It was remembered long time after In every house and cottage home throughout the land--Though 'twas a fiction and a superstition,--
It was,"The De'il's abroad!He's now a-roaming;How dreadful!He is now for lost souls seeking!"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 passage;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 grassy 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 casement 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 God!"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 Mass,and pray as ne'er before!
Then take the blessed bread,if so the good God 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.
