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 passed her wholly And so,denied her portion of the bread whereby we live,She,on glad Easter,doth receive Dismissal from God'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 God 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 passing 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 God!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.
What priests!What candles!Crucifixes!Garlands!
What Angels,[7]and what banners!
You see there Artigues,Puymiral,Astafort,Saint-Cirq,Cardonnet,Lusignan,Brax,Roquefort,But this year,Roquefort first,o'erleapeth all.
What crowds there are of curious people,To watch the girl sold to the Devil!
The news has travelled everywhere;
They know that she,in silent prayer,Implores the Virgin to protect her there!
Her neighbours scoff,and her menace,But saddened friends grieve at her sore disgrace,Love,through their heart,in fervour rills,Each one respects this plaintivest of girls;And many a pitying soul a prayer said,That some great miracle might yet be made In favour of this poor and suppliant maid.
She saw,rejoiced,more hope with her abode;
Though voice of people is the voice of God!
Oh!how her heart beat as the church she neared,'Twas for the Virgin's indulgence she cared.
Mothers with heartaches;young unfortunates;
The orphan girls;the women without mates;
