Chapter 2 No.2

Antigon; or, The Giant of Antwerp

IT was a fine night in the year 54 B.C., the sky clear, the air calm, when a boat-a sort of raft of basket work covered with ox hides-was slowly following the ebb of the Scheldt. A voice was heard from the boat, a woman's voice, soft and gentle.

"Yes, Atuix, for thee have I passed the threshold of my father's dwelling. I have quitted the deep forests of Gaul, my native country; for thee have I left all, because of my love for thee, Atuix, and thy beautiful harp which sleeps silently by thy side."

Another voice was heard: "Oh, Frega, since the day that thine eyes looked into mine, my harp has forgotten its sounds and my soul no longer knows any of the songs whispered by Ogmius, whom I worshiped in the forests-the god of the bards, he who is always surrounded by men bound by their ears to chains of gold and amber which issue from his mouth."

The boat continued to descend with the tide. Suddenly the waves were troubled and foaming as if some water monster was rising to their surface. A breathing, a stifled murmuring, was heard, like unto the autumn wind rushing through the branches of an old, decayed forest; the bubbling of the waters came nearer, and the breathing grew stronger. Then by the pale rays of the moon's light, rising above the silvery clouds, Atuix and Frega beheld with terror, approaching them and swelling the waves in his rapid course, a colossal Giant.

The waters of the river reached up to his broad chest, and formed around him a white and sparkling belt of foam. From his formidable face flowed a thick beard, and his head was covered with hair like that of a horse, rough and black. He looked like those isolated peaks which are sometimes seen on the borders of the ocean, with their frowning crests from which the long, trailing grass hangs dripping in the waves. The boat suddenly stopped, and cracked under the hand of the giant. A terrible roaring burst from his hollow chest, and these words were uttered in a voice of thunder:-

"Ah! ah! my passengers of the night!-you think that the eyes of Antigon are closed to allow you to pass in the dark! Where are my three oxen to satisfy my hunger this evening?"

Frega clung trembling to Atuix who silently drew forth his long blade.

The giant continued, "If you wish to speak to me, then swell out your feeble voices, my dwarfs."

"Mercy upon us, if thou art the god of this river," replied Atuix, "and if thou art not a god, then let a poor bard of Ogmius pass unmolested."

"O terrible giant, let us pass in the name of the great Hesus of Teutates, and of all the gods."

"Oh, thou dost jest, I think," said the giant in a ferocious tone. "I laugh at Hesus, seest thou? and at all thy gods!-and if thou hast seen them, is their stature no higher than yours, fine race of weaklings, of whom I could trample a whole army under my feet? Ah! thy gods, I should long ere this have taken them from their heaven for my evening's amusement on the lonely shore, or to make a repast of, if they were anything more than vain smoke!"

"Who, then, art thou," said Atuix, "thou who laughest at the gods?"

"Who am I?-Where is Antigon? Ah! thou wouldst dissemble with Antigon!-Yes, thou forgettest the tribute of oxen thou owest me for passing on my river-thou didst think, favoured by the darkness, to deceive me, and now thou wouldst use thy childish tricks! Ah! Ah!" And the giant covered Atuix with his powerful hand before he could move a limb.

Frega, who had remained motionless with terror, threw herself on her knees in the boat. "Mercy, mercy upon Atuix," she exclaimed. "Oh! mercy! what harm can our passing this river do to thee, we feeble and without any evil intention, he loving me and I loving him? Mercy! Ah, heavens! is there, then, no pity in thy soul?"

The giant interrupted with a terrible sneer: "Oh! my soul, sayst thou! My soul! Where hast thou learnt that I have a soul? Who has ever seen a soul? Oh, I tell thee truly that there are neither souls nor gods, neither mind, nor anything but the body, and hunger!"

As he ended the giant pressed the hand of Atuix between his two iron fingers, the hand fell into the boat with the glaive it grasped. A terrible cry was heard accompanied by a ferocious laugh. The giant picked up the bloody hand and threw it into the river. Then, just as he was about to seize Frega, who had dropped senseless, Atuix freed from the frightful claws which pressed him, with the hand which was left him, picked up the fallen sword and plunged it to the hilt in the giant's arm. A howl of pain was repeated by the surrounding echoes.

The moon was just rising brilliant and pure from her bed of clouds, and her rays played on the waves, which were scarcely ruffled by the light breeze. The boat no longer detained floated adrift. A violent shock aroused Frega! She rose painfully on her knees and saw at some distance from her a horrible sight. The furious giant was crushing the body of Atuix between his hands. Frega dragged herself to the edge of the boat, her eyes fixed, her face ashy pale, she with difficulty stretched out her neck, tried to advance farther, as if under some invisible attraction; an instant she gazed, leaned forward, her eyes tearless, not a sigh from her bosom; then she loosened her hold and rolled over into the river.

A year after this night C?sar had put an end to Gaulish liberty. The strength, the courage and the heroic resistance of this great people whose ancestors had in one of their daring wanderings over Europe encamped on the ruins of Rome, was now crushed under the fortune and genius of the conqueror. By the glare of vast conflagrations, Belgium, the perpetual focus of revolt against oppression, was traversed by three Roman armies, and bridges thrown over the Scheldt opened the passage to the country of the Menapians. One day a detached company of the legion of the vanguard followed the banks of the river, guided, it is said, by a mysterious being. Twice the sun had sunk to rest without their returning. German horsemen sent on their track towards the middle of the night were stopped at the sight of a strange spectacle. Raging flames agitated by the wind were devouring the foundations of a tower which had protected a castle of colossal proportions. The ground was lit by the glare of the fire and strewn with the dead bodies of the Roman soldiers. In the midst of them, on a mound of the dead, was stretched motionless, covered with wounds, pierced all over by darts, the enormous body of a giant. From one of his huge arms, from which the hand was severed, ran on the ground a rivulet of black blood. Over his head bent a warrior. After some moments of suspense the eyes of the giant opened. The warrior instantly raised himself, parting his long, flowing hair from off his pale and beautiful face. Then his eyes suddenly flashed with extraordinary brightness-he approached near to the monster's ear, shouting out these words:-

"Antigon! Antigon! I must call loudly, is it not true?-so that thine ear may catch the sound? Well, now listen to me, Antigon! Oh! thou art not quite dead, thou canst yet understand and remember! A year has elapsed since-truly, truly, thy wounds are ghastly and bleeding and sweet to look upon!-Yes, it was on a summer night, two lovers floated together on the river. Oh! thy den was not as bright as this night-Two lovers thou knowest!-two lovers who only spoke of love, their hearts filled with gentle thoughts. Look, look, how well one sees one's shadow here in thy blood.-One of the two lovers was a bard. Oh! oh! thy dying eyes flash! Thou didst kill him, and the other-But where are thy terrible hands, Antigon? The other, that feeble woman-Thou hearest me? She lives to avenge him!"

A shudder ran through the giant's body, a frightful rattle burst from his chest; his teeth chattered like the clashing of swords, his eyes rolled once more in their bloody orbits, and then closed forever. He was dead. Frega knelt on the ground and prayed. Upon that spot rose Antwerp. Now Antwerp is the Antwerpen of the ancient Flemish language, which still preserves its original strength and richness in its Saxon garb-Antwerpen, in which word the chroniclers find Hand and Werpen, to throw, in remembrance of the giant Antigon and the hands which he threw into the Scheldt.