The Catholic World
Chapter 405 : For an instant I stopped short; what reply to offer to a man who judged the saints by

For an instant I stopped short; what reply to offer to a man who judged the saints by their practical utility? I turned upon him: "And your own patron," I replied, "what maladies does he care?"

"Oh! a great number," he said; "those of men as well as those of animals. Although during his life he was only a poor blind singer, he has a beautiful place in paradise, I a.s.sure you. The day he entered heaven the sky was all illuminated." And, accompanying it with commentaries, he chanted for me the legend of the patron of his parish.

I knew it already by Latin and French publications; but I was well pleased to collect it fresh from the living spring of popular tradition. By the aid of this later source and of the written record, I have reconstructed the account about to be read. It presents, if I do not deceive myself, a somewhat interesting page in the history of Christian civilization in Armorica, in the sixth century; so judged the great historian, my teacher and my friend, to whom I dedicate it.

Moral truth s.h.i.+nes through all the legend as a light s.h.i.+nes through a veil. [Footnote 189]

[Footnote 189: The most ancient compilation of this legend, written six hundred years after the death of Saint Herve, which is placed on the 22d June in the year 568, exists in the Imperial Library, in the portfolio of the "Blanc-Manteaux." No 38, p. 851: the two more modern are, one of P. Albert le Grand, who has taken for his model Jacques de Voragine; the other by Dom Lobineau, who has fallen into the contrary extreme.]

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I.

It was the custom of the Frank kings to have a large number of poets and musicians at their court; they often had them come from foreign countries, taking pleasure, mingled with a barbarous pride, in listening to verses sung in their honor, of which they understood not a word. Among them were seen Italians, Greeks, and even Britons, who, uniting their discordant voices with the singers of the German race, emulated each other in flattering the not critical ears of the Merovingian princes. Welcomed to their palace, after having been driven from his own country by the Lombards, the Italian Fortunatus has preserved for us recollections of these singular concerts at which, lyre in hand, he performed his part while "the Barbarian," he says, "added the harp, the Greek the instrument of Homer, and the Briton the Celtic rote." The rote had the same fate as the lyre; it sought in Gaul an asylum from the invaders of the British Isle, of whom it might be said with equal truth as by the Italian poet of the conquerors of his country, that they did not know the difference between the gabble of the goose and the song of the swan. The Merovingian kings piqued themselves on having more taste.

Among the Britons who took refuge with them, and who continued to play in Gaul nearly the same part that they played in the dwellings of their native chiefs, there was a young man, named Hyvarnion. This name, which signifies just judgment, had been given him in his own country on the following occasion: He was in a school where he was only known as the _pet.i.t savant_, and had for his teacher one of the sages of the British nation, both monk and poet, named Kadok, now known in Armorica as Saint Cado. At the end of the fifth century this successor of the last Latin rhetors of Albion, instructed the young islanders in grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, poetry, and music, mingling, as it appears, with the methods of instruction transmitted by cla.s.sic antiquity, the traditions of the ancient Druids. The master disputed one day with his little scholar after the manner of the Druids, the subject of debate being: What are the eighteen most beautiful moral virtues? Kadok indicated eighteen, but he purposely omitted the princ.i.p.al, wis.h.i.+ng to leave to his pupil the pleasure of finding them out for himself.

"For my part," said the scholar, "I believe that he possesses the eighteen virtues _par excellence_, who is strong in trials and in tribulations; gentle in the midst of suffering; energetic in execution; modest in glory and in prosperity; humble in conduct; persistent in good resolutions; firm in toil and in difficulties; eager for instruction; generous in words, in deeds, and in thoughts; reconciler of quarrels; gracious in his manners and affable in his house; on good terms with his neighbors; pure in body and in thought; just in words and deeds; regular in his manners; but above all, charitable to the poor and afflicted."

"Thine the prize!" cried Kadok, "thou hast spoken better than I."

"Not so," replied the _pet.i.t savant_, "not so; I wished to carry it over thee, and thou hast given a proof of humility; thou art the wiser, and thine the palm." [Footnote 190]

[Footnote 190: "Myvyrian archaeology of Wales," iii. p. 45.]

This just judgment brought good fortune to the young scholar. It procured for him the fine name by which he was afterward designated, and under which he is presented to us in the Armorican legends.

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Once pa.s.sed over to the continent, Hyvarnion became henceforth only a vague remembrance in the minds of the islanders. His countrymen knew very little of his history, and it may be believed that he would have been wholly forgotten had not a Cambrian poet consecrated to him three verses recalling the memorable sayings of the great men of his nation.

