Part 20 (1/2)
The grandmother tells her in vain--”My child, it is false!” She does not listen: there is none but her father can resolve her doubts, and prove to her that it is not true; but no one knows his place of abode; she is alone--she is terrified--oh! so terrified, that she believes it.
”What a change!” she cries. ”I who, but now, was so happy--I, who was Queen of the Meadows and could command all--I, for whom every youth would have gone barefooted amongst a nest of serpents--to be contemned, avoided, the terror of the country! And Pascal--he also flies me, as if I were a pest: yet I pitied him in his wretchedness; perhaps he has no pity to bestow on me.”
It was not so; and she has yet some comfort in her misery: she learns that Pascal is her defender: this is a balm to her wounded spirit; and, as her only relief, she thinks of him often. Suddenly she hears a cry; she flies to her grandmother, who has just waked from sleep: ”The fire is not here; the walls do not burn! Oh G.o.d, what a mercy!”
”What were you dreaming, dear grandmother--answer me--what is it?”
”Unfortunate girl! I dreamt it was night; brutal men came to our house, and set it on fire. You cried; you exerted yourself to save me, but you could not, and we both were burnt. Oh, I have suffered much! come to my arms! let me embrace my child!”
And the aged woman strained her in her withered arms, and pressed her tenderly to her heart, her white hair mingling with the golden ringlets of Franconnette. ”Dearest,” said she, ”your mother, the day of her marriage, came from the castle a bride; her dower came from thence; and thus we are not rich from the demon; every one must know that. It is true that while you were an infant, my angel, and yet in the cradle, we heard every night a strange noise, and we found you always out of the cradle; and on the edge of your little bed three drops of blood appeared; but we said a prayer, and they disappeared; does not this prove that you are not sold to the evil one? Some envious person has invented this. Be of good cheer, and do not weep like a child; you are more lovely than ever: show yourself again: let your beauty once more appear. Those who hide from envy give the wicked more s.p.a.ce. Besides, Marcel still loves you; he has sent secretly to say he is your's when you will--you love him not! Marcel will be your protector; I am too old to guard you. Hearken! to-morrow is Easter-day; go to ma.s.s, and pray more fervently than of late; take some of the blessed bread, and sign yourself with the cross. I am certain that G.o.d will restore your lost happiness, and will prove, by your countenance, that He has not erased you from the number of those He calls his own.”
The hope she had conjured up irradiated the face of the poor woman; her child hung round her neck, and promised to do her bidding; and peace was restored for a while to the little white cottage.
The next day, when the Hallelujah was ringing from the bells of St. Pe, great was the astonishment of all to behold Franconnette kneeling with her chaplet in the church,--her eyes cast down in prayer.
Poor girl! well might she pray to be spared; there was not a young woman who spared her as she pa.s.sed: the less so, that Marcel and Pascal appeared to feel pity for her. They were very cruel to her; not one would remain near; so that she found herself, at last, kneeling alone in the midst of a wide circle, like one condemned who has a mark of shame on his forehead. Her mortification is not yet complete, for the uncle of Marcel--the churchwarden, who wears a vest of violet with large skirts--the tall man who offers the blessed bread at Easter--pa.s.ses on when she puts out her hand to take her portion, and refuses to allow her to share the heavenly meal.
This was terrible! She believes that G.o.d has really abandoned her, and would drive her from His temple; she trembles, and sinks back nearly fainting; but some one advances--it is he who asks to-day for the offerings; it is Pascal, who had never quitted her with his looks, who had seen the meaning glance which pa.s.sed between the uncle and nephew--he advances softly, and taking from the s.h.i.+ning plate that part of the bread which is crowned with a garland of choice flowers, presents it to Franconnette.
