The Galley Slave's Ring; or, The Family of Lebrenn. Эжен Сю

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СКАЧАТЬ me first come to the end of my story, Gildas. You may then sing your song to me, if you like. The military man – "

      "The sparrow-hawk – "

      "Be it so – stood there glowering at mademoiselle with both his eyes aflame."

      "With his two sparrow-hawk eyes, Jeanike!"

      "But let me finish. Presently mademoiselle noticed the attention that she was the object of. She colored like a ripe cherry, told me to watch the shop, and withdrew to the room in the rear. And that's not yet all. The next day, at the same hour, the colonel turned up again, but this time in civilian dress, and there he planted himself again at the window. Madam happened to be in the shop, and he did not stay long. Day before yesterday he turned up again without being able to see mademoiselle. Finally, yesterday, Madam Lebrenn being in the shop, he stepped in and asked her – his language was very polite – whether she could furnish him with a certain grade of linen. Madam said she could, and it was agreed that the colonel would come back to-day to close the bargain with Monsieur Lebrenn."

      "And do you believe, Jeanike, that madam was aware that the military man had come several times before, and peeped through the window?"

      "I don't know, Gildas; and I am not sure whether I should notify madam. A minute ago I begged you to look and see if the dragoon did not come back. I feared he was charged to spy upon us. Fortunately it was not so. Would you advise me to notify madam, or to say nothing? To speak may alarm her; to keep silent may, perhaps, be wrong. What is your opinion?"

      "It is my opinion that you should notify madam. She may become justly suspicious of that big order for linen. Hem! – hem!"

      "I shall follow your advice, Gildas."

      "And you will be wise if you do! Oh, my dear lassy, these men with helmets – "

      "Well, now, I am ready. Let's have your song."

      "It is an awful story, Jeanike! Mother told it to me a hundred times in the evenings, just as my grandmother had told it to her, and just as my grandmother's grandmother – "

      "Come, Gildas," broke in Jeanike, laughing. "If you keep up at that rate from grandmother to grandmother, you are bound to go back to our mother Eve."

      "Sure! Do our countrypeople not transmit from generation to generation narratives that go back to – "

      "A thousand and fifteen hundred years, and even further back, like the stories of Myrdin and of The Baron of Jauioz, with which I have been rocked to sleep in my cradle. I am well aware of it, Gildas."

      "Well, Jeanike, the song that I have in mind is about people who wear helmets, and prowl around young girls. It is a frightful story. It is called The Three Red Monks," said Gildas, looking formidable; – "The Three Red Monks; or, The Sire of Plouernel."

      "What's that?" asked Jeanike interestedly, being struck by the name. "The Sire of – "

      "The Sire of Plouernel."

      "Singular!"

      "Singular what?"

      "I've heard Monsieur Lebrenn mention that name, more than once."

      "The name of the Sire of Plouernel? On what occasion?"

      "I'll tell you later. First of all, let's have the song of the Three Red Monks. It will interest me doubly."

      "You must know, first of all, my lassy, that the red monks were Templars, and wore a sword and helmet, just like that sparrow-hawk of a dragoon."

      "Very well, now go on. Madam may come down any moment, and monsieur is due here now."

      "Listen attentively, Jeanike."

      And Gildas commenced the following recitative. It was not sung, exactly, but was chanted like a psalm in a grave and melancholic voice:

      "At every limb I shudder,

      I shudder at the sorrows that afflict our people.

      I shudder at the thought of the event that took place,

      That has just taken place in the town of Kemper,

      That took place at Kemper just a year ago.

      "Katelik walked her way as she counted her beads,

      When three monks in red, all three Templars were they,

      And armed at all points, joined Katelik; three monks,

      Astride of their huge barbed steeds,

      Barbed from mane down to hoofs.

      "'Come with us, you pretty young maid;

      Come to the convent with us.

      Neither gold will you want for,

      Nor eke silver coin.'

      'May it please, Sires, your graces,

      Not I will join you in your ride,'

      Said young Katelik. 'I fear your swords,

      That hang by your sides.

      No, Sires,

      I shall not, nor can I go with you.

      Too wicked the tales that one hears about you.'

      "'Come with us, come to the convent, young maid.

      Feel not alarmed about us.'

      'No, I shall not proceed to the convent.

      Seven young maids of the fields

      Once went there, 'tis said;

      Seven handsome maids, ripe for their nuptials they were.

      Yet they never came out from the convent again.'

      "'If seven young maids,' cried up Gonthram of Plouernel,

      One of the three monks in red,

      'If seven young maids went in,

      You, pretty maid, the eighth will be.'

      With this she was seized,

      And pulled up on horseback;

      With this the three rode to the convent in hot haste,

      The maid laid across the saddle,

      And gagged to smother her cries."

      "Oh, the poor dear girl!" exclaimed Jeanike, clasping her hands. "And what is to become of her in that convent of the red monks?"

      "You will learn presently, my lassy," answered Gildas with a sigh; and he proceeded with his recitation:

      "Seven months later, or eight,

      Or perhaps even more,

      Great was the dilemma of the monks in their Abbey,

      'What, brothers,' they said,

      'Shall with this girl now be done?'

      'Let us bury her, to-night let us bury her,

      At the foot of the main altar.

      None of her folks will there seek to find her.'"

      "Great God!" cried Jeanike. "They must have killed her, those bandit monks, and were in a hurry to rid themselves of the body."

      "I tell you once more, my lassy, these people with helmets and swords are always up to some mischief or other," remarked Gildas dogmatically; and he proceeded:

      "Lo, toward night-fall the vault of heaven is rent.

      Rain, wind, hail; thunder the most frightful cracks СКАЧАТЬ