"Hast thou heard," said he, "what sang the _pet.i.t savant_ seated at table with the bards?"

"The man with a pure heart has a joyous countenance."

The table which is here mentioned is that of the Frank king Childebert. Hyvarnion sat there for four years, probably from the year 513 to the year 517. In the midst of the debaucheries and the scandals of that court he appeared calm and serene in conscience and in countenance, and like the children in the furnace, he sang. His songs and his verses rendered him agreeable to the king, says a hagiographer who charitably claims that the bard "merited the esteem of the king even more by his virtues than by his talents." Whatever might be the esteem of the murderer of the sons of Chlodimer for the virtues of the poet of his court, Childebert showed himself as generous to him as were the island chiefs to their household minstrels. But not precious stuffs, nor gold, nor mead, the three gifts most dear to a poet, could retain in the court of Paris a young man in whose eyes purity of soul and of body, regularity of manners, and justice were among the most beautiful of virtues.

Under pretext of returning to his own country, where a brilliant and decisive victory of Arthur over the Saxons had restored security, he asked permission of the king to leave him. He departed loaded with presents, even carrying, we are a.s.sured, a letter to Kon-Mor, or great chief, who governed Armorica in the name of Childebert, in which the king ordered that a s.h.i.+p should be placed at the service of the British bard.

Hyvarnion had been three days at the court of the Frank officer, and the s.h.i.+p, which was to conduct him to the British isle was ready to sail, when three dreams, followed by a meeting which he had probably made after his arrival in Armorica, prevented his embarkation. A young girl of the country, as remarkable for her beauty as for her talent for poetry and music, appeared to him in his sleep. Seated on the border of a fountain she sang in a voice so sweet that it pierced his heart. Somewhat troubled on awaking, he drove away the dangerous and too charming recollection; but the following night, the same young girl, more beautiful still, if possible, and singing even more sweetly than before, appeared to him a second time. "Then," says an author, "he seriously feared that it was some wile or snare of the spirit of fornication," and the night coming, he prayed the Lord to deliver him from this dream, if it came not from him. "If on the contrary, it is thou who dost send it to me," said he, "let me know clearly what it is thou wouldst that I should do."

And he sought his bed. But behold! scarcely had he slept than he had a third dream. He saw a young man surrounded with light, who entered his room and thus spoke to him: "Fear not to take for your wife her whom you have seen seated on the border of the fountain, and whom you will see again. Like you, she is pure and chaste, and G.o.d will bless your love."

The Frank officer to whom the bard related his dream, wished, without doubt, to be agreeable to one recommended by the king, and took upon himself to realize the prophecy. He proposed a hunting party to the young man, where, he said, he would meet a certain marvellous hare, called the _silver hare_, but with the secret purpose of contriving a meeting with the {813} young girl of his dream. His hope was not deceived. As they entered the forest where lodged the pretended silver hare, they heard a voice singing in the distance. The young man trembled and reined up his horse. "I hear," said he, "I hear the voice singing which I heard last night."

Without replying to him the royal officer turned himself toward the part of the forest whence the voice proceeded, and following a footpath which wound along the side of a stream, they reached a spring, near to which a young girl was occupied in gathering simples.

"The young girl sat by the fountain," says a poet. "White was her dress, and rosy her face.

"So white her dress, so rosy her face, that she seemed an eglantine flower blooming in the snow.

"And she did naught but sing: 'Although I am, alas! but a poor iris on the banks of the water, they call me its Little Queen.

"The Lord Count said to the young girl as he approached her, 'I salute you, _Little Queen of the Fountain_. How gaily thou dost sing, and how fair thou art!

"'How fair thou art, and how gaily thou dost sing. What flowers are those you gather there?'

"'I am not fair, I sing not gaily, and these are not flowers that I gather;

"'These are not flowers that I gather, but different kinds of salutary plants;

"'One is good for those who are sad; for the blind, the other is good; and the third, if I can find it, is that which will cure death.'

"'Little Queen, I pray thee, give me the first of these plants.'

"'Save your grace, my Lord, I shall give it only to him whom I shall marry.'

"'Thou hast given it! Give it then,' cried the royal officer, 'Thou hast given it to this young man, who has just come to ask thee in marriage.'"

And the _Little Queen of the Fountain_ gave to the bard, in pledge of her faith, the plant which produces gaiety. [Footnote 191]

[Footnote 191: The Breton text of the legend of Saint Herve, in verse appears in the fifth edition of the _Barsas[??] Breis, Chante populaires de la Bretagne_.]

