"What a fearful muddle, what a sea of ink is this menagerie of good and
evil emblems!" exclaimed Durtal, laying down his pen.
He had harnessed himself that morning to the task of investigating the
symbolical fauna of the Middle Ages. At first sight the subject had
struck him as newer and less arduous, and certainly as less lengthy,
than the article he had thought of writing on the Primitive German
Painters. But he now sat dismayed before his books and notes, seeking a
clue to guide him through the mass of contradictory evidence that lay
before him.
"I must take things in their order," said he to himself, "if indeed any
principle of selection is possible in such confusion."
The Beast-books of Mediæval times knew all the monsters of
paganism--Satyrs, Fauns, Sphinxes, Harpies, Centaurs, Hydras, Pygmies,
and Sirens; these were all regarded as various aspects of the Evil
Spirit, so no research is needed as to their meaning; they are but a
residuum of Antiquity. The true source of mystic zoology is not in
mythology, but in the Bible, which classifies beasts as clean and
unclean, makes them symbolize virtues and vices, some species being
allegorical of heavenly personages, and other embodying the Devil.
Starting from this base, it may be observed that the liturgical
interpreters of the animal world distinguished beasts from animals,
including under the former head wild and untamable creatures, and under
the second gentle and timid creatures and domestic animals.
The ornithologists of the Church, furthermore, represent birds as being
the righteous, while Boëtius, on the other hand, often quoted by
Mediæval writers, credited them with inconstancy, and Melito compares
them in turn to Christ, to the Devil, and to the Jewish nation. It may
be added that Richard of Saint Victor, disregarding these views, sees in
winged fowl a symbol of the life of the soul, as in the four-footed
beast he sees the life of the body--"And that gets us no further!"
sighed Durtal.
"This is beside the mark. We must find some other symbolism, closer and
clearer.
"Here the classification of naturalists would be useless, for a biped
and a reptile not unfrequently bear the same interpretation as emblems.
The simplest plan will be to divide the Church menagerie into two large
classes, real beasts and monsters; there is no creature that we may not
include in one or the other category."
Durtal paused to reflect:
"Nevertheless to arrive at a clearer notion and better appreciate the
importance of certain families in Catholic Mythography, we had better
first take out all those animals which symbolize God, the Virgin, and
the Devil, setting them aside to be referred to when they may elucidate
other figures; and at the same time weed out those which apply to the
Evangelists and are combined in the figures of the Tetramorph.
"The surface thus being removed, we may investigate the remainder, the
figurative language of ordinary or monstrous beings.
"The animal emblems of God are numerous; the Scriptures are filled with
creatures emblematic of the Saviour. David compares Him, by comparing
himself, to the pelican in the wilderness, to the owl in its nest, to a
sparrow alone on the house-top, to the dove, to a thirsting hart; the
Psalms are a treasury of analogies with His qualities and His names.
"Saint Isidor of Seville--Monseigneur Sainct Ysidore, as the naturalists
of old are wont to call him--figures Jesus as a lamb by reason of his
innocence, as a ram because He is the head of the Flock, even as a
he-goat because the Redeemer was subject to the flesh of iniquity.
"Some took as His image the ox, the sheep, and the calf, as beasts meet
for sacrifice, and others those animals that symbolize the elements: the
lion, the eagle, the dolphin, the salamander--the kings of the earth,
air, water, and fire. Some again, as Saint Melito, saw Him in the kid,
the deer, and even in the camel, which, however, according to another
passage of the same author, personifies a love of flattery and of vain
praise. Others again find Him in the scarabæus, as Saint Euchre does in
the bee; still, the bee is regarded by Raban Maur as the unclean sinner.
Christ's Resurrection is, to yet other writers, symbolized by the
Phoenix and the cock, and His wrath and power by the rhinoceros and the
buffalo.
"The iconography of the Virgin is less puzzling; She may be symbolized
by any chaste and gentle creature. The Anonymous Englishman in his
_Monastic Distinctions_, compares Her to the bee, which we have seen so
vilified by the Archbishop of Mayence, but the Virgin was most
especially represented by the dove, the bird of all others whose Church
functions are most onerous.
"All authorities agree in taking the dove as the image at once of the
Virgin and of the Paraclete. According to Saint Mechtildis, it is the
simplicity of the heart of Jesus; with others it signifies the
preachers, the active religious life, as contrasted with the turtle
dove, which personifies the contemplative life, since the ring-dove
flies and coos in company, whereas the turtle dove rejoices apart and
alone.
"To Bruno of Asti the dove is also an image of patience, a figure of the
prophets.
"As to the beasts symbolizing Hell and evil, they are almost without
number; the whole creation of monsters is to be found there. Then among
real animals we find: the serpent--the aspic of Scripture, the scorpion,
the wolf as mentioned by Jesus Himself, the leopard noted by Saint
Melito as being allied to Antichrist, the she-tiger representing the
sins of arrogance, the hyena, the jackal, the bear, the wild-boar,
which, in the Psalms, is said to destroy the vineyard of the Lord, the
fox, described as a hypocritical persecutor by Peter of Capua and as a
promoter of heresy by Raban Maur. All beasts of prey; and the hog, the
toad--the instrument of witchcraft, the he-goat--the image of Satan
himself, the dog, the cat, the ass--under whose form the Devil is seen
in trials for witchcraft in the Middle Ages, the leech, on which the
anonymous writer of Clairvaux casts contumely; the raven that went forth
from the ark and did not return--it represents malice, and the dove
which came back is virtue, Saint Ambrose tells us; and the partridge
which, according to the same writer, steals and hatches eggs she did not
lay.
"If we may believe Saint Theobald, the Devil is also symbolized by the
spider, for it dreads the sun as much as the Evil One dreads the Church,
and is more apt to weave its net by night than by day, thus imitating
Satan, who attacks man when he knows him to be sleeping and powerless to
defend himself.
"The Prince of Darkness is also to be seen as the lion and the eagle
interpreted in an evil sense.
"This," reflected Durtal, "is the same fact as we find in the expressive
symbolism of colours and flowers; constantly a double meaning. The two
antagonistic interpretations are almost invariably met with in the lore
of hieroglyphics, excepting only in that of gems.
"Thus it is that the lion, defined by Saint Hildegarde as the image of
zeal for God, the lion, figuring the Son Himself, becomes to Hugh of
Saint Victor the emblem of cruelty. Basing their argument on a text in
the Psalms, certain writers identify it with Lucifer. He is in fact the
lion who seeks whom he may devour, the lion who rushes on his victim.
David speaks of him with the dragon to be trodden under foot, and Saint
Peter in his first Epistle describes him as roaring in quest of a
Christian to devour.
"It is the same with the eagle, which Hugh of Saint Victor calls the
standard of Pride. Chosen by Bruno of Asti, Saint Isidor and Saint
Anselm to represent the Saviour, the Fisher of Men, because he pounces
from the highest sky on fish swimming on the surface of the water and
carries them up, the eagle, classed in Leviticus and Deuteronomy with
the unclean beasts, is transformed, as being a bird of prey, into a
personification of the Devil snatching away souls to gnaw and tear them.
"Thus every ferocious beast or bird and every reptile is a manifestation
of the Evil One," Durtal concluded.
To pass to the Tetramorph. The evangelistic animals are well known:--
Saint Matthew, who expatiates on the subject of the Incarnation and sets
forth the human genealogy of the Messiah, is symbolized by a man.
Saint Mark, who more especially devotes his book to the miracles of the
Son, saying less about His doctrine than about His acts and His
resurrection, has the Lion for his attribute.
Saint Luke, who writes more especially of the virtues of Jesus, of His
patience, meekness, and mercy, and who dwells at length on His
sacrifice, is distinguished by the Ox or Calf.
Saint John, who preaches above all else the Divinity of the Word, is
represented by the Eagle.
And the meaning assigned to the ox, the lion, and the eagle, is in
perfect accordance with the character and personal aim of each Gospel.
The lion, emblematical of Omnipotence, is also the apt allegory of the
Resurrection. All the primitive naturalists, Saint Epiphanius, Saint
Anselm, Saint Yves of Chartres, Saint Bruno of Asti, Saint Isidor,
Adamantius, all accept the legend that the lion-cub after its birth
remains lifeless for three days; then on the fourth day it awakes as it
hears its father's roar and springs full of life out of the den. Thus
Christ, rising at the end of three days, escapes from the tomb at the
call of His Father.
The belief still prevailed that the lion sleeps with its eyes open;
hence it became the emblem of vigilance, and Saint Hilary and Saint
Augustine read in this manner of taking repose an allusion to the Divine
nature, which was not extinguished even in the sepulchre, though the
human nature of the Redeemer was in truth dead.
Finally, as it was considered certain that this animal effaced the
traces of its steps in the sand of the desert with its tail, Raban Maur,
Saint Epiphanius, and Saint Isidor regarded it as signifying the Saviour
veiling His Godhead under the forms of the flesh.
"Not an ordinary beast--the lion!" exclaimed Durtal. "Well," he went on,
consulting his notes, "the ox is less pretentious! It is the paragon of
strength with humility; according to Saint Paul it is emblematical of
the priesthood; of the preacher, according to Raban Maur; of the Bishop,
according to Peter Cantor, because, says this writer, the prelate wears
a mitre of which the two horns resemble those of an ox, and he uses
these horns, which are the wisdom of the Two Testaments, to rip up
heretics. Still, in spite of these more or less ingenious
interpretations, the ox is in fact the beast of immolation and
sacrifice.
"Turning to the eagle, it is, as we have seen, the Messiah pouncing on
souls to catch them; but other meanings are ascribed to it by Saint
Isidor and by Vincent of Beauvais. If we believe them, the eagle that
desires to test the prowess of his eaglets takes them in his talons and
carries them out into the sun, compelling them to look with their eyes
as they begin to open, on the blazing orb. The eagle which is dazzled by
the fire is dropped and cast away by the parent bird. Thus doth God
reject the soul which cannot gaze on him with the contemplative eye of
love!
"The eagle, again, is typical of the Resurrection; Saint Epiphanius and
Saint Isidor explain it thus: The eagle in old age flies up so near to
the sun that its feathers catch fire; revived by the flames, it drops
into the nearest spring, bathes in it three times and comes out
regenerate: is not this indeed the paraphrase of the Psalmist's verse,
"Thy youth shall be renewed as the eagle's"? Saint Madalene of Pazzi,
however, regards it differently, and takes it to typify faith leaning on
charity.
"I shall have to find a place for all these documents in my article,"
sighed Durtal, placing these notes in a separate wrapper.
Now for the chimerical fauna introduced from the East, imported into
Europe by the Crusaders, and travestied by the illuminators of missals
and by image-makers.
Foremost, the dragon, which we already find rampant and busy in
mythology and in the Bible.
Durtal rose and went into his library to find a book, "Traditions
tératologiques," by Berger de Xivrey. It contained long extracts from
the "Romance of Alexander," which was the delight of the grown-up
children of the Middle Ages.
"Dragons," says this narrative, "are larger than all other serpents, and
longer.... They fly through the air, which is darkened by the disgorging
of their stench and venom ... This venom is so deadly that if a man
should be touched by it or come nigh it, it would seem to him a burning
fire, and would raise his skin in great blisters, as though he had been
scalded." And the author adds: "The sea is swollen up by their venom."
Dragons have a crest, sharp talons, and a hissing throat, and are almost
unconquerable. Albertus Magnus tells us, however, that magicians, when
they wish to subdue them, beat as loudly as they can on drums, and that
the dragon, imagining that it is the roll of thunder, which they greatly
dread, let themselves be handled quietly and are taken.
The enemy of this winged reptile is the elephant, which sometimes
succeeds in crushing it by falling on it with all its weight; but most
times it is killed by the dragon, which feeds on its blood, of which the
freshness allays the intolerable burning caused by its own venom.
Next to this monster comes the gryphon, a combination of the quadruped
and the bird, for it has the body of the lion and the head and talons of
the eagle. Then the basilisk, regarded as the king of serpents; it is
four feet long, and has a tail as thick as a tree, and spotted with
white. Its head bears a tuft in shape like a crown; it has a strident
voice, and its eye is murderous, "A look," says the "Romance of
Alexander," "so piercing, that it is pestilential and deadly to all
beasts, whether venomous or no." Its breath is no less fetid, nor less
dangerous, for, "by its breath are all things infected, and when it is
dying it is fain to disgorge it; it stinks so that all other beasts flee
from it."
Its most formidable foe is the weasel, which bites its throat, "though
it be a beast no bigger than a rat," for "God hath made nothing without
reason and remedy," the pious Mediæval writer concludes.
Why the weasel? There is nothing to show; nor was this little creature,
who did such good service, honoured by our forefathers as having a
favourable meaning.
It is symbolical of dissimulation and depravity, and taken to typify the
degrading life of the mountebank. It may also be remembered that this
carnivorous beast, which was supposed to carry its young in the mouth
and give birth to them through the ear, is numbered among the unclean
animals in the Bible.
"This zoological homoeopathy is rather inconsistent," observed Durtal,
"unless the similar interpretation given to these two creatures, hating
each other, may signify that the Devil devours himself."
Next we have the phoenix, "a bird of very fine plumage resembling the
peacock; it is very solitary, and feeds on the seeds of the ash;" its
colour, moreover, is of purple overshot with gold; and because it is
said to rise again from its ashes, it is always typical of the
Resurrection of Christ.
The unicorn was one of the most amazing creatures in mystical natural
history.
"It is a very cruel beast, with a great and thick body after the fashion
of a horse; it hath for a weapon a great horn, half a fathom in length,
so sharp and so hard that there is nothing it cannot pierce.... When men
need to take it they bring a virgin maid to the place where they know
that it has its abode. When the unicorn sees her and knows that she is a
virgin, it lieth down to sleep in her lap, doing her no harm; then come
the hunters and kill it.... Likewise, if she be not a pure maid the
unicorn will not sleep, but killeth the damsel who is not pure."
Whence we conclude that the unicorn is one of the emblems of chastity,
as also is another very strange beast of which Saint Isidor speaks: the
porphyrion.
This has one foot like that of the partridge, and the other webbed like
that of a goose, its peculiarity consists in mourning over adultery, and
loving its master so faithfully that it dies of pity in his arms when it
learns that his wife has deceived him. So that this species was soon
extinct!
"There must be some more fabulous beasts to be included," murmured
Durtal, again turning over his papers.
He found the wyvern, a sort of Melusina, half woman and half serpent; a
very cruel beast, full of malice and devoid of pity, Saint Ambrose tells
us; the manicoris, with the face of a man, the tawny eyes and crimson
mane of a lion, a scorpion's tail, and the flight of an eagle; this sort
is insatiable by human flesh. The leoncerote, offspring of the male
hyena and the lioness, having the body of an ass, the legs of a deer,
the breast of a wild beast, a camel's head, and armed with terrible
fangs; the tharanda, which, according to Hugh of Saint Victor, has the
shape of the ox, the profile of the stag, the fur of the bear, and which
changes colour like the cameleon; finally, the sea-monk, the most
puzzling of all, since Vincent of Beauvais describes it as having its
body covered with scales, and it is furnished, in lieu of arms, with
fins all over claws, besides having a monk's shaven head ending in the
snout of a carp.
Others were also invented, as for instance the gargoyles, hybrid
monsters, signifying the vomiting forth of sin ejected from the
sanctuary; reminding the passer-by who sees them pouring forth the water
from the gutter, that when seen outside the church, they are the
voidance of the spirit, the cloaca of the soul!
"But," said Durtal to himself, "that seems to me enough of the matter.
From the point of view of symbolism this menagerie is not particularly
interesting since these monsters--the wyvern, the manicoris, the
leoncerote, the tharanda and sea-monk--all mean the same thing, and all
embody the Spirit of Evil."
He took out his watch.
"Come," said he, "I have still time enough before dinner to go through
the list of real animals."
And he turned over his notes on birds.
"The cock," said he, "is prayer, watchfulness, the preacher, the
Resurrection, since it is the first to wake at daybreak; the peacock,
that has, as an old writer says, "the voice of a devil and the feathers
of an angel," is a mass of contradictory symbols: it typifies pride,
and, according to Saint Antony of Padua, immortality, as well as
vigilance by reason of the eyes in its tail. The pelican is the image of
contemplation and of charity; of love, too, according to Saint Madalene
of Pazzi; the sparrow symbolizes penitential solitude; the swallow, sin;
the swan, pride, according to Raban Maur; diligence and solicitude
according to Thomas de Catimpré; the nightingale is mentioned by Saint
Mechtildis as meaning the tender soul; and the same saint compares the
lark to persons who do good works with cheerfulness; it is to be noted
too that in the windows of Bourges the lark means charity to the sick.
"Here are others specified by Hugh of Saint Victor. To him the vulture
means idleness; the kite, rapacity; the raven, detraction; the white
owl, hypochondria; the common owl, ignorance; the magpie, chattering
talk; and the hoopoe, sluttishness and evil report.
"This is all a sorry medley!" said Durtal, "and I fear it will be the
same with the mammalia and other beasts!"
He compared a few passages. The ox, the lamb, the sheep, we have seen.
The sheep is the type of timidity and meekness, and Saint Pacomius
embodies in him the monk who lives punctual and obedient, and loving his
brethren. Saint Melito on his part ascribes hypocrisy to the ostrich,
temporal power to the rhinoceros, human frailty to the spider; we may
also mention among the crustacea, the crab as symbolizing heresy and the
synagogue, because it walks backwards and away from the path of
righteousness. Among fish, the whale is the emblem of the tomb, just as
Jonas, who came out of it after three days, is typical of Jesus risen
from the dead. Among rodents the beaver is the image of Christian
prudence, because, says the legend, when he is pursued by hunters he
tears with his teeth the pouch containing castoreum and flings it at the
foe. For this reason it is likewise the animal representative of the
text in the Gospel which declares that a man must cut off the offending
member which is an occasion of sin.
Let us pause before the den of wild beasts.
According to Hugh of Saint Victor the wolf is avarice; the fox is
cunning; Adamantius says that the wild boar represents blind rage; the
leopard wrath, ambush and daring; the tiger, and the hyena, which can
change its sex at will and imitate the voice of man, signifies
hypocrisy; while Saint Hildegarde shows that the panther, by reason of
the beauty of its spots, is typical of vain-glory.
We need not dwell on the bull, the bison and the buffalo; the symbolists
regard them as emblems of brute force and pride; while the goat and
boar-pig are vessels of lust and filth.
They divide this honour with the toad, an unclean reptile; the
habitation of the Devil, who assumes its form to show himself to the
female saints--for instance to Saint Theresa. As to the hapless frog it
is equally defamed because of its likeness to the toad.
The stag is in better odour. Saint Jerome and Cassiodorus say it
exemplifies the Christian who overcomes sin by the sacrament of penance,
or by martyrdom. Representing God in the Psalms, it is also taken as the
heathen desiring baptism; a legend attributes to it so vehement a horror
of the Serpent, in other words of the Devil, that whenever it can it
attacks and devours him, but if it subsequently goes for three hours
without drinking, it dies; hence after that meal it runs to and fro in
the forest seeking a spring of which, if it finds one, it drinks, and is
then many years younger. The she-goat is sometimes held in ill-fame as
being akin to the he-goat, but it more often is regarded as the
Well-Beloved, to which the Bride in Canticles compares it. The hedgehog,
hiding in crannies, is interpreted by Saint Melito as the sinner, by
Peter of Capua as the penitent. As to the horse, as a creature of vanity
and pride, it is opposed by Peter Cantor and Adamantius to the ox, which
is all gravity and simplicity. It is well, however, to observe that to
confuse the matter, by presenting the horse under another aspect, Saint
Eucher compares it to a saint, and the Anonymous Monk of Clairvaux
identifies the Devil with the ox. The poor ass is no better treated by
Hugh of Saint Victor, who accuses it of stupidity, by Saint Gregory the
Great, who taxes it with laziness, and Peter of Capua, who speaks of its
lust. It must, however; be observed that Saint Melito compares it with
Christ for its humility, and that the exegetists explain the ass's foal
ridden by Christ on Palm Sunday as an image of the Gentiles, as they
interpret the she-ass that threw Him to mean the Jews.
Finally, two domestic animals dear to man, the cat and the dog, are
generally contemned by the mystics. The dog, typical of sin, says Peter
Cantor, and the most quarrelsome of beasts, adds Hugh of Saint Victor,
is the creature that returns to his vomit; it also prefigures the
reprobates of whom the Apocalypse speaks, who are to be driven out of
the heavenly Jerusalem; Saint Melito speaks of it as the apostate, and
Saint Pacomius as the rapacious monk, but Raban Maur redeems it a little
from this condemnation by specifying it as emblematic of confessors.
The cat, which is but once mentioned in the Bible--in the Book of
Baruch--is invariably abhorred by the primitive naturalists, who accuse
it of embodying treachery and hypocrisy, and of lending its skin to the
Devil, to enable him to appear in its shape to sorcerers.
Durtal turned over a few more pages, discovering that the hare typified
timidity and cowardice, and the snail laziness; noting the opinion of
Adamantius, who ascribes levity and a mocking spirit to the monkey; that
of Peter of Capua and of the Anonymous writer of Clairvaux, that the
lizard, which crawls and hides in cracks in the walls, is, as well as
the serpent, an emblem of evil; and he recorded the special ascription
of ingratitude by Christ Himself to the viper, for He gives the name to
the Jewish race. Durtal then hastily dressed, fearing to be late, as he
was dining with the Abbé Gévresin and the Abbé Plomb. Pursued by Madame
Mesurat, who insisted on dealing him one more blow with the
clothes-brush, he rushed downstairs, and was soon at his friend's door.
Madame Bavoil, who opened it, appeared in a cap all askew and hair
loose, up-turned sleeves and scorched arms, with cheeks crimson from the
kitchen fire. She confessed to the concoction of a dish of beef _à la
mode_ softened by calf's foot jelly and strengthened by a dash of
brandy, and fled, alarmed by the impatient call of a saucepan, of which
the contents were boiling over on the hot plates of the stove, with a
noise like cats swearing.
