The Gold Sickle Part 11

The bard proceeded, turning towards the pyre:

"Daoulas, you are about to die! It is a glorious thing to see the face of a brave and just person at the moment when he or she voluntarily quits this world for some sacred cause. They love, at the moment of their departure to see the tender looks of farewell of their parents and friends. Cowards like yourself, Daoulas, are unworthy of taking a last look at the just. Hence, Daoulas, you will die and burn hidden in that envelop of osier, the effigy of a man, as you have become since the commission of the murder."

And the bard cried:

"In the name of Hesus! In the name of Teutates! Glory, glory to the brave! Shame, shame on the coward!"

All the bards struck upon their harps and their cymbals, and cried in chorus:

"Glory, glory to the brave! Shame, shame on the coward!"

An ewagh then took up a sacred knife, cut off the murderer's life and cast his body inside of the huge osier effigy of a man. The pyre was set on fire. The harps and cymbals struck up in chorus, and all the tribes repeated aloud the last words of the bard:

"Shame on the coward!"

Soon the murderer's pyre was a raging ma.s.s of flame, within which was seen for a moment the effigy of a man like a giant on fire. The flames lighted the tops of the oaks of the forest, the colossal stones of Karnak, and even the vast expanse of the sea, while the moon inundated the s.p.a.ce with its divine light. A few minutes later there was nothing left but a heap of ashes where the pyre of Daoulas had stood.

Julyan was then seen ascending with radiant mien the pyre where lay the body of Armel, his friend--his pledged brother. Julyan had on his holiday clothes: a blouse of fine material striped white and blue, held around his waist by an embroidered leather belt, from which hung his knife. His caped cloak of brown wool was held by a brooch over his left shoulder. An oak crown decked his manly head. He held in his hand a nosegay of vervain. He looked serene and bold. Hardly had he ascended the pyre, when again the harps and cymbals struck up, and the bard chanted:

"Who is this? He is a brave man! It is Julyan the laborer; Julyan of the family of Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak! He fears the G.o.ds, and all love him. He is good, he is industrious, he is brave. He killed Armel not in hate but in a contest, in loyal combat, buckler on arm, sword in hand, like a true Breton Gaul, who loves to display his bravery and does not fear death. Armel having departed, Julyan, who had pledged brotherhood to him, wishes to depart also and join his friend. Glory to Julyan, faithful to the teachings of the druids. He knows that the creatures of the All-Powerful never die, and his pure and n.o.ble blood Julyan now offers up to Hesus. Glory, hope and happiness to Julyan! He has been good, just and brave. He will be re-born still happier, still juster, still braver, and ever onward, from world to world, Julyan will be re-born, his soul being ever re-incarnated in a new body the same as the body that here puts on new clothes."

"Oh, Gauls! Ye proud souls, to whom death does not exist! Come, come!

Remove your eyes from this earth; rise to the sublimity of heaven. See, see at your feet the abyss of s.p.a.ce, dotted by these myriads of mortals as are all of us, and whom Teutates guides incessantly from the world that they have lived in towards the world that they are next to inhabit.

Oh, what unknown worlds and marvelous we shall journey through, with our friends and our relatives that have preceded us, and with those whom we shall precede!"

"No, we are not mortals! Our infinite lives are numbered by myriads and myriads of centuries, just as are numbered by myriads of myriads the stars in the firmament--mysterious worlds, ever different, ever new, that we are successively to inhabit."

"Let those fear death who, faithful to the false G.o.ds of the Greeks, the Romans and the Jews, believe that man lives only once, and that after that, stripped of his body, the happy or unhappy soul remains eternally in the same h.e.l.l or the same paradise! Aye! They are bound to fear death who believe that when man quits this life he finds _immobility in eternity_."

"We Gauls have the right knowledge of G.o.d. We hold the secret of death.

_Man is immortal both in body and soul._ Our destiny from world to world is to see and learn, to the end that at each of these journeys, if we have led wicked and impure lives, we may purify ourselves and become better--still better if we have been just and good; and that thus, from new birth to new birth man rises incessantly towards perfection as endless as his life!"

"Happy, therefore, are the brave who voluntarily leave this world for other regions where they will ever see new and marvelous sights in the company of those whom they have loved! Happy, therefore, happy the brave Julyan! He is about to meet again with his friend, and with him see and know _what none of us has yet seen or known, and what all of us shall see and know_! Happy Julyan! Glory, glory to Julyan!"

And all the bards and all the druids, the female druids and the virgins of the Isle of Sen repeated in chorus to the sound of the harps and the cymbals:

"Happy, Happy Julyan! Glory to Julyan!"

And all the tribes, feeling the thrill of curiosity of death and certain that they all would eventually become acquainted with the marvels of the other worlds, repeated with their thousands of voices:

"Happy Julyan! Happy Julyan!"

Standing erect upon his pyre, his face radiant, and at his feet the body of Armel, Julyan raised his inspired eyes towards the brilliant moon, opened his blouse, drew his long knife, held up the nosegay of vervain to heaven with his left hand, and with his right firmly plunged his knife into his breast, uttering as he did so in a strong voice:

"Happy--happy am I. I am to join Armel!"

The pyre was immediately lighted. Julyan, raised for a last, time his nosegay of vervain to heaven, and then vanished in the midst of the blinding flames, while the chants of the bards and the clang of harp and cymbals resounded far and wide.

In their impatience to see and know the mysteries of the other world, a large number of men and women of the tribes rushed towards Julyan's pyre for the purpose of departing with him and of offering to Hesus an immense hecatomb with their bodies. But Talyessin, the eldest of the druids, ordered the ewaghs to restrain and hold these faithful people back. He cried out to them:

"Enough blood has flown without that which is still to flow. But the hour has come when the blood of Gaul should flow only for freedom. The blood that is shed for liberty is also an agreeable offering to the All-Powerful."

It was not without great effort that the ewaghs prevented the threatened rush of voluntary human sacrifices. The pyre of Julyan and Armel burned until the flames had nothing more to feed upon.

Again profound silence fell upon the crowd. Hena, the virgin of the Isle of Sen, had ascended the third pyre.

Joel and Margarid, their three sons, Guilhern, Albinik and Mikael, Guilhern's wife and little children all of whom so dearly loved Hena, all her relatives and all the members of her tribe held one another in a close embrace, and said to one another:

"There is Hena.... There is our Hena!"

As the virgin of the Isle of Sen stood upon the pyre that was ornamented with white veils, greens and flowers, the crowds of the tribes cried in one voice: "How beautiful she is!... How holy!"

Joel writes it now down in all sincerity. His daughter Hena was indeed very beautiful as she stood erect on the pyre, lighted by the mellow light of the moon and resplendent in her black tunic, her blonde hair and her green chaplet, while her arms, whiter than ivory, embraced her gold harp!

The bards ordered silence.

The virgin of the Isle of Sen sang in a voice as pure as her own soul:

"The daughter of Joel and Margarid comes to offer gladly her life as a sacrifice to Hesus!

"Oh, All-Powerful! From the stranger deliver the soil of our father!

"Gauls of Britanny, you have the lance and the sword!

"The daughter of Joel and Margarid has but her blood. She offers it voluntarily to Hesus!

"Oh, Almighty G.o.d! Render invincible the Gallic lance and sword! Oh, Hesus, take my blood, it is yours ... save our sacred fatherland!"

The eldest of the female druids stood all this while on the pyre behind Hena with the sacred knife in her hand. When Hena's chant was ended, the knife glistened in the air and struck the virgin of the Isle of Sen.

Her mother and her brothers, all the members of her tribe and her father Joel saw Hena fall upon her knees, cross her arms, turn her celestial face towards the moon, and cry with a still sonorous voice:

"Hesus ... Hesus ... by the blood that flows.... Mercy for Gaul!"

"Gauls, by this blood that flows, victory to our arms!"

Thus the sacrifice of Hena was consummated amidst the religious admiration of the tribes. All repeated the last words of the brave virgin:

"Hesus, mercy for Gaul!... Gauls, victory to our arms!"

Several young men, being fired with enthusiasm by the heroic example and beauty of Hena sought to kill themselves upon her pyre in order to be re-born with her. The ewaghs held them back. The flames soon enveloped the pyre and Hena vanished in their dazzling splendor. A few minutes later there was nothing left of the virgin and her pyre but a heap of ashes. A high wind sat in from the sea and dispersed the atoms. The virgin of the Isle of Sen, brilliant and pure as the flame that consumed her, had vanished into s.p.a.ce to be re-born and to await beyond for the arrival of those whom she had loved.

The cymbals and harps resounded anew, and the chief of the bards struck up the chant:

"To arms, ye Gauls, to arms!

"The innocent blood of a virgin flowed for your sakes, and shall not yours flow for the fatherland! To arms! The Romans are here. Strike, Gauls, strike at their heads! Strike hard! See the enemy's blood flow like a stream! It rises up to your knees! Courage! Strike hard! Gauls, strike the Romans! Still harder! Harder still! You see the enemy's blood extend like a lake! It rises up to your chests! Courage! Strike still harder, Gauls! Strike the Romans! Strike harder still! You will rest to-morrow.... To-morrow Gaul will be free! Let, to-day, from the Loire to the ocean, but one cry resound--'To arms!'"

As if carried away by the breath of war, all the tribes dispersed, running to their arms. The moon had gone down; dark night set in. But from all parts of the woods, from the bottoms of the valleys, from the tops of the hills where the signal fires were burning, a thousand voices echoed and re-echoed the chant of the bards: