without mates;
All knelt before, with tapers waxen,
The image of the Virgin;
And there the aged priest, in
surplice dressed,
Placed the crosses at their lips, and afterwards them blessed.
No sign of sorrow did
on any suppliant fall,
But with their happy hearts, their ways went one and all,
So Franconnette grew
happy too,
And most because Pascal prayed fervent in her view;
She dared t'raise her eyes to the holy
father's face,
It seemed to her that love, hymns, lights, and the incense
United, cried out, "Grace!"
"Grace,
grace divine," she sighed, "and love! Let them be mine!"
Then stretching out her taper lit, and followed to
the shrine,
Bearing a garland in her hand; and all about her strove
To give a place to her, and bade her
forward move.
They fixed their eyes upon the sacred priest and her,
And scarce a breath was drawn,
and not a soul did stir;
But when the priest, holding the image of redeeming love,
Had laid it on the orphan's
lips; before her kiss was given,
Burst a terrific thunderpeal, as if 'twould rend the heaven,
Blowing her
taper out, and all the altar lights above.
Oh, what is this? The crashing thunder!
Her prayer denied,
the lights put out!
Good God! she's sold indeed! All, all is true, no doubt,
So a long murmur rose of
horror and of wonder;
For while the maiden breathlessly
Cowering like some lost soul, their shuddering
glances under,
Sudden crept forth, all shrunk away, and let her pass them by.
Howbeit, that great peal
was the opening blow
Of a wild storm and terrible,
That straightway upon Roquefort fell,
The spire of
Saint Pierre8 lay in ruins low,
And, smitten by the sharp scourge of the hail,
In all the region round, men
could but weep and wail.
The angel bands who walked that day
In fair procession, hymns to sing,
Turned
sorrowing, all save one, away,
Ora pro nobis chaunting.
Yet, in those early times, though not as now,
The angry waves to clear;
To other jealous towns could Agen show
Great bridges three, as she a royal
city were;
Then she had only barges two, by poles propelled slow,
That waited for the minstrels, to bear
them to Roquefort,
Whose villagers heard rumours of the widespread woe;
Ere landing, they were ranged
for singing on the shore.
At first the tale but half they heed,
But soon they see in very deed,
Vineyards
and happy fields with hopeless ruin smit;
Then each let fall his banner fair,
And lamentations infinite
Bent
on all sides the evening air,
Till o'er the swelling throng rose deadly clear the cry,
"And still we spare
this Franconnette!" Then suddenly,
As match to powder laid, the words
"Set her on fire! That daughter
of the Huguenot,
Let's burn her up, and let her ashes rot."
Then violent cries were heard.
Howls of "Ay!
Ay! the wretch! Now let her meet her fate!
She is the cause of all, 'tis plain!
Once she has made us
desolate,
But she shall never curse again!"
And now the crowd grew angrier, wilder too.
"Hunt her off
face of earth!" one shouts anew;
"Hunt her to death! 'Tis meet," a thousand tongues repeat,
The tempest
in the skies cannot with this compete.
Oh, then, to see them as they came,
With clenched fists and
eyes aflame,
Hell did indeed its demons all unchain.
And while the storm recedes, the night is growing
clear,
But poison shoots through every vein
Of the possess'd madmen there.
Thus goaded they themselves
to crime; but where was she,
Unhappy Franconnette? To her own cottage driven--
Worshipping her one
relic, sad and dreamily,
And whispered to the withered flowers Pascal had loving given:
"Dear nosegay,
when I saw thee first,
Methought thy sweetness was divine,
And I did drink it, heart athirst;
But now thou
art not sweet as erst,
Because those wicked thoughts of mine
Have blighted all thy beauty rare;
I'm sold
to powers of ill, for Heav'n hath spurned my prayer;
My love is deadly love! No hope on earth have I!
So,
treasure of my heart, flowers of the meadow fair,
Because I bless the hand that gathered thee, good-
bye!
Pascal must not love such as I!
He must th' accursed maid forswear,
Who yet to God for him doth
cry!
In wanton merriment last year,
Even at love laughed Franconnette;
Now is my condemnation clear,
Now whom I love, I must forget;
Sold to the demon at my birth!
My God, how can it be? Have I not faith
in Thee?
Oh! blessed blossoms of the earth;
Let me drive with my cross the evil one from me!
And
thou, my mother, in the star-lit skies above,
And thou, my guardian, oh! mother of our God,
Pity me: For
I bless Pascal, but part from him I love!
Pity the maid accursed, by the rod
Sore smitten, to the earth
down-trod,
Help me, thy Heart Divine to move!"
"Franconnette, little one, what means thy plaintive moan?"
So
spake the hoary dame. "Didst thou not smiling say
Our Lady did receive thy offering to-day?
But sure,
no happy heart should make so sad a groan.
Thou hast deceived me? Some new ill," she said,
Hath
fall'n upon us!" "Nay, not so; be comforted.
I--I'm quite happy!" "So my sweetest deary,
God grant that
some good respite we may have,
For your sad sorrow diggeth up my grave;
And this hath been a lonesome,
fearsome day, and weary;
That cruel dream of fire I had some time ago,
Howe'er I strove, did always
haunt me so!
And then, thou know'st the storm; oh, I was terrified,
So that, to-night, my dear, I shudder
in my fright!"
What sudden noise is this outside?
"Fire! Fire! Let's burn them in their cot!"
Flames shine
through all the shutters wide,
Then Franconnette springs to the doorway tremblingly,
And, gracious Heaven!