Jasmin: Barber, Poet, Philanthropist Part 28

The folks were roused and each one called to mind That some, in times of yore, had heard the sound Of Devil's chains that clanked; How soon the father vanished, The mother, bent in agony, A maniac she died!

That then all smiled; they felt nor hurt nor harm, They lived quite happy on their cottage farm, And when the fields were spoilt with hail or rain, Their ground was covered o'er with plums and grain.

It was enough; the girls believed it all, Grandmothers, mothers--thoughts did them appal-- Even infants trembled at the demon's name; And when the maiden hung her head in pain,.

And went abroad, they scarce would give her pa.s.sage; They called to her, "Away! Avaunt! thou imp of evil, Behold the crime of dealing with the Devil!"

THIRD PART.

The Maid at Estanquet--A Bad Dream--The Grandmother's Advice-- Blessed Bread--Satisfaction and Affection--First Thought of Love --Sorrowfulness--The Virgin.

Beside a cot at Estanquet, Down by a leafy brooklet, The limpid stream Enshadowed sheen, Lapped o'er the pebbles murmuring.

Last summer sat a maid, with gathered flowers, She was engaged in setting, Within her gra.s.sy bowers; She sang in joy her notes so thrilling, As made the birds, their sweet songs trilling, Most jealous.

Why does she sing no more? midst fields and hedgerows verdant; 'The nightingales that came within her garden, With their loud "jug! jug!" warbling, And their sweet quavers singing; Can she have left her cottage home?

No! There's her pretty hat of straw Laid on the bench; but then they saw There was no ribbon round it; The garden all neglected; The rake and wat'ring-pot were down Amongst the jonquils overthrown; The broken-branched roses running riot; The dandelion, groundsell, all about; And the nice walks, laid out with so much taste, Now cover'd with neglected weeds and wanton waste.

Oh! what has happened here? Where is the lively maid?

The little birds now whispering said; Her home is sparkling there beyond, With tufted branch of hazel round; Let's just peep in, the door is open, We make no noise, but let us listen.

Ah! there's grandmother, on her arm-chair, fast asleep!

And here, beside the cas.e.m.e.nt deep, The maid of Estanquet, in saddened pain and grief, The tears down-falling on her pretty hand; To whom no joy nor hope can ever give relief!

Ah! yes,'twas dark enough! for it is Franconnette, Already you've divined it is our pet!

And see her now, poor maiden, Bending beneath the falsest blow, o'erladen; She sobs and weeps alternately-- Her heart is rent and empty, Oft, to console herself, she rises, walks, and walks again; Alas! her trouble is so full of pain-- Awake or sleeping-- she's only soothed by weeping.

Daughter of Huguenot accursed, And banished from the Church!

Sold to the demon; she's for ever cursed!

Grandmother, waking, said, "Child, 'tis not true; It matters not; 'tis but thy father fled, No one can contradict that raving crew; They know not where he is, and could they see him, They would so frightened be, they'd not believe their een!"

"How changed things are," said Franconnette, "before I was so happy; Then I was village queen, all followed love in harmony; And all the lads, to please me, Would come barefooted, e'en through serpents' nests, to bless me!

But now, to be despised and curst, I, who was once the very first!

And Pascal, too, whom once I thought the best, In all my misery shuns me like a pest!

Now that he knows my very sad mishaps, He ne'er consoles with me at all--perhaps----"

She did deceive herself. Her grief to-day was softened By hearing that Pascal 'gainst slanders her defended; Such magic help, it was a balm Her aching soul to calm; And then, to sweeten all her ill, She thought always of Pascal--did this softened girl.

What is that sound? A sudden shriek!

Grandmother dreamt--she was now wide awake; The girl sprang to her; she said, "Isn't the house aflame?

Ah! twas a dream! Thank G.o.d!" her murmur came.

"Dear heart," the girl said softly; "what was this dream of thine?"

"Oh, love! 'twas night, and loud ferocious men, methought Came lighting fires all round our little cot, And thou did'st cry unto them, daughter mine, To save me, but did'st vainly strive, For here we too must burn alive!

The torment that I bore! How shall I cure my fright Come hither, darling, let me hold thee tight!"

Then the white-headed dame, in withered arms of love, With yearning tenderness folded the brown-haired girl, who strove, By many a smile, and mute caress, To hearten her, until at length The aged one cried out, her love gave vital strength, "Sold to the Demon, thou? It is a hideous lie!

Therefore, dear child, weep not so piteously; Take courage! Be thou brave in heart once more, Thou art more lovely than before-- Take grannie's word for that! Arise!

Go forth; who hides from envious eyes Makes wicked people spiteful; I've heard this, my pet; I know full well there's one who loves thee yet-- Marcel would guard thee with his love; Thou lik'st not him? Ah! could he move Thy feelings, he would shield thee, dear, And claim thee for his own.

But I am all too feeble grown; Yet stay, my darling, stay! To-morrow's Easter Day, Go thou to Ma.s.s, and pray as ne'er before!

Then take the blessed bread, if so the good G.o.d may The precious favour of his former smile restore, And on thy sweet face, clear as day, Own thou art numbered with his children evermore!"

