********************************** ***
Today, we will lose in the vicinity of the nose Jobourg .......
All kinds of legends run on the moors, and I've already told some ...
Lose yourself this day in pursuit of Trooper Barrens ........
It is also famous as the Demoiselle Tonneville, but much less dangerous! It is not cruel and simply gallop, on stormy nights on the moor Jobourg .......
They say he is the Lord of Auderville, Mr. La Fouèdre ...
The Lord having the worst way to attack the reputation of Mrs. Mary, wife of the Lord of Joburg, it was decided a duel to settle this insult!
the afternoon of August 15, between 1650 and 1670, while Mr. Mary went to Vespers, and that approached the cemetery, he saw his opponent, just before him, 200 meters from the church on a vacant lot between two small roads ...
The duel ensued then, not back!
Warned by friends, Lady Mary rushed out of the church, ran to her husband and collapsed with a cry of horror at his feet ....... . overcome by fear ...
Surprised, the Lord of Jobourg turned away from his enemy, lowered its custody, and his horrible rival took the opportunity to plunge his blade into her heart!
Mary's family sued the powerful Lord Auderville to make him account for this outrageous act, but the court sentenced him to simply draw a cross in the atoning ' location of the duel between the two paths ...... it was noticeable that the two swords on the carved stone are of unequal size .... which might suggest that the sword of the Lord Auderville was longer than Mr. Mary!
were also distinguished on the base carrying the cross the outline of a body overwhelmed ........
The legend begins here .... divine justice she did not stop there ... and that is why, on stormy nights, Mr. La Fouèdre is condemned forever to go Heath Jobourg ...
In 1929, John Henry, in "The Tour of The Hague" tells the story in verse .... I will let you enjoy:
"The duel of Mary and The Fouèdre
When the sheet of wood on earth faded
Announcement traveler decline of the year,
They say they seem to see Heath Jobourg
A dark knight toward daybreak.
I know this ghost, and his tragic story
is one of the ornaments of my feeble memory,
One of those old stories only from a black home,
The mother, his children, likes to recount the evening.
past two lords, divided by war,
lived there, witnessing their anger.
One, brave, generous and loyal enemy
a nice first name was Mary.
The other in his passions, burning like powder,
Had a fierce heart, and called Lightning.
A day of Our Lady, a fatal accident,
In a similar way, leading them away.
a time when a thud, solemn bells,
called the Holy Place the congregation,
being measured both with a look of disdain,
They run one on the other a sword in hand,
And, the arm extended, heart-free alarm
In sunlight they shine their weapons.
Shots followed shots, iron crossed the iron
It was like two demons escaped from hell,
Tans they cursed, as they were burning with envy,
One of the other bitter tear of life.
The Lightning moved from a hellish wrath
In blind seemed helpless bear blows
And can not hurt his clever adversary,
tossed out of spite , hatred and anger;
Of Mary, calm and cool, maintaining his force
From his rival excited burning rage,
And, aiding necessary or ruse or feint
avoided the lethal arm damage.
For some time, these noble knights
essay on their swords in their murderous
When the echo Plain and noise of their weapons
Will bring the Holy Place of sudden alarm.
Suddenly all ranks a dull rumor
Runs germinated and terror in every heart.
It is said that De Mary, pierced with an injury,
for its generous blood reddened the green
And her sweet face which sat so many charms,
is already covered all of the shadows death.
His wife, in this story, trembling and desolate
Fly instead of fighting, disheveled head
of gesture and voice, calls her husband,
And fall short stagger to its knees.
Of Mary, a hand, dropped his sword
And the other is strongly soon.
But oh, fatal battle, O mortal pain!
When the arms of the weeping woman
Wants delight to death this husband she adores.
Lightning in frantic, just hit it again,
And plunge his sword, grinning furious
In the heart of a defeated rival disarmed.
Atonement
Now a cross, symbol atoning
from this dreadful package retains the memory
And two swords engraved on its sharp edges
instruct the fatal killing bystanders.
But since that moment, a ghost in the shadow
Walking at night around the dark cross.
This scary ghost is an old horseman
Who, spear in hand, rides a pale horse
In Flank black, with thick mane
Whose rippling waves roll over the heath,
A big bronze helmet surmounted by a crest,
Covers like a wall the front of the rider,
Whose white beard and the sad face
Seem accustomed to defy the storm.
But beneath his white beard and a helmet of brass
Runs sometimes a smile of disdain,
A smile with a slow and cruel irony
Identifies indescribable infinite pain.
It is said that when he crosses the foot of that cross,
He whispers words of a gloomy voice,
Words that shake the merits of cemeteries,
The dead buried in their dusty shrouds.
When the storm broke out at the bottom of the horizon,
The traveler sees the cover of a whirlwind,
Under streams of lightning, rain and storm,
Walk like a giant, raising his head.
Sometimes his voice rises and the neighing
From his pale steed mingles with the wind noise,
Then we hear voices, crying, screaming funeral
Songs and tears go into darkness,
And when everything stopped, complaints , cries and sobs,