Durtal found the old Abbé tormented by rheumatism, but as ever, patient
and cheerful. They talked a little while; then, seeing that Durtal was
looking at some little lumps of gum lying on his writing table, the Abbé
said,--
"That is incense from the Carmel of Chartres."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, the Carmelites are accustomed to burn none but genuine true
incense. So I begged them to trust me with a specimen that I might
procure the same quality for our cathedral."
"It is everywhere adulterated, I suppose?"
"Yes. This substance is found in commerce under three forms: male
incense, which is the best if unadulterated; female incense, which is
mixed with reddish fragments and dry grains called _marrons_; finally
incense in powder, which is for the most part a mixture of inferior
resin and benzoin."
"And what have you there?"
"This is male incense; do you see those oblong tears, those almost
transparent drops of faded amber? how different from that which they use
at Notre Dame; it is earthy, broken, full of scraps, and it is safe to
wager that those knobs are crystals of carbonate of lime and not beads
of pure resin."
"Why," said Durtal, "this substance suggests to me the idea of a
symbolism of odours; has it ever been worked out?"
"I doubt it; but in any case it would be very simple. The aromatic
substances used in the Liturgy are reduced to three, frankincense,
myrrh, and balm.
"Their meaning is known to you. Incense is the Divinity of the Son, and
our prayers which rise up like vapours in the presence of the Most High,
as the Psalmist says. Myrrh is repentance, the sufferings of Jesus, His
death, the martyrs, and also, according to Monsieur Olier, the type of
the Virgin who heals the souls of sinners as myrrh cauterizes the
festering of wounds; balm is another word for virtue.
"But though there are few Liturgical savours, it is not so with regard
to mystical effluences which vary infinitely. We have, however, but
little information on the subject.
"We merely know that the odour of sanctity is antithetical to that of
the Devil; that many of the Elect have diffused, during their lifetime
and after their death, an exquisite fragrance which cannot be analyzed;
such were Madalene of Pazzi, Saint Etienne de Muret, Saint Philip Neri,
Saint Paternianus, Saint Omer, the Venerable Francis Olympus, Jeanne de
Matel and many more.
"We know too that our sins stink, each according to its nature; and the
proof of this is that the saints could detect the state of men's
consciences merely by the smell of their bodies. Do you remember how
Saint Joseph of Cupertino exclaimed to a sinner whom he met: 'My friend,
you smell very badly; go and wash.'
"To return to the odour of sanctity: in certain persons it has been
known to assume a natural character almost identical with certain
familiar scents. Saint Treverius exhaled a fragrance compounded of
roses, lilies, balm, and incense; Saint Rose of Viterbo smelt of roses;
Saint Cajetan of orange-blossom; Saint Catherine of Ricci of violets;
Saint Theresa by turns of lily, jasmine and violet; Saint Thomas Aquinas
of incense; Saint Francis of Paul of musk;--I mention these at random as
they occur to me.
"Yes, and Saint Lydwine, when so ill, diffused a fragrance which also
imparted a flavour. Her wounds exhaled a cheerful savour of spice and
the very essence of Flemish home cooking--a refined extract of
cinnamon."
"On the other hand," the Abbé went on, "the stench of wizards and
witches was notorious in the Middle Ages. On this point all exorcists
and writers on Demonology are agreed; and it is almost invariably
recorded that after an apparition of the devil a foul odour of sulphur
was left in the cells, even when the Saints had succeeded in dislodging
him.
"But the essential odour of the devil is amply recorded in the life of
Christina of Stumbela. You are not ignorant, I suppose, of the exploits
in which Satan indulged against that saint?"
"Indeed, I am, Monsieur l'Abbé."
"Then I may tell you that the narrative of these assaults has been
preserved by the Bollandists, who have included the life of this pious
woman in their biographies. It was written by Peter of Dacia, a
Dominican, and her confessor.
"Christina was born early in the thirteenth century--1242, I believe--at
Stumbela, near Cologne.
"She was persecuted by the devil from her infancy. He exhausted the
armoury of his arts against her, appeared to her under the form of a
cock, a bull, an apostle; covered her with lice, filled her bed with
vermin, poisoned her blood, and as he could not make her deny God, he
invented fresh torments.
"He turned the food she put into her mouth into a toad, a snake, a
spider, and disgusted her so effectually with all food, that she was
dying for want of it. She spent her days in vomiting, and prayer to God
to rescue her, but He was silent.
"Still, to sustain her in such trials, the Sacrament was left to her.
Satan, knowing this, determined to deprive her of this sustenance, and
appeared in the form of these creatures even in the host when she
received it. Finally, to conquer her, he took the form of a huge toad,
and established himself in her bosom. At first Christina fainted with
fright, but then God intervened; by His order she wrapped her hand in
her sleeve, slipped it between her body and the belly of the reptile,
tore away the toad, and flung it on the stones.
"It was dashed to pieces, with a noise, said the saint, like an old
shoe.
"These persecutions continued till Advent in 1268; and from that time
the plague of filth began.
"Peter of Dacia relates that one evening Christina's father came to
fetch him from his convent in Cologne, and begged him to go with him to
his daughter, tormented by the devil. He and another Dominican, Brother
Wipert, set out, and on arriving at Stumbela they found in the haunted
hut the Priest of the district, the Reverend Father Godefried, Prior of
the Benedictines of Brunwilre, and Cellarer of that convent. As they
stood warming themselves they discoursed of the pestilential incursions
of the devil, when suddenly the performance was repeated. They were all
bespattered with filth, Christina being caked with it, to use the
Friar's expression; and 'strange to say,' adds Peter of Dacia, 'this
matter, which was but warm, burned Christina, raising blisters on her
skin.'
"This continued for three days. At length, one evening, Friar Wipert,
quite exasperated, began to recite the prayers for exorcism; but a
terrific uproar shook the room, the candles went out, and he was hit in
the eye by something so hard that he exclaimed, 'Woe is me! I am blind
of an eye!'
"He was led, feeling his way, into an adjoining room, where the garments
they changed were dried, and where water was constantly heated for their
ablutions; he was cleansed, and his eye washed. It had suffered no
serious injury, and he returned to the other room to say Matins with the
two Benedictines and Peter of Dacia. But before chanting the service he
went up to the patient's bed and clasped his hands in amazement.
"She was covered with filth indeed, but all was changed. The smell,
which had been supernaturally foul, was changed to angelic fragrance;
Christina's saintly resignation had routed the tempter of souls; and
they all joined in praising God. What do you say to that narrative?"
"It is astounding, certainly; but is this the only instance of such
infernal filth?"
"No; in the next century analogous circumstances haunted Elizabeth de
Reute, and likewise the Blessed Bétha. Here again Satan allowed himself
such filthy sport. It may also be noted that in modern times acts of the
same kind were observed in the house of the Curé d'Ars."
"But in all this I see nothing to illustrate the symbolism of perfumes,"
remarked Durtal. "At any rate, the subject would seem to be narrow or
ill-defined, and the number of odours that can be named is small.
"There are certain essences mentioned in the Old Testament prefiguring
the Virgin. Some of them are interpreted in other senses, as spikenard,
cassia, and cinnamon. The first represents strength of soul; the second,
sound doctrine; and the third, the sweet savour of virtue. Then there
is the essence of cedar, which in the thirteenth century symbolized the
Doctors of the Church; and there are three specifically liturgical
perfumes: incense, balm, and myrrh; besides the odour of sanctity, which
in the case of some saints could be analyzed; and the demoniacal stench,
from a mere animal smell to the horrible nastiness of rotten eggs and
sulphur.
"We must now inquire whether the personal fragrance of the Elect is in
harmony with the qualities or acts of which each was, on earth, the
example or the doer; and it would seem to have been so, when we remark
that Saint Thomas Aquinas, who composed the admirable sequence on the
Holy Sacrament, exhaled a perfume of incense, and that Saint Catherine
of Ricci, who was a model of humility, smelt of violets, the emblem of
that virtue, but--"
The Abbé Plomb now came in, and being informed by Durtal of the subject
under discussion, he said,--
"But you have omitted from your diabolical flavours the most
conspicuous."
"How is that, Monsieur l'Abbé?"
"Certainly, for you have taken no account of the false fragrance which
Satan can diffuse. In fact, his baleful effluvia are of two kinds: one
characterized by the stench of sulphurous waters and drains; the other
by a false odour of sanctity, delicious gusts of sweetness and
temptation. This is how the Evil One tried to seduce Dominico de Gusman;
he bathed him in delicious vapours, hoping thus to inspire him with
notions of vain-glory; thus, too, did he to Jourdain of Saxony, who
exhaled a sweet odour when saying Mass. God showed him that this
phenomenon was of infernal origin, and it then ceased.
"And I recollect a singular anecdote told by Quercetanus concerning a
mistress of Charlemagne's who died. The king, who worshipped her, could
not bear to have her body interred, though it was decomposing, exhaling,
however, a perfume of violets and roses. The body was examined, and in
its mouth a ring was found, which was removed. The demoniacal
enchantment forthwith ceased, the body became foul, and Charlemagne
allowed it to be buried.
"We may add to this diabolical odour of seduction another, which is, on
the contrary, fetid, and is used to annoy the believer, to hinder him in
prayer, to estrange him from his fellows, and drive him, if possible,
to despair; still, this smell with which the devil infects a being may
be included in the category of the smells of temptation--not, indeed, to
pride, but to weakness and fear.
"Meanwhile, I have something else for you," said the Abbé, addressing
Durtal. "Here are the titles I have collected for you of some works on
the symbolical animals of the Middle Ages. You have read '_De Bestiis et
aliis rebus_,' by Hugh of Saint Victor?"
"Yes."
"Very good; you may further consult Albertus Magnus, Bartholomew de
Glanville, and Pierre de Bressuire. I have noted on this paper a series
of such beast-books: those of Hildebert, Philippe de Thann, Guillaume de
Normandie, Gautier de Metz, and Richard de Fournival. Only you would
have to go to Paris to procure them in the public libraries."
"And that would not help me much," replied Durtal. "I have, ere now,
looked through many of these works, and they contain no information that
can be of use from the point of view of symbolism. They are mere
fabulous descriptions of animals, legends as to their origin and habits.
The _Spicilegium Solesmense_ and the _Analectae_ of Dom Pitra are far
more instructive. By his help, with that of Saint Isidor, Saint
Epiphanius, and Hugh of Saint Victor, we can decipher the figurative
meaning of monsters.
"They are all alike; there has been no complete or serious work produced
on symbolism since the Middle Ages, for the Abbé Auber's work on the
subject is a delusion. In vain will you seek for a treatise on flowers
which even alludes to the Catholic significance of plants. I do not, of
course, mean those silly books compiled for lovers, and called the
Language of Flowers, which you may find on the bookstalls with old
cookery-books and dream-books. It is the same with regard to colours;
nothing proven or authentic has been written concerning infernal or
celestial hues; for in fact the treatise by Frédéric Portal is
worthless. To explain Angelico's work I had to hunt here and there
through the Mystics, to discover where I might the meanings they ascribe
to colours; and I see plainly that I must do the same for my article on
the emblematical fauna. There is, on the whole, nothing to be found in
technical works; it is in the Bible and in the Liturgy, the
fountain-head of symbolical lore, that I must cast my net. By the way,
Monsieur l'Abbé, had you not some remarks to communicate on the zoology
of the Scriptures?"