Then such a gleam of hope lit the old face again, Furrowed so deep with years and pain, That, falling on her neck, the maiden promised well, And once more on the white cot silence fell.

When, therefore, on the morrow, came the country-side, To hear the Hallelujas in the church of Saint Pierre; Great was the wonderment of those that spied The maiden, Franconnette, silently kneeling there,

Telling her beads with downcast eyes of prayer.

She needs, poor thing, Heaven's mercy to implore, For ne'er a woman's will she win!

But then, beholding her sweet mien, Were Marvel and Pascal, eyeing her fondly o'er; She saw them with her glances, dark as night, Then shrinking back, they left her all alone, Midway of a great circle, as they might Some poor condemned one Bearing some stigma on her brow in sight.

This was not all, poor child! It was well known-- The warden, uncle to Marcel, Carried the Blessed Bread; And like a councillor, did swell In long-tailed coat, with pompous tread: But when the trembling maid, making a cross, essayed To take a double portion, as her dear old grandame bade, Right in the view of every eye, The sacred basket he withdrew, and pa.s.sed her wholly And so, denied her portion of the bread whereby we live, She, on glad Easter, doth receive Dismissal from G.o.d's house for aye.

The maid, trembling with fear, thought all was lost indeed!

But no! she hath a friend at need; 'Twas Pascal, who had seen her all the while-- Pacal, whose young foot walked along the aisle, He made the quest, and nothing loth, In view of uncle and of nephew both, Doth quietly to her present,

Upon a silver plate, with flowers fair blossoming, The crown-piece{5} of the Holy Sacrament-- And all the world beholds the pious offering.

Oh! moment full of joy; her blood sprang into fleetness; Warmth was in all her frame, her senses thrilled with sweetness; She saw the bread of G.o.d arisen Out of its earthly prison, Thus life unto her own was given: But wherefore did her brow quite blushing grow?

Because the angel bright of love, I trow, Did with her glowing breath impart Life to the flame long smouldering in her heart.

It did become a something strange, and pa.s.sing all desire As honey sweet, and quick as fire Did her sad soul illuminate With a new being; and, though late, She knew the word for her delight, The fair enigma she could guess.

People and priest all vanish'd from her sight, She saw in all the church only one man aright-- He whom she loved at last, with utmost gratefulness.

Then from Saint Peter's church the throng widely dispersed, And of the scandal they had seen, now eagerly conversed; But lost not sight of her at all Who bore the Bread of Honour to the ancient dame, ere this, She sitteth now alone, shut in her chamber small, While Franconnette beams brightly with her new-found bliss.

On the parched earth, where falls the earliest dew, As shines the sun's first rays, the winter flown-- So love's first spark awakes to life anew, And fills the startled mind with joy unknown.

The maiden yielded every thought to this-- The trembling certainty of real bliss; The lightning of a joy before improved, Flash'd in her heart, and told her that she loved.

She fled from envy, and from curious eyes, And dreamed, as all have done, their waking dreams, Bidding in thought bright fairy fabrics rise To shrine the loved one in their golden gleams.

Alas! the sage is right, 'tis the distrest Who dream the fondest, and who love the best.

But when the saddened heart controls us quite, It quickly turns to gall the sweets of our delight.

Then she remembered all! The opening heaven turned grey, Dread thought now smites her heavily.

Dreams she of love? Why, what is she?

Sweet love is not for her! The dreaded sorcerer Hath said she's fore-sold for a price--a murderer!

With heart of dev'lish wrath, which whoso dares to brave To lie with her one night, therein shall find his grave.

She, to see Pascal perish at her side!

"Oh G.o.d! have pity on me now!" she cried.

So, rent with cruel agonies, And weeping very sore, Fell the poor child upon her knees, Her little shrine before.

"Oh, Holy Virgin!"--sighing--"on thee alone relying, I come; I'm all astray! Father and mother too Are dead lang syne, and I accursed! All tongues are crying This hideous tale! Yet save me if't be true; If they have falsely sworn, be it on their souls borne When I shall bring my taper on the fete-day morn{6} Oh! blessed Mother, let me see That I am not denied of thee!"

Brief prayer, Though 'tis sincere, To Heaven mounts quickly, Sure to have won a gracious ear; The maid her purpose holds, and ponders momently, And oftentimes grows sick, and cannot speak for fear, But sometimes taketh heart, and sudden hope and strong Shines in her soul, as brightest meteor gleams the sky along.

FOURTH PART.

The Fete at Notre Dame--Offering to the Virgin--Thunderstroke and Taper Extinguished--The Storm at Roquefort-- Fire at Estanquet--Triumph of Pascal--Fury of Marcel-- Power of a Mother--Bad Head and Good Heart--Conclusion.

At last, behold the day she longed for, yet so fearfully, But lo! the sun rose cheerfully; And long, long lines of white-robed village girls From all the country round, walked tow'rds the tinkling bells, And soon, proud Notre Dame appeared in sight, As 'midst a cloud of perfume!

'Twas if the thirty hamlets in their might Were piled together into one.