If we may credit the legend, it was even in the same mind that Rivanone, as she was called, went to the fountain; for she also had a dream the preceding night, a dream altogether like the bard's. She herself confessed it, and if she had not avowed it, we could divine it, "Those who love, have they not dreams?" _An qui amant, ipsi sibi somnia fingunt?_ Seeing in this a certain proof of the will of heaven, the Frank count brought the brother of Rivanone, an Armorican chief, in whose manor the young girl had lived since the death of her father and mother, and having related to him all that had pa.s.sed, he demanded of him his sister in marriage for the favorite of the king.

Thus was settled this well-a.s.sorted union, and the wedding was celebrated at the court of the Frank count.

Tradition has described it in a manner almost epic. The small as well as the great, the poor as well as the rich, were guests at the feast; churchmen and warriors, magistrates and common people, arrived there from all sides. Neither wine, nor hydromel, drawn from casks, was wanting to the guests. Two hundred hogs were immolated, and two hundred fat bulls, two hundred heifers, and one hundred roebucks, two hundred buffalos, one hundred black, one hundred white, and their skins divided among the guests. A hundred robes of white wool were given to the priests, one hundred collars of gold to the valiant warriors, and blue mantles without number to the ladies. The poor had also their part; there was for them a hundred new suits; they could not receive less at the marriage of a poet who placed duty to them at the head of the most beautiful virtues. But in order worthily to do him honor for himself--in order properly to celebrate the union of the Armorican muse {814} with the genius of the island bards--a hundred musicians did not seem too many--a hundred musicians who from their high seats played for fifteen days in the court of the count. In order to complete this by an act destined to crown the glory of the young couple, we are a.s.sured the king of the bards of the sixth century, the last of the Druids, the famous Meri, finally celebrated the marriage.

Be this as it may, in regard to an honor which another popular tradition appears to claim with more reason for the heroes of another legend of the same century, the wedding at last at an end, the bride, accompanied by a numerous suite, was conducted with her husband to the manor of her brother, and if the Armorican customs of our days already existed at that epoch, the minstrels at the wedding played on their way a tender and melancholy air, named the Air of the Evening before the Festival, which always brought tears to the eyelids of the bride.

"G.o.d console the inconsolable heart, the heart of the girl on her wedding night."

It is said that Rivanone shed several tears in the midst of her joy.

Had she not for ever bid adieu to the sweet and simple girlish beliefs which had surrounded her? to her dear fountain, on the banks of which her companions the fairies danced at night in white robes, with flowers in their hair, in honor of the new moon? to those graceful dances which she herself, perhaps, had led, and to her songs in the wood? to her salutary plants less brilliant but more useful and more durable than flowers? to the herb which causes the union of hearts and produces joy, which, wet in the waters of the fountain by a virgin hand, she had shaken upon the brow of the man whom she was to take for her husband? to the golden herb which spreads light, and in opening the eyes of the body and the mind, opens to the knowledge of things of the future? finally, had she not renounced the search for the plant called the _herb of death_, which would be better named the _herb of life_, because those die not who once have found it?

But no! "G.o.d console the inconsolable heart, the heart of the girl on her wedding night!" The spring of the fountain will cease not to flow; the charming apparitions will desert not its borders; there shall be ever seen there gliding through the night a luminous shadow of which the moon will be but an imperfect image--the shadow of that immaculate Virgin whom the Druids seem to have prophesied when they raised an altar to her under the name of the _Virgin Mother_, and the white fairies of Armorica less white, less pure than she, bending before their patroness, will sing _Ave Maria!_

No plant shall wither there, not the lemon-plant which produces joy, for it is at the foot of the cross of Jesus Christ, that it will spring henceforth; it is to Him it owes its virtue, and shall be called the _herb of the cross;_ nor _selago_ which gives light, for it is from the aureole of the saints that it borrows its rays, and to discover it, it is necessary to be a saint; nor, more than all, the herb of life, for he has shown it, he has given it as a legacy to his disciples, to whom he has said; "I am the life; whosoever believeth in me shall not die."

And no more than the living spring which nourishes the herbs by its side shall be exhausted that which sustains the fruits of the Spirit; the soul shall not be stifled, it shall be purified; and for a moment bent under regrets, as a rose under the rain, the Druid muse shall be transformed and awake a Christian.

Rivanone so awoke; G.o.d had consoled the inconsolable heart, the heart of the girl on her wedding-night.

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II.