The Executioner's Knife; Or, Joan of Arc. Эжен Сю
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will then finally be driven from France and our young Sire crowned, thanks to the courage of the young Lorrainian maid from the forest of old oaks! May God grant our prayers!"
"'It matters little what may happen. What must be shall be.' The prophecy will be fulfilled."
"And yet," replied the little shepherdess, after reflecting a moment, "think of a young maid riding to battle and commanding armed men like a captain! Is such a thing possible? But God will give her courage!"
"My father knew one time, in my country of Brittany, the wife of the Count of Montfort, who was vanquished and taken prisoner by the King of France. Her name was Jeannette, like yours. Long did she fight valiantly, both on land and on sea, with casque and cuirass. She wished to save the heritage of her son, a three-year-old boy. The sword weighed no more to the arm of the Countess Jeannette than does the distaff to the hands of a girl that spins."
"What a woman, god-mother! What a woman!"
"And there were a good many other martial women, hundreds and hundreds of years ago! They came in vessels from the countries of the North; and they were daring enough to row up the Seine as far even as Paris. They were called the Buckler Maidens. They did not fear the bravest soldier. And who wished to wed them had first to overcome them by force of arms."9
"You do not say so! What furious women they must have been!"
"And in still older days, the Breton women of Gaul followed their husbands, sons, fathers and brothers to battle. They assisted at the councils of war; and often fought unto death."
"God-mother, is not the story of Hena that you once told me, a legend of those days?"10
"Yes, my child."
"Oh, god-mother," replied the enraptured little shepherdess, caressingly, "tell me that legend once more. Hena proved herself as courageous as will be the young Lorrainian maid whose advent Merlin predicts."
"Very well," said Sybille, smiling, "I shall tell you this legend also and shall then return home. My hemp is retting. I shall return for it before evening."
CHAPTER VI
THE LEGEND OF HENA
With the enchanted Jeannette for her audience, Sybille proceeded to recite the legend of Hena:
"She was young, she was fair,
And holy was she.
To Hesus her blood gave
For Gaul to be free.
Hena her name!
Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!
"'Blessed be the gods, my sweet daughter,'
Said her father Joel,
The brenn of the tribe of Karnak.
'Blessed be the gods, my sweet daughter,
Since you are home this night
To celebrate the day of your birth!'
"'Blessed be the gods, my sweet girl,'
Said Margarid, her mother.
'Blessed be your coming!
But why is your face so sad?'
"'My face is sad, my good mother,
My face is sad, my good father,
Because Hena your daughter
Comes to bid you Adieu,
Till we meet again.'
"'And where are you going, my sweet daughter?
Will your journey, then, be long?
Whither thus are you going?'
"'I go to those worlds
So mysterious, above,
That no one yet knows,
But that all will yet know.
Where living ne'er traveled,
Where all will yet travel,
To live there again
With those we have loved.'"
"And those worlds," asked Jeannette, "are they the paradise where the angels and the saints of the good God are? Are they, god-mother?"
Sybille shook her head doubtfully, without answering, and continued the recital of her legend:
"Hearing Hena speak these words,
Sadly gazed upon her her father,
And her mother, aye, all the family,
Even the little children,
For Hena loved them very dearly.
"'But why, dear daughter,
Why now quit this world,
And travel away beyond
Without the Angel of Death having called you?'
"'Good father, good mother,
Hesus is angry.
The stranger now threatens our Gaul, so beloved.
The innocent blood of a virgin
Offered by her to the gods
May their anger well soften.
Adieu then, till we meet again,
Good father, good mother.
"'Adieu till we meet again,
All, my dear ones and friends.
These collars preserve, and these rings,
As mementoes of me.
Let me kiss for the last time your blonde heads,
Dear little ones. Good-bye till we meet.
Remember your Hena, she waits for you yonder,
In the worlds yet unknown.'
"Bright is the moon, high is the pyre
Which rises near the sacred stones of Karnak;
Vast is the gathering of the tribes
Which presses 'round the funeral pile.
"Behold her, it is she, it is Hena!
She mounts the pyre, her golden harp in hand,
And singeth thus:
"'Take my blood, O Hesus,
And deliver my land from the stranger.
Take my blood, O Hesus.
Pity for Gaul! Victory to our arms!'
"So it flowed, the blood of Hena.
O, holy Virgin, in vain 'twill not have been,
The shedding of your innocent and generous blood.
To arms! To arms!
Let us chase away the stranger!
Victory to our arms!"
The eyes of Jeannette filled anew with tears; and she said to Sybille, when the latter had finished her recital:
"Oh, god-mother, if the good God, his saints and his archangels should ask me: 'Jeannette, which would you prefer to be, Hena or the martial maid of Lorraine who is to drive the wicked English from France and restore his crown to our gentle Dauphin?' – "
"Which would you prefer?"
"I would prefer to be Hena, who, in order to deliver her country, offered her blood to the good God without shedding the blood of any other people! To be obliged to kill so many people before vanquishing the enemy and before crowning our poor young Sire! Oh, god-mother," added Jeannette, shivering, "Merlin said that he saw blood flowing in torrents and steaming like a fog!"
Jeannette broke off and rose precipitately upon hearing, a few steps off in the copse,
See "The Iron Arrow Head," the tenth of this series.
Volume one of this series, "The Gold Sickle."