What a moment of delicious joy to her! Her blood runs free again; she feels no longer frozen to stone; her soul had trembled; but it seems as if the bread of the living G.o.d, as she touched it, had restored her life. But why is her cheek so covered with blushes? It is because the Angel of Love had, with his breath, drawn forth the flame that slept in her heart; it is that a feeling, new, strange, subtle, like fire, sweet as honey, rises in her soul, and makes her bosom beat. Oh! it is that she lives with another life. Now, she knows herself; she feels what she really is: now she understands the magic of love. The world--the priest--all disappears; in the temple of the Lord there is but a human creature she beholds--the man she loves--the man to whom she had faltered her thanks.
Now, let us quit all the envy and jealousy that might be seen exhibited on the way-side from St. Pe, and the triple scandal of cruel tongues; let us follow Franconnette, who carries home to her grandmother the blessed bread crowned with its garland, and who, having given it into her hands, retires to her chamber _alone with her love_!
First drop of dew in the time of drought, first ray of sun-light in winter, thou art not more welcome to the bosom of the parched earth in sadness, than this first flame of affection to the awakened heart of the tender girl! Happy--overwhelmed--she forgets herself, and, by degrees, gives up all her being to the new, rapturous delight of loving!
Then, far from the noise of evil tongues, she did what we all do; she dreamt with unclosed eyes, and without stone or implements she built herself a little castle, where, with Pascal, all was s.h.i.+ning, all was brilliant, all was radiant with happiness. Oh! the sage is right--the soul in affliction loves the strongest!
She gave herself up entirely to her love; she feels she loves for ever, and all in nature seems to smile for her. But the honey of love too soon becomes bitter. Suddenly, she recollects herself--she shudders--she becomes as if frozen. At the stroke of a fearful thought, all her little castle is demolished. Alas! wretched girl, she dreamt of love, and love is forbidden to her. Did not the sorcerer say she was sold to the evil one, and that man bold enough to seek her would find only death in the nuptial chamber? She! must she behold Pascal dead before her?
Mercy, oh G.o.d! oh G.o.d, pity!
And, bathed in tears, the poor child fell on her knees before an image of the Virgin.
”Holy Virgin,” said she, ”without thy aid I am lost; for I love deeply.
I have no parents, and they say I am sold to the demon. Oh, take pity on me! save me, if it be true: and if it is but the saying of the wicked, let my soul know the truth; and when I offer thee my taper at the altar of Notre Dame, prove to me that my prayer is accepted.”
A short prayer, when it is sincere, soon mounts to heaven. She felt certain that she was heard; but she thought constantly of her project, though at times she shuddered, and fear rendered her mute; still hope would come like a lightning flash in the night, and satisfy her heart.
PART IV.
At length the day arrived so feared and so desired. At day-break long lines of young girls, all in white, extended in all directions, and advanced to the sound of the bells; and Notre Dame, in the midst of a cloud of perfume, proudly looked down on three hamlets in one.
What censers! what crosses! what nosegays! what tapers! what banners!
what pictures! Then come all Puymirol, Artigues, Astafort, Lusignan, Cardonnet, Saint Cirq, Brax, Roquefort; but those of Roquefort, this year, are the first--the most numerous: and to see them in particular the curious hastened forward, for everywhere, in all places, the story of the young girl sold to the demon spread, and it is known that to-day she comes to pray to the Virgin to protect her.
Her misfortune has inspired pity amongst them; every one looks at her and laments; they trust that a miracle will be operated in her favour, and that the Virgin will save her. She sees the feeling that she has inspired, and rejoices; her hope becomes stronger; ”the voice of the people is the voice of G.o.d.”
Oh, how her heart beats as she enters the church! everywhere within the walls are pictures of the Virgin's mercy and indulgence; mothers in grief, young people in affliction, girls without parents, women without children--all are kneeling with tapers before the image of the Mother of heaven, which an aged priest in his robes allows to touch their lips, and afterwards blesses them.
No sign of ill has occurred, and they believe; all, as they rise, depart with a happy hope, and Franconnette feels the same, particularly when she sees Pascal praying devoutly; then she has courage to look the priest in the face. It appears as if love, music, the lights, the incense--all was united to a.s.sure her of pardon.