[1]
These stories had from the first a very great influence upon my
imagination. The chapels which I have spoken of are always solitary,
and stand by themselves amid the desolate moors or barren rocks. The
wind whistling amid the heather and the stunted vegetation thrilled me
with terror, and I often used to take to my heels, thinking that the
spirits of the past were pursuing me. At other times I would look
through the half ruined door of the chapel at the stained glass or the
statuettes of painted wood which stood on the altar. These plunged
me in endless reveries. The strange and terrible physiognomy of these
saints, more Druid than Christian, savage and vindictive, pursued me
like a nightmare. Saints though they were, they were none the less
subject to very strange weaknesses. Gregory, of Tours, has told us
the story of a certain Winnoch, who passed through Tours on his way
to Jerusalem, his only covering being some sheep skins with their
wool taken off. He seemed so pious that they kept him there and made
a priest of him. He made wild herbs his sole food, and raised the
wine flagon to his lips in such a way that it seemed as if he scarcely
moistened his lips. But as the liberality of the devout provided him
with large quantities of it he got into the habit of drinking, and
was several times observed to be overcome by his potations. The devil
gained such a hold over him that, armed with knives, sticks, stones,
and whatever else he could get hold of, he ran after the people in the
streets.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81