The Latin Hymn-writers and Their Hymns

by Samuel Willoughby Duffield

All, then, that is left us is the Lucis largitor splendide—“Thou splendid giver of the light.” The letter went back from Seleucia to Poitiers and carried this hymn, at least, with it. Hilary had sent this and its companion, ut memor mei semper sis—“that you may always remember me.” And we may fancy the lovely high-born daughter of that earnest and scholarly man as, daily and nightly, she sits at her window—perchance with her gaze wistfully turned to the eastward. There she sang these simple, beautiful hymns—she the first singer of the new hymns of the Latin Church. Among the themes for Christian art yet left to us there is hardly one more suggestive than this—for Abra doubtless sang her father’s hymns to her father’s loyal people. It may even be supposed that he gave her the tunes as well as the words, and that, by morning and by night, the battle-scarred Poitiers re-echoed this voice of the exiled bishop.

Of the hymn itself as much can be said in favor as we have just said against its pretended and ill-matched companion. It breathes the Johannean sentiments throughout. It celebrates the Light, the Son of God, the glory of the Father, “clearer than the full sun, the perfect light and day itself.” To one who is acquainted with the Greek hymns it is instantly suggestive of those pellucid songs—its atmosphere is all peace and its trust is as restful to the tired spirit as the quiet coming of the rising day. It may easily have been a translation from the Greek, or, even more easily, the natural up-gush of melody which was touched into life by the frequent hearing of the Eastern hymns. Hilary never learned it in an Arian church, nor did he find it among controversialists. Its nest, where it was first reared, was in some corner of a catacomb or in some nook of the Holy Land. This hymn, then, we may safely accept as the oldest authentic original Latin “song of praise to Christ as God.”

Whether the Bishop of Poitiers had much or little learning, he wrote a valuable book on Synods, and translated for us many useful and otherwise inaccessible confessions of faith and statements of doctrine. Erasmus—himself no brave man, nor one likely to estimate moral courage properly—calls this letter to Abra “nugamentum hominis otiose indocti”—the trifling production of a man lazily uneducated! Well, perhaps it would have been as well if some of that same “luxurious ignorance” of Hilary could have secured the “laborious learning” of Erasmus from exhibiting, at the end of life, its own inefficiency. Jerome said that whoever found fault with Hilary’s knowledge was compelled to concede his philosophic skill; and it reminds one of the remark of Dante Rossetti, who said that nothing in our age could stand comparison with a sonnet of Shakespeare, for, rough as it might seem, Shakespeare wrote it. It was this manhood behind the Latin which went for more than all Rotterdam!

Hilary is credited with a great deal, doubtless, that he never wrote. So he is, by Fortunatus, with miracles which he never performed. Alcuin and others assign to him the Gloria in Excelsis, but this was certainly more ancient than Hilary, being quoted by Athanasius in his treatise on Virginity. He could at best merely have translated it. This he might also have done for the Te Deum laudamus. And since we know that he prepared a Liber Hymnorum—the first actual hymn-book of the Western Church—we have some reason to think that he would not have altogether forgotten the greatest chants of the early Christians. This hymn-book is utterly lost to us. This is not the same as the Liber Mysteriorum—the book of the mysteries—and its existence, like that of its companion work, rests upon the testimony of Jerome. Doubtless in it there were other poems and songs from which the Hilarian authorship has been broken or lost. It was not the ancient custom either to preserve the author’s name, or even to retain the precise form of his hymn. He threw his little lyric—as the Israelites did their jewelry—into the common treasury of the Church; and in the Breviaries, where so many of these hymns are to be discovered, a later and more critical scholarship may identify some of them hereafter. As delicate insects are preserved in amber, we there find much that we should otherwise have lost; but, like that very amber, when its electricity is excited, his was that sort of reputation which attracted many anonymous trifles—as, for example, the Ad coeli clara—to itself.

Of Hilary’s other writings, with exception of his work on the Councils of Ariminum and Seleucia, we have the full text. His commentaries on the Psalms and on Matthew; his controversial pamphlets against Constantius; his book of Synods; his twelve books De Trinitate—these are accessible in the Patrologia of Migne.

It was undoubtedly believed at the time of the fourth Council of Toledo that he had written many pieces “in favor of God, and of the triumphs of apostles and martyrs;” and both Jerome and Isidore of Seville declare him to have been the first among the Latins to write Christian verse. But to show how uncertain is the conjecture that is thus started, I may mention that the Ut queant laxis of Paul Winfrid, the “Deacon,” is credited to Hilary by the Histoire Litteraire. The same authority also claims for him the first Pange lingua (Pange lingua gloriosi, praelium certaminis), which is sometimes assigned to Claudianus Mamertