But Galonnek had seen the terror of the conquered people, who only looked for fire and sword; and coming out of the cathedral, with all his priests in procession, bearing crosses and all their sacred relics, he came the first to meet Tugduval, his bald head uncovered, and his chalice in his hand.
The young count, astonished, checked his horse; but Galonnek went straight up to his saddle-bow, there paused, and said in a gentle voice, “If any will devour the flock, he must begin by slaying the shepherd. I am here at your mercy, and am ready to purchase with my blood forgiveness for the rest.”
At the sight of this holy old man, whom he had early been taught to reverence, and at that voice which had always sounded like a benediction, Tugduval felt his rage dissolve away; and letting fall his sword, he bent over his horse’s neck, and kissed devoutly the chalice carried by St. Galonnek. At that instant all the soldiers, as if touched by the same emotion, put out their torches, and turned their sword-points to the ground, crying as with one voice, “Quarter, quarter for all!”
The young count waited not a repetition of this prayer; but dismounting hastily, he followed the Bishop to the cathedral, where the conquerors and the conquered joined in songs of thanksgiving to God.
This was the last great act of St. Galonnek’s life. A very few months after, he felt his strength decay, and knew that his end was near. He did not, however, on that account relax in his good works. Returning one day from a visit to a poor widow bereaved of her last son, he suddenly found himself unable to proceed, and sat down to rest upon a stone by the wayside. There a pedlar from the mountains found him, some time after, sitting motionless; and thinking that he slept, the man approached him, when he saw that he was dead. Judging from the poverty of his apparel, the pedlar took him for a hermit of the neighbourhood, and out of Christian charity wrapped the body in his mantle for a funeral shroud. A shoemaker’s wife, who lived a few steps off, contributed an old chest to serve as a coffin, so that Bishop Galonnek came to his grave like a beggar.
But the truth was soon discovered by the miracles which were wrought at his tomb; and the body being taken from the earth, was carried with great state to the city, and buried at the foot of the high altar in the cathedral. St. Pol was requested to write an epitaph upon him; but the apostle of Léon replied that none but an archangel could compose one; so they merely covered the grave with a plain granite slab, on which was carved the name of Galonnek.
Ages have passed away, and yet this stone still remains, and thither the Breton mothers come to lay their new-born babes one instant on its consecrated bosom, whilst they repeat the usual form of prayer:
“Saint Galonnek, bestow upon my child two hearts. Give him the heart of a lion, that he may be strong in well-doing; and give him the heart of a turtle-dove, that he may be full of brotherly love.”
The feast of St. Galonnek is celebrated on the 1st of April, when the buds of the hedgerows are bursting into leaf, and “the time of the singing of birds is come.”