Google Translation Of The French Legend Of The Wax Hand.

[byronius]

Chateau L'Herm History

The wind that passes, winter evenings on our hard jarrissades, won so many calls and cries, it has dried so much blood and buried so many traces in the dead leaves that often, old crimes there remains, in the tales of evenings, as all coated legends of poetry. Lerm was born the wax hand.

Once upon a time, in the days of good King Louis XII, a baron of Lerm whose only treasure was a radiant child. His wife died, had left one day in April when is enneigent all bushes. Pages, grooms, maids had no other mission than to escort fourteen Jeanne. One of the pages, Gontran Bourdeille, was as handsome as a legendary knight, but very worried Baron by his swagger, his discipline, his incessant escapades, his detestable exploits. It is true that everyone can feed the imagination of a Capuchin, but Gontran was the devil himself.

But that day, Jeanne had just regained her chamber. She had sent her women; sitting on a stool, his eyes lit by the dancing flames, she smiled in her dreams. Lying at his feet, Alba, her greyhound, eyes closed, also dreamed of a greyhound silky hair, the nose end.

Suddenly the door opens and a man enters, who falls to his knees. “Sorry and thank you” beg the Gontran voice trembling Bourdeille. Must I tell you he confessed on his love field? Need we add that Joan confesses his, because he is the beloved of devils sometimes girls? “But what will your father? “Request the page. She’s not afraid of his father. Gontran only gives her hand. Bourdeille got up to run to her, but he did not see, on the mantelpiece the battleaxe that Baron has forgotten sometimes. He faces the shoulder; it falls and net slice Jeanne’s hand.

Cries in the castle; Women who come, people are busy. Gontran and disappeared.

There is, fortunately, skillful doctors. One of them managed to save the girl. He did too, hard wax, one hand so perfectly imitated that only the familiar castle leave no mistake. Nothing would be changed if the baron was inconsolable. But after the death of his wife, the infirmity of his daughter, it is too much. A sky so curse weighs on the walls of Lerm! His eyes almost always clouded with tears, saw only a pale light. This forty year old man is already an old man.

Death is coming for him, he knows it. Ah! if, at least, Jeanne wanted to choose a husband! He ventured one day to ask him in front of his small yard. And you guess that he is other elected the author of all evil. Mad with happiness, Bourdeille putting knee, receives the blessing of his Lord. Then, turning to Jeanne: “Gente lady, he said, remember that he will always be enough, to be obeyed, to raise this hand.”

A lavish engagement succession of princely wedding. And then time passes. Several years.

One evening in the great hall of the castle, the old baron and his daughter conversing with some servants. Gontran and God knows where! Suddenly shrill, the sound of the horn broke the gates of the mansion. Who’s there ? Hildebrand, the falconer, dispatched to the drawbridge back and dare not say word. The chaplain pulled off her paternosters, ran trembling. “Noble lord, cried he! …”. But then came an infernal uproar. The courtyard is only screams, horses trampling, armor shocks, drinking songs which men and women relate the vile chorus. And the furious will invade the stairs; they climb the steps, and soon the door gave way under their thrust, book passage excruciating charade. And that’s Gontran who led and leads all around the room a zigzag medley.

But why the baron he laughs not? Why this sudden head bowed and these sightless eyes? “He is dead ! “Screams a woman. Death? What then? To serve drinks, it remains Jeanne. Where is she?

In the upper room of the castle, lying on animal skins, it leaves a long swoon. Near her, a young man with blond beautiful horses told him the danger she ran and when he rescued her. It is a simple troubadour; it goes from castle to castle, telling fairy tales and songs of love. But it is noble; it is called Aymar Milhac. Lerm and is often on the road. What madness seizes him and drives him today, in this room, to let his heart? Why Jeanne she defends? Gontran does not he abandons to run and drink with people anything?

Gontran? In a frock coats door suddenly open, here precisely the ax raised … the same battle-ax. He goes ahead and shoot them both. So, Jeanne stands and looking into his eyes: “Do you remember your oath? “Cries she. And slowly rises the wax hand.

– What are you asking? screams the demented.
– The grace of this man.
– That kind.

Aymar is gone, but before he reached the low door of the castle, we heard a terrible scream. And never, we have seen behind the battlements, the white lady dress Lerm.

[yourpaljoey]

1. And so the malted milkshake was thrust upon us!