The Executioner's Knife; Or, Joan of Arc. Эжен Сю
Gallic bards. Faithful to the druidic creed of her fathers, Jeannette's god-mother held that man never dies, but continues to live eternally, body and soul, in the stars, new and mysterious worlds. Nevertheless, respecting her god-daughter's religious views, Sybille never sought to throw doubt upon the faith of the child. She loved the child tenderly and was ever ready to tell her some legend that Jeannette would listen to in rapt attention. Thus there was developed in the young shepherdess a contemplative and reflecting spirit that was unusual in one of her years, and that was no less striking than the precociousness of her intellect. She was prepared for a mystic role.
Jeannette continued, mechanically, to ply her distaff while her eyes, with an absent minded look in them, followed her sheep. She neither saw nor heard Sybille approach. The latter, after having laid her hemp in the streamlet and placed a stone on it to keep it in place, approached Jeannette slowly and impressed a kiss upon the bowed neck of the young girl, who uttered a startled cry and said smilingly, "Oh god-mother, you frightened me so!"
"And yet you are not timid! You were braver the other day than I should have been when you stoned the large viper to death. What were you thinking about just now?"
"Oh, I was thinking that the Dauphin, our dear Sire, who is so gentle, so beautiful, so brave and yet so unfortunate through the fault of his mother, may, perhaps, be forced to leave France!"
"Who told you that?"
"A messenger, who stopped yesterday at our house. He told us of the harm the English are doing the country whence he came; and also of the troubles of our young Sire. Oh, god-mother, I felt as grieved for him as if he were my own brother. I could not help crying before falling asleep. Oh, the messenger repeated it over and over again that the mother of the young prince is to blame for all of his sufferings; and that that bad woman had lost Gaul."
"Did the messenger say all that?" asked Sybille, thrilling at a sudden recollection, "did he say that a woman had lost Gaul?"
"Yes, he did. And he told how, through her fault, the English are heaping sorrows upon the country people. They pillage them, kill them and burn down their houses. They have no mercy for women or children. They drive away the peasants' cattle" – and Jeannette cast an uneasy glance upon her woolly flock. "Oh, god-mother, my heart bled at the messenger's report of our young King's sufferings and at the trials of the poor folks of those regions. To think that one bad woman could cause so much harm!"
"A woman caused the harm," said Sybille, raising her head with a faraway look in her eyes, "a woman will redress it."
"How can that be?"
"A woman lost Gaul," resumed Sybille, more and more dreamily, with her eyes resting on space, "a young girl shall save Gaul. Is the prophecy about to be fulfilled? Praise be to God!"
"What prophecy, god-mother?"
"The prophecy of Merlin, the famous enchanter. Merlin, the bard of Brittany."
"And when did he make the prophecy?"
"More than a thousand years ago."
"More than a thousand years! Was Merlin then a saint, god-mother? He must have been a great saint!"
Absorbed in her own thoughts, Sybille did not seem to hear the young shepherdess's question. With her eyes still gazing afar, she murmured slowly the old chant of Armorica:
"Merlin, Merlin, whither this morning with your black dog?
'I come here to look for the egg that is red and laid by the serpent that lives in the sea.
I come here to look for the cress that is green and the herb that is golden which grow in the valley,
And the branch of the oak that is stately, in the woods on the banks of the fountain.'"5
"The branch of the oak that is stately – in the woods – on the banks of the fountain?" repeated Jeannette, questioningly, looking above and around her, as though struck both by the words and the significant expression on Sybille's face. "It looks like this spot, god-mother, it looks like this spot!" But noticing that the old Breton woman did not listen to her and was seemingly lost in contemplation, she laid her hand upon her arm and said, insistently, "God-mother, who is that Merlin of whom you speak? Answer me, dear god-mother!"
"He was a Gallic bard whose chants are still sung in my country," answered Sybille, awaking from her revery; "he is spoken of in our oldest legends."
"Oh, god-mother, tell me one of them, if you please. I love so much to hear your beautiful legends. I often dream of them!"
"Very well, you shall be pleased, dear child. I shall tell you the legend of a peasant who wed the daughter of the King of Brittany."
"Is it possible! A peasant wed a king's daughter?"
"Yes, and thanks to Merlin's harp and ring."
CHAPTER IV
THE HARP OF MERLIN
Sybille seemed to be in a trance. "The legend," she said, "that I shall tell you is called The Harp of Merlin;" and she proceeded to recite in a rythmic cadence:
"'My poor grandmother, Oh, I wish to attend
The feast that the King doth give.'
'No, Alain, to this feast shall you not go:
Last night you wept in your dream.'
'Dear little mother, if truly you love me,
Let me this feast attend.'
'No, you will sing when you go;
When you come back you'll weep.'
But despite his grandmother, Alain did go."
"It was wrong in him to disobey," Jeannette could not help saying, while she listened with avidity to her god-mother's recital; "it was wrong in him to disobey!"
Sybille kissed Jeannette on the forehead and proceeded:
"Alain equipped his black colt,
Shod it well with polished steel,
Placed a ring on its neck, a bow on its tail,
And arrived at the feast.
Upon his arrival the trumpets were sounded:
'Whoever shall clear at one bound,
Clear and free, the barrier around the fair grounds,
His shall the King's daughter be.'"
"The King's daughter! Can it be!" repeated the little shepherdess wonderingly, and, dropping her distaff, she pressed her hands together in ecstasy.
Sybille proceeded:
"Hearing these words of the crier,
The black colt of Alain neighed loud and long;
He leaped and ran, his nostrils shot fire,
His eyes emitted flashes of lightning; he distanced all other horses,
And cleared the barrier with a leap neat and clean.
'Sire,' said Alain, addressing the King,
'You swore it; your daughter, Linor, must now be mine.'
'Not thine, nor of such as you can ever she be —
Yours is not our race.'"
"The King had promised and sworn," cried Jeannette, "did he fail in his word? Oh, the lovely Dauphin, our Sire, he would never break his word! Would he, god-mother?"
Sybille shook her head sadly and continued:
'"An old man stood by the King,
An old man with long white beard,
Whiter than is the wool on the bush of the heather;
His robe was laced with gold from top to bottom.
He spoke to the King in a low voice;
And the latter, after he had heard what the old man said,
Struck three times