of Pascal. Well; the recital of their last moments a good deal resembles what I have just read: we find there the same emotions of piety and friendship, almost the same language; and the sensible nature of mankind appears to us, in the seventh century, almost as lively, and as developed, as that of the seventeenth, amidst the most passionate characters of

the age.

I might greatly multiply these examples; but we must proceed. I have some to present to you of another kind.

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Independently of the satisfaction which they gave to morality and human sensibility, the condition of which in the external world was so bad, the legends also corresponded to other faculties, to other wants. Much is at present said concerning the interest, the movement which, in the course of what is vaguely called the middle ages, animated the life of nations. It seems that great adventures, spectacles and recitals incessantly excited the imagination; that society was a thousand times more varied and amusing than it is among us. may have been so for some men placed in the superior ranks, or thrown into peculiar situations; but for the mass of the population, life was, on the contrary, prodigiously monotonous, insipid, wearisome; its destiny went on in the same place, the same scenes were produced before the eyes; there was scarcely any external movement, still less movement of mind; its pleasures were as few as its blessings, and the condition of its intellect was not more agreeable than its physical existence. It nowhere so much as in the lives of the saints, found nourishment for this activity of imagination, this inclination for novelty, for adventures, which exercises so much influence over men. The legends were to the Christians of this age, (let me be allowed this purely literary comparison,) what those long accounts, those brilliant and varied histories, of which the Thousand and One Nights gives us a specimen, were to the Orientals. It was there that the popular imagination wandered freely in an unknown, marvellous world, full of movement and poetry. It is difficult for us, in the present day, to share the pleasure which was taken in them twelve centuries since; the habits of mind have changed; distractions beset us: but we may at least understand that there was therein a source of powerful interest for this literature. In the immense number of adventures and scenes with which it

charmed the Christian people, I have selected two which will perhaps give you some idea of the kind of attraction which they had for it. The first is taken from the life of Saint Seine, (Saint Sequanus,) the founder, in the sixth century, of the abbey in Burgundy, which took his name, and it describes the incident which induced him to select its site:

"When Seine found himself-thanks to his laudable zeal -well instructed in the dogmas of the divine scriptures, and earned in monastical rules, he sought a place suited for building a monastery; as he went over all the neighbouring places, and communicated his project to all his friends, one of his relations, Thiolaif, said to him: Since thou interrogatest me, I will point out a certain place where thou mayest establish thyself, if what thou desirest to do is inspired by the love of God. There is an estate which, if I do not deceive myself, belongs to me by hereditary right; but the people around feed themselves, like ferocious beasts, with human blood and flesh; this renders it difficult to go among them, unless one pays a troop of armed men.' The blessed Seine answered him: Show me the place, to the end that if my desires have been conceived by a divine instinct, all the ferocity of these men may be changed into the mildness of the dove.' Having, therefore, taken his companions, he arrived at the place of which they had spoken. It was a forest, the trees of which almost touched the clouds, and whose solitude had not for a long time been interrupted: they asked themselves how they could penetrate into it, when they saw a winding foot-path, so narrow, and full of briars, that they could scarcely place their feet upon the same line, and from the thickness of the branches, it was with difficulty that one foot followed the other. However, with much labour, and having their clothes torn, they got into the depths of this rough forest; then, bending towards the ground, they began to watch the profound darkness with an attentive eye.

"Having for some time looked with attention, they perceived very narrow openings to a cavern, obstructed by stones and plants; besides which, the interlaced branches of the trees rendered the cavern so dark, that wild beasts themselves would have hesitated to enter it. This was the cavern of the

When they

robbers, and the resort of unclean spirits. approached it, Seine, agreeable to God, bent his knees at the entry, and extending his body over the bushes, addressed a prayer to God, mixed with tears, saying-Lord, who hast made Heaven and earth, which thou givest to the wishes of him who implores thee, and who originatest all good, and without whom all the weak efforts of humanity are useless, if thou orderest me to live in this solitude, make the same known unto me, and lead to good the beginnings which thou hast granted to my devotion.' When he had finished his prayer, he arose, and raised his hands towards heaven, and his eyes, which were moist with tears. Knowing then that it was under the conduct of the Saviour that he had repaired into this dark forest, after having blessed the place, he immediately set about placing the foundations of a cell where he had kneeled to pray. The report of his arrival came to the ears of the neighbouring inhabitants, who, each exhorting the other, and impelled by a Divine movement, repaired near him. When they had seen him, from wolves they became lambs, so that those who were formerly a source of terror were henceforth ministers of help; and, from that time, this place, which was the resort for divers cruel demons and robbers, became the abode of innocents."