"Yes, we will go--"
"To dinner, if you please," said Madame Bavoil.
The Abbé Gévresin said grace, and when they had eaten the soup the
housekeeper served the beef.
It was strengthening, tender, savoury to its inmost fibre, penetrated by
the rich and highly-flavoured sauce.
"You don't get the like at La Trappe, our friend, eh?" said Madame
Bavoil.
"Nor will he get anything so good at any other religious retreat," said
the Abbé Plomb.
"Do not discourage me beforehand," said Durtal, laughing; "let me enjoy
this without a pang--there is a time for all things."
"Then you are fully determined," said the Abbé Gévresin, "to write a
paper for your _Review_ on allegorical beasts?"
"Yes, Monsieur l'Abbé."
"I have made a list for you from the works of Fillion and of Lesêtre of
the blunders made by the translators of the Bible when they disguised
real beasts under chimerical names," said the Abbé Plomb. "This, in a
few words, is the upshot of my researches.
"There was never any mythological fauna in the Sacred Books. The Hebrew
text was misread by those who translated it into Greek and Latin, and
the strange zoology that we find in certain chapters of Isaiah and Job
is easily reduced to the nomenclature of well-known creatures.
"Thus the onocentaurs and sirens, spoken of by the Prophet, are neither
more nor less than jackals, if we examine the Hebrew original. The
lamia, a vampire, half woman and half serpent like the wyvern, is a
night bird, the white or the screech owl; the satyrs and fauns, the
hairy beasts spoken of in the Vulgate, are, after all, no more than wild
goats--'schirim,' as they are called in the Mosaic original.
"The reptile so frequently mentioned in the Bible under the name of
'dragon' is indicated in the original by various words, which sometimes
mean the serpent or the crocodile, sometimes the jackal, and sometimes
the whale; and the famous unicorn of the Scriptures is merely the
primæval bull or auroch, which is to be seen on the Assyrian
bas-reliefs--a race now dying out, lingering only in the remotest parts
of Lithuania and the Caucasus."
"And Behemoth and Leviathan, spoken of by Job?"
"The word Behemoth is a plural form in Hebrew meaning Excellence. It
designates a prodigious and enormous beast--the rhinoceros, perhaps, or
the hippopotamus. As to Leviathan, it was a huge reptile, a gigantic
python."
"That is a pity," said Durtal. "Imaginary zoology was far more
amusing!--Why, what is this vegetable?" he inquired, as he tasted a
curious stew of greens.
"Dandelions cut up and boiled with shreds of bacon," replied Madame
Bavoil. "Do you like the dish, our friend?"
"Indeed I do. Your dandelions are to garden spinach and chicory what the
wild duck is to the tame, or the hare to the rabbit. And it is a fact
that garden plants are generally poor and tasteless, while those that
grow wild have a certain astringency and pleasant bitter flavour. It is
the venison of vegetables that you have given us, Madame Bavoil!"
"I fancy," said the Abbé Plomb, who had been thoughtful, "that just as
we tried to compile a mystic flora the other day, we might make a list
of the deadly sins as represented by animals."
"Obviously, and with very little trouble. Pride is embodied in the bull,
the peacock, the lion, the eagle, the horse, the swan, and the wild
ass--according to Vincent de Beauvais. Avarice by the wolf, and, says
Saint Theobald, by the spider; for lust, we have the he-goat, the boar,
the toad, the ass, and the fly, which, Saint Gregory the Great tells,
typifies the turbulent cravings of the senses; for envy, the
sparrow-hawk, the owl, and screech-owl; for greediness, the hog and the
dog; for anger, the lion and wild boar, and, according to Adamantius,
the leopard; for sloth, the vulture, the snail, the she-ass, and, Raban
Maur says, the mule.
"As to the virtues antithetical to these vices, humility may be typified
by the ox and the ass; indifference to worldly possessions by the
pelican, the emblem of the contemplative life; chastity by the dove and
the elephant, though it is true that this interpretation of Peter of
Capua is contradicted by other mystics, who accuse the elephant of
pride, and speak of him as an 'enormous sinner'; charity by the lark and
the pelican; temperance by the camel, which, taken in another sense,
typifies under the name of _gamal_ extravagant fury; vigilance by the
lion, the peacock, the ant--quoted by the Abbess Herrade and the
Anonymous monk of Clairvaux--and especially by the cock, to which Saint
Eucher attributes this virtue in common with all other symbolists.
"I may add that the dove alone epitomizes all these qualities and is the
synthesis of all virtue."
"Yes, and she alone is never spoken of as having any evil significance."
"A distinction she shares with white and blue, the only colours which
are exempt from the law of antithesis and are never ascribed to any
vice," said Durtal.
"The dove!" cried Madame Bavoil, who was changing the plates; "she plays
a beautiful part in the story of Noah's Ark. Ah! our friend, you should
hear what Mother Jeanne de Matel says of her."
"What does she say, Madame Bavoil?"
"The admirable Jeanne begins by saying that original sin produced in
human nature the deluge of sin from which the Virgin alone was exempted
by the Father, who chose Her to be His one Dove.
"Then she relates how Lucifer, represented by the raven, escaped from
the ark through the window of free will; then God, to whom Mary had
belonged from all eternity, opened the window of the Will of His
Providence, and from His own bosom, from the heavenly Ark, He sent the
original dove on the earth where she gathered a spray of the olive of
His mercy, took her flight back to the Ark of Heaven, and offered this
branch for the whole human race; She then implored Divine grace to abate
the deluge of sin, and besought the Heavenly Noah to descend from that
high Ark; then, without quitting the bosom of the Father from whom He is
inseparable, He came down."
"_Et Verbum caro factum est et habitavit in nobis_," the Abbé Gévresin
added, in conclusion.
"This prefiguration of the Word by Noah is certainly curious," remarked
Durtal.
"Animals are also introduced in the iconography of the saints," the
Abbé Plomb resumed. "So far as I can recollect, the ass is the attribute
of Saint Marcellus, of Saint John Chrysostom, of Saint Germain, of Saint
Aubert, of Saint Frances of Rome, and of some others; the stag of Saint
Hubert and Saint Rieul; the cock of Saint Landry and Saint Vitus; the
raven of Saint Benedict, Saint Apollinarius, Saint Vincent, Saint Ida,
Saint Expeditus; the deer of Saint Henry; the wolf of Saint Waast, Saint
Norbert, Saint Remaclus, and Saint Arnold; the spider betokens Saint
Conrad and Saint Felix of Nola; the dog accompanies Saint Godfrey, Saint
Bernard, Saint Roch, Saint Margaret of Cortona, and Saint Dominic, when
it bears a burning torch in its mouth; the doe is the badge of Saint
Giles, Saint Leu, Saint Geneviève of Brabant, and Saint Maximus; the pig
of Saint Anthony; the dolphin of Saint Adrian, of Saint Lucian, and
Saint Basil; the swan of Saint Cuthbert and Saint Hugh; the rat is seen
with Saint Goutran and Saint Gertrude; the ox with Saint Cornelius,
Saint Eustachius, Saint Honorius, Saint Thomas Aquinas, Saint Lucy,
Saint Blandina, Saint Bridget, Saint Sylvester, Saint Sebaldus, Saint
Saturninus; the dove belongs to Saint Gregory the Great, Saint Remi,
Saint Ambrose, Saint Hilary, Saint Ursula, Saint Aldegonde, and Saint
Scholastica, whose soul flew up to Heaven under that form.
"And the list might be indefinitely extended. Shall you mention in your
article these accompaniments to the saints?"
"In point of fact," replied Durtal, "most of these attributes are based
on history or legend, and not on symbolism; so I shall not devote any
particular attention to them."
There was a silence.
Then, abruptly, the Abbé Plomb, looking at his brother priest, said to
Durtal,--
"I am going to Solesmes again a week hence, and I told the Reverend
Father Abbot that I should take you with me."
Then, seeing Durtal's amazement, he smiled. "But I will not leave you
there," he went on, "unless you wish not to return to Chartres. I only
propose that you should pay a visit there, just long enough to breathe
the atmosphere of the convent, to make acquaintance with the Benedictine
Fathers, and try their life."
Durtal was silent, somewhat scared; for this proposal, simple enough as
it was, that he should go to live for some days in a cloister, had
startled him into a strange, a grotesque notion that if he should
accept, it would be playing away his last card, risking a decisive step,
taking a sort of pledge before God to settle there and end his days in
His immediate presence.
But what was most strange was that this idea, so imperative and
overpowering that it excluded all possible reflection, bereft him of all
his powers of self-protection, left him disarmed at the mercy of he knew
not what--this idea, which nothing justified, was not centred, not fixed
on Solesmes; whither he should retreat was for the moment of small
importance; that was not the question; the only point to settle was
whether he meant to yield at all to a vague impulse, to obey
unformulated orders which were nevertheless positive, and give an
earnest to God, Who seemed to be harassing him without any sufficient
explanation.
He felt himself inexorably condemned, tacitly compelled to pronounce his
decision then and there.
He tried to struggle, to reason, to recover his self-possession; but the
very effort was fatal. He felt a sort of inward syncope, as though,
while his body was still upright, his soul was fainting within him with
fatigue and terror.
"But this is madness!" he cried. "Madness!"
"Why, what is the matter?" cried the two priests.
"I beg your pardon. Nothing."
"Are you in pain?"
"No, it is nothing."
There was an awkward pause which he was determined to break.
"Did you ever take laughing gas?" said he; "the gas which sends you to
sleep and is used in surgery for short operations? No? Well, you feel a
buzzing in your brain, and just as you hear a great noise of falling
waters you lose consciousness. That is what I am feeling; only the
experience is not in my brain, but in my soul, which is giddy and
helpless, on the point of fainting away."
"I should like to think," said the Abbé Plomb, "that it is not the
thought of a visit to Solesmes that has thus upset you."
Durtal had not courage enough to own the truth; he was afraid of
seeming ridiculous if he confessed to such a panic; so to avoid a direct
answer he vaguely shook his head.
"And I cannot help wondering why you should hesitate, for you will be
welcomed with open arms. The Father Abbot is a man of the highest merit,
and, moreover, no enemy to art. Besides--and this I hope will suffice to
reassure you--he is a most simple and kind-hearted monk."
"But I have to finish my article."
The two priests laughed.
"You have a week before you to write your article in."
"And then, to get any benefit from a monastery, I ought not be in the
state of dryness and diffusion in which I find myself vegetating,"
Durtal went on with difficulty.
"The saints themselves are not free from distractions," replied the Abbé
Gévresin. "For instance, think of the monk of whom Tauler speaks, who,
on quitting his cell in the month of May, would cover his face with his
hood, that he might not see the country, and so be hindered from
contemplating his soul."
"Oh, our friend, must that gentle Jesus, as the Venerable Jeanne says,
be for ever the poor man pining for admittance at the door of our heart?
Come, just a little goodwill--open yours to Him," cried Madame Bavoil.
And Durtal, finally driven into his last intrenchments, by a nod
signified acquiescence in the wish of all his friends. But he did it
with deep reluctance, for he could not rid himself of a distracting idea
that this concession implied a vow on his part to God!