her, as
the wild beast gloats over the prey that it has secured. Her form
dilated, a scornful smile appeared on her lips, a hot flush rose on her
cheeks, and ever and anon she whispered softly to herself, 'I knew she
was Roman! Aha! I knew she was Roman!'

During this space of time Hermanric was silent. His breath came short
and thick, his face grew pale, and his glance, after resting for an
instant on the woman and the girl, travelled slowly and anxiously round
the tent. In one corner of it lay a heavy battle-axe. He looked for a
moment from the weapon to Goisvintha, with a vivid expression of horror,
and then moving slowly across the tent, with a firm, yet trembling
grasp, he possessed himself of the arm.

As he looked up, Goisvintha approached him. In one hand she held the
bloody helmet-crest, while she pointed with the other to the crouching
form of the girl. Her lips were still parted with their unnatural
smile, and she whispered softly to the Goth--'Remember your promise!--
remember your kindred!--remember the massacre of Aquileia!'

The young warrior made no answer. He moved rapidly forward a few steps,
and signed hurriedly to the young girl to fly by the door; but her
terror had by this time divested her of all her ordinary powers of
perception and comprehension. She looked up vacantly at Hermanric, and
then shuddering violently, crept into a corner of the tent. During the
short silence that now ensued, the Goth could hear her shiver and sigh,
as he stood watching, with all the anxiety of apprehension, Goisvintha's
darkening brow.

'She is Roman--she is the first dweller in the city who has appeared
before you!--remember your promise!--remember your kindred!--remember
the massacre of Aquileia!' said the woman in fierce, quick, concentrated
tones.

'I remember that I am a warrior and a Goth,' replied Hermanric,
disdainfully. 'I have promised to avenge you, but it must be on a man
that my promise must be fulfilled--an armed man, who can come forth with
weapons in his hand--a strong man of courage whom I will slay in single
combat before your eyes! The girl is too young to die, too weak to be
assailed!'

Not a syllable that he had spoken had passed unheeded by the fugitive,
every word seemed to revive her torpid faculties. As he ceased she
arose, and with the quick instinct of terror, ran up to the side of the
young Goth. Then seizing his hand--the hand that still grasped the
battle-axe--she knelt down and kissed it, uttering hurried broken
ejaculations, as she clasped it to her bosom, which the tremulousness of
her voice rendered completely unintelligible.

'Did the Romans think my children too young to die, or too weak to be
assailed?' cried Goisvintha. 'By the Lord God of Heaven, they murdered
them the more willingly because they were young, and wounded them the
more fiercely because they were weak! My heart leaps within me as I
look on the girl! I am doubly avenged, if I am avenged on the innocent
and the youthful! Her bones shall rot on the plains of Rome, as the
bones of my offspring rot on the plains of Aquileia! Shed me her
blood!--Remember your promise!--Shed me her blood!'

She advanced with extended arms and gleaming eyes towards the fugitive.
She gasped for breath, her face turned suddenly to a livid paleness, the
torchlight fell upon her distorted features, she looked unearthly at
that fearful moment; but the divinity of mercy had now braced the
determination of the young Goth to meet all emergencies. His bright
steady eye quailed not for an instant, as he encountered the frantic
glance of the fury before him. With one hand he barred Goisvintha from
advancing another step; the other, he could not disengage from the girl,
who now clasped and kissed it more eagerly than before.


'You do this but to tempt me to anger,' said Goisvintha, altering her
manner with sudden and palpable cunning, more ominous of peril to the
fugitive than the fury she had hitherto displayed. 'You jest at me,
because I have failed in patience, like a child! But you will shed her
blood--you are honourable and will hold to your promise--you will shed
her blood! And I,' she continued, exultingly, seating herself on the
oaken chest that she had previously occupied, and resting her clenched
hands on her knees; 'I will wait to see it!'

At this moment voices and steps were heard outside the tent. Hermanric
instantly raised the trembling girl from the ground, and supporting her
by his arm, advanced to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. He was
confronted the next instant by an old warrior of superior rank, attached
to the person of Alaric, who was followed by a small party of the
ordinary soldiery of the camp.

'Among the women appointed by the king to the office of tending, for
this night, those sick and wounded on the march, is Goisvintha, sister
of Hermanric. If she is here, let her approach and follow me;' said the
chief of the party in authoritative tones, pausing at the door of the
tent.

Goisvintha rose. For an instant she stood irresolute. To quit
Hermanric at such a time as this, was a sacrifice that wrung her savage
heart;--but she remembered the severity of Alaric's discipline, she saw
the armed men awaiting her, and yielded after a struggle to the
imperious necessity of obedience to the king's commands. Trembling with
suppressed anger and bitter disappointment, she whispered to Hermanric
as she passed him:--