Should we not suppose that we were reading the account of the establishment of some colonists in the heart of the most distant forests of America, or of some pious missionaries amidst the most savage hordes?

Here is an account of a different character, but which is no less full of movement and interest.

Still young, and before entering into the ecclesiastical order, Saint Austregesilus, bishop of Bourges, at the commencement of the seventh century, manifested a lively desire to forsake the world, and not to marry.

"Hearing him speak thus, his parents began to press him earnestly to obey them in this respect. He, in order that he might not see them discontented, whom he desired to see satisfied, promised to do as they asked him, if such was the will of God.

1 Life of Saint Seine, § 7 and 8. Acta Sanct. Ord. S. Ben., vol. i. P. 264.

"When, therefore, he was occupied in the king's service, he began to return to this business, and to seek what would best befit him to do. He recollected three men of the same nation, and of equal fortune. He wrote their names upon three tablets, and put them under the cover of the altar in the cathedral of Saint John, near the town of Châlons, and made a vow to pass three nights in prayer without sleeping. After the three nights, he was to put his hands upon the altar, taking the tablet which the Lord should deign to make him find first, and demand in marriage the daughter of the man whose name should be upon the tablet. After having passed one night without sleep, the next night he found himself overcome by it, and towards the middle of the night, unable to resist any longer, his limbs gave way, and he fell asleep upon a seat. Two old men presented themselves to his view. One said to the other: Whose daughter is Austregesilus to marry?' The other answered: Art thou ignorant that he is already married?' 'To whom?' 'To the daughter of judge Just. Austregesilus then awoke, and applied himself to finding out who this Just was, of what place he was judge, and if he had a virgin daughter. As he could not find him, he repaired, according to custom, to the king's palace. He arrived in a village where there was an inn. Some travellers were assembled there, among others, a poor veteran with his wife. When this woman saw Austregesilus, she said to him:

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"Stranger, stop an instant, and I will tell thee what I have lately seen concerning thee in a dream; it appeared as if I heard a great noise, like that of the singing of psalms, and I said to my host: 'Man, what is this that I hear? what festival is now being celebrated by the priests, that they make this procession?" He answered: 'Our guest Austregesilus is being married.' Full of joy, I was eager to see the young bride, and to view her face and form. When the priests, clothed in white, carrying crosses, and singing psalms in the usual manner, were passed, thou camest out, and all the people followed behind; for me, I looked with curiosity, and I saw no woman, not even the girl whom thou wert to marry; I said to thy host: 'Where as the virgin whom Austregesilus is to marry?' he answered: 'Do you not see her in his hands?' I looked, and I only saw in thy hands the book of the gospel.' Then the saint under

stood by his vision and the dream of this woman, that the voice of God called him to the priesthood."1

There is here no miracle, properly so called; all is confined to dreams; but you see what movement of imagination is connected with all the sentiment, with all the incidents of a religious life, and with what eagerness the people received them.

These are the true sources of this literature; it gave to the moral, physical, and poetical nature of man, a nourishment, a satisfaction which it found nowhere else; it elevated and agitated his soul; it animated his life. Hence its fertility and its credit.

If it were our purpose to consider it under a purely literary point of view, we should find its merits neither very brilliant nor very varied. Truth of sentiment and naiveté of tone are not wanting to it; it is devoid of affectation and pedantry. The narrative is not only interesting, but it is often conceived under a rather dramatic form. In the eastern countries, where the charm of narration is great, the dramatic form is rare; we there meet with few conversations, few dialogues, with little getting up, properly speaking. There is much more of this in the legends; dialogue is there habitual, and often progresses with nature and vivacity. But we should in vain seek a little order in them, any art of composition; even for the least exacting minds, the confusion is extreme, the monotony great; credulity continually descends to the ridiculous, and the language has arrived at a degree of imperfection, of corruption, of coarseness, which in the present day pains and wearies the reader.

I wish to say a few words also on a portion (very inconsider able, it is true, but which, however, I ought not to omit) of the literature of this period, that is, its profane literature. I have observed that, dating from the 6th century, sacred literature was alone, that all profane literature had disappeared; there were, however, some remains of it; certain chronicles, certain occasional poems which belonged not to religious society, and which merit a moment's attention. In our next lecture, I shall present to you, on some of those monuments so little known in the present day, developments which appear to me not uninteresting.

1 Life of Saint Austregesilus, § 2, in the Acta Sanct Ord. S. Ben., vol. ii. p. 95.