THE ANTIDOTE OF ST. AUGUSTINE AGAINST THE TYRANNY OF SIN.
What are threats of thine, O tyrant,
How can any torture move,
When, for all of thy contriving,
Nothing yet can equal love.
Sweet it is to suffer sorrow,
Futile is the force of pain;
I had sooner die than borrow
Any spot that love to stain.
Heap the fagots as thou pleasest,
Do what evil hearts approve,
Add the sword and cross together,
Nothing yet can equal love.
Pain itself is quite too gentle,
One poor death too brief must be,
I would suffer thousand tortures—
Every woe is light to me!
CHAPTER XVII.
HILDEBERT AND HIS HYMN.
Those who love the “Golden Legend” of Longfellow will remember how effectively he has there used the Latin songs and hymns. Friar Paul is so very like the famous Friar John of Rabelais, that he is probably copied from that worthy. Indeed his Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum, with its dog-Latin and its broad satire on the habits of the monks, was a most effective weapon in the hands of the reformers. There were a great many learned men who were by no means equally as pious, and who found their bodily contentment in the cloister. Against these and all like them came the constant shafts of ridicule or reproach.
But now, when this same Friar Paul “tunes his mellow pipe” to a bacchanalian solo in the refectory, we can almost forgive him, forasmuch as he sings in such capital measure. There is a Gaudiolum—a regular merry-making of monks—down in the cellar; in which, by the way, Lucifer, disguised in the gray habit, takes his appropriate place. And when Friar Paul begins on the praise of good liquor, he parodies the metre and rhyme of the current religious sequences. Listen to him:
“Felix venter quem intrabis,
Felix guttur quod rigabis,
Felix os quod tu lavabis,
Et beata labia!”
Or, as we may express it in our own language:
“Blessed stomach which thou warmest,
Blessed throat which thou reformest,
Blessed mouth whose thirst thou stormest,
Blessed lips to taste of thee!”
Here and there Professor Longfellow introduces also into this “Golden Legend” his own renderings from the Latin, in little transcriptions which are exquisitely felicitous. But presently, in sharp contrast to the ribald Paul and the dissolute Cuthbert and the rest of the noisy crew in the refectory, he allows us to hear the song of the pilgrims. They are chanting the Hymn of Hildebert of Lavardin, Archbishop of Tours:
Me receptet Sion illa,
Sion David, urbs tranquilla,
Cujus faber auctor lucis,
Cujus portae lignum crucis,
Cujus claves lingua Petri,
Cujus cives semper laeti,
Cujus muri lapis vivus,
Cujus custos Rex festivus.”
It is the hope of the Holy City of which they are telling:
“Me, that Sion soon shall pity—
David’s Sion, peaceful city!
Whose designer made the morning;
Whose are gates, the cross adorning;
Whose keys are to Peter given;
Whose glad throng are saints in heaven;
Whose are walls of living splendor;
Whose a royal, true Defender!”
These pilgrims, every now and then, break in with some snatch of melody from this fine old anthem. And yet there are doubtless those who never have gone back to see for themselves whence all this beauty has been taken. But the Hymn of Hildebert would well repay them if they did.
It is the composition of a man who was the Admirable Crichton of his time—Hildebert of Lavardin, a student under Berenger and Hugo of Cluny. This is the same poet who, with Wichard of Lyons, is mentioned by Bernard of Cluny in his preface to the Hora Novissima. He says there, that even these eminent versifiers had never dared to attempt the measure of his own three thousand lines. And we have abundant other testimony that Hildebert was an accomplished orator, a successful controversialist, a brilliant rhetorician, a poet of ten thousand lines, and the author of this majestic and beautiful composition. He was born in the year 1057 (or 1055) at Lavardin, near Vendôme, in France, was first head-master of a school, then an archdeacon, then instructor in theology and Bishop of Le Mans (1097), and finally (1125), Archbishop of Tours, from which he derives his name of “Turonensis.” He was of humble origin and not connected with the celebrated family of Lavardia, except through the accident of his birthplace being in their vicinity.
Perhaps—if we follow one scurrilous old biographer—we may fancy the holy Hildebert to have been very little of a saint in his early days. Baronius indeed lends color to the assertion (made originally by Godfrey, the Dean of Le Mans) that the vices which Hildebert afterward attacked were matters of personal experience with himself. A certain coarse assault was undoubtedly made upon him; but envy and malignity went even to greater lengths then than now—and they are not noticeably moderate or truthful at present. He was a “wise and gentle prelate,” says Trench, “although not wanting in courage to dare, and fortitude to endure, when the cause of truth required it.” Neander’s estimate of his character (The Life of St. Bernard) is also kind. I doubt, therefore, whether any such statements can be maintained. But we all know too well what that age was, for us to be over-enthusiastic in the defence of our favorites. And still it can truly be said that Hildebert established his innocence there and then. He finally died in 1134, and his works, with those of Marbod, were collected and published in Paris by the Benedictines, at the comparatively recent date of 1708. His hymn, Oratio devotissima ad tres Personas Sanctissimae Trinitatis, first appeared in the Appendix to Archbishop Ussher’s De Symbolis (1660), and again was published by the Norman Jacques Hommey in 1684.
The poem is, as Chancellor Benedict has well said, almost epic in its completeness. And I can do no better than to summarize it in his own words—for he linked his name to it by a translation which he published in 1867: “Its beginning [is] the knowledge of God—Fides orthodoxa—the true creed, as to the Three Persons of the Holy Trinity, exhibiting their attributes as the foundation of the Christian character; its middle, the weakness, the trials, and the temptations of the Christian life, in its progress to perfect trust and confidence in God and assurance of His final grace; its end, the joys and glories of the heavenly home of the blessed.” It has been greatly neglected, as any one will find who looks for it outside of the most recent collections of sacred Latin poetry. Why this has been so, except because the praise of Mary and of the saints was more congenial to collectors than a lofty and pure spiritual fervor, it is not easy to discern. Hugo of St. Victor—Hildebert’s contemporary—does actually quote six lines, but calls the author quidam, or, as we would say, “somebody,” in referring to these half dozen verses extracted to give point to his own discourse. Yet Hildebert was in his day a most important personage, not below the persecution of a king of England, and not above a quarrel with a king of France. But he and the king were reconciled at last, and with honor.
That Professor Longfellow is not indebted to Trench’s text for his little quotations, is shown by a curious fact. The Sacred Latin Poetry of Archbishop (then Dean) Trench was first published in 1849, and the “Golden Legend” appeared in Boston in 1851—the time seeming to indicate that the poet had been reading in the small book of the prelate. But Professor March has very acutely noticed that the Church of England, in the person of its editor, did a great deal of expurgation, and that the lines
“Cujus claves lingua Petri,
Cujus cives semper laeti,”
are not included by Trench at all! It was not proper, the Dean thought, to encourage Romish superstitions, and so Peter and his keys were omitted. It is not impossible that Longfellow took his text from a little volume published at Auburn, N. Y., in 1844, which contains “The Hymn of Hildebert and the Ode of Xavier, with English Versions,” probably by Dr. Henry Mills, professor in the Theological Seminary at Auburn, who also published a volume of translations of German hymns (1845 and 1856). Dr. Mills reprints the entire hymn from Ussher, but ignores in his translation the lines
“Deus pater tantum Dei
Virgo mater est, sed Dei.”
The book is memorable as the first American publication in this field. Besides the American translations by Dr. Mills and Chancellor Benedict, there are English versions by Crashaw, by John Mason Neale, and, best of all, by Herbert Kynaston in the Lyra Mystica (London, 1869), copied from his Occasional Hymns.
Further to speak of Hildebert, it can be said that he, like others, took his share of imprisonments, confiscations, and exiles.
Trench quotes from his poetry two compositions in hexameter and pentameter—classic in language, but not always classic in prosody; and two complete poems, one of which is the famous hymn, and which commences
“A et Ω magne Deus.”
The other is a vision and lament over the Church of Poitiers. Of this the editor says: “I know of no nobler piece of versification, nor more skilful management of rhyme in the whole circle of Latin rhymed poetry.” It begins
“Nocte quadam, via fessus”—
an important hint for a person who wishes to find anything in the German anthologies, where, as a rule, the indexing is hideous and the arrangement is heartrending, and the poems are designated, hit-or-miss, by their initial line.
The poem De Exilio Suo, beginning
“Nuper eram locuples, multisque beatus amicis,”
is an example of the classic measures into which I have tried to shape my own rendering, although I have copied Hildebert even in his inaccuracies and repetitions: