The Executioner's Knife; Or, Joan of Arc
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Эжен Сю. The Executioner's Knife; Or, Joan of Arc
PART I. DOMREMY
CHAPTER I. JEANNETTE
CHAPTER II. GILLON THE FURTIVE
CHAPTER III. AT THE FOUNTAIN OF THE FAIRIES
CHAPTER IV. THE HARP OF MERLIN
CHAPTER V. THE PROPHECY OF MERLIN
CHAPTER VI. THE LEGEND OF HENA
CHAPTER VII. GERMINATION
CHAPTER VIII. THE ENGLISH!
CHAPTER IX. THE FLIGHT
CHAPTER X "BURGUNDY!" – "FRANCE!"
CHAPTER XI. THE VISION
CHAPTER XII. RETURNING VISIONS
CHAPTER XIII. WRESTLING WITH THE ANGELS
CHAPTER XIV "THE TIME HAS ARRIVED."
CHAPTER XV. CAPTAIN ROBERT OF BAUDRICOURT
CHAPTER XVI. AT THE CASTLE OF VAUCOULEURS
CHAPTER XVII. JOHN OF NOVELPONT
CHAPTER XVIII "GOOD LUCK, JOAN!"
PART II. CHINON
CHAPTER I. THE COUNCIL OF CHARLES VII
CHAPTER II. ALOYSE OF CASTELNAU
CHAPTER III. THE TEST
CHAPTER IV. THE HALL OF RABATEAU
PART III. ORLEANS
CHAPTER I. FRIDAY, APRIL 29, 1429
CHAPTER II. SATURDAY, APRIL 30, 1429
CHAPTER III. SUNDAY, MAY 1, 1429
CHAPTER IV. MONDAY, MAY 2, 1429
CHAPTER V. TUESDAY, MAY 3, 1429
CHAPTER VI. WEDNESDAY, MAY 4, 1429
CHAPTER VII. THURSDAY, MAY 5, 1429
CHAPTER VIII. FRIDAY, MAY 6, 1429
CHAPTER IX. SATURDAY, MAY 7, 1429
CHAPTER X. THE KING CROWNED
PART IV. ROUEN; OR, THE MYSTERY OF THE PASSION OF JOAN DARC
CHAPTER I. BISHOP AND CANON
CHAPTER II. IN THE DUNGEON
CHAPTER III. THE INQUISITION
CHAPTER IV. THE TEMPTATION
CHAPTER V. THE SENTENCE
CHAPTER VI. PHYSICAL COLLAPSE
CHAPTER VII. REMORSE
CHAPTER VIII. THE RELAPSE
CHAPTER IX. THE WORM TURNS
CHAPTER X. TO THE FLAMES!
CHAPTER XI. THE PYRE
EPILOGUE
Отрывок из книги
Domremy is a frontier village of Lorraine that cosily nestles on the slope of a fertile valley whose pasture grounds are watered by the Meuse. An oak forest, that still preserves some mementoes of druid tradition, reaches out almost to the village church. This church is the handsomest of all in the valley, which begins at Vaucouleurs and ends at Domremy. St. Catherine and St. Marguerite, superbly painted and gilded, ornament the sanctuary. St. Michael, the Archangel, with his sword in one hand and the scales in the other, glistens from the depths of a dark recess in the chapel. Happy is the valley that begins at Vaucouleurs and ends at Domremy! A royal seigniory, lost on the confines of Gaul, it has not yet suffered from the disasters of war that for more than a half century have been desolating the center of the country. Its inhabitants, profiting by the civil broils of their sovereign and his distance from them, being separated from his main domains by Champagne, which had fallen into the power of the English, had emancipated themselves from serfdom.
James Darc, a member of a family that had long been serfs of the Abbey of St. Remy, and subsequently of the Sire of Joinville before the fief of Vaucouleurs was consolidated with the royal domain, an honest laborer, stern head of his household and rather rude of manners, lived by the cultivation of the fields. His wife was called Isabelle Romée; his eldest son, Peter; the second, John; and his daughter, born on "the day of Kings" in 1412, was named Jeannette. At the time when this narrative commences, Jeannette was a little over thirteen years of age. She was of pleasant appearance, a sweet and pious child and endowed with precocious intelligence. Her disposition was serious for her age. This notwithstanding, she joined in the games of other girls, her friends, and never gloried in her own superior agility when, as usually happened, she won in the races. She could neither read nor write. Active and industrious, she helped her mother in the household, led the sheep to pasture and was skilful with the needle and at the distaff. Often pensive, when alone in secluded spots of the woods she watched over her flock, she found an inexpressible delight in listening to the distant sound of the church bells, to the point that at times she made little presents of fruits or skeins of wool to the parish clerk of Domremy, joining to the gifts the gentle request that he prolong a little the chimes of the vespers or of the Angelus.1 Jeannette also took delight in leading her sheep in the ancient forest of oaks, known as the "Bois Chesnu",2 towards a limpid spring shaded by a beech tree that was between two and three hundred years old and which was known in the region as the "Fairies' Tree". The legend had it that the priests of the old gods of Gaul sometimes appeared, dressed in their long white robes, under the dark vaults of the oaks of this forest, and that often little fairies approached the fountain by moonlight to see their reflection in its waters.
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In that wonderful organism a rare sagacity, an excellent judgment, an astonishing military aptitude were, without losing any of these qualities, without losing aught of virtue, blended with the exaltations of an inspired woman. Often, recalling as she constantly did, the infantine battle in which victory remained with her, Joan would say:
"Men and children, when known how to be handled, can not choose but obey the identical impulses, the identical generous sentiments; with the aid of heaven it will be with the men of the royal army as it was with the urchins of Domremy; they will follow my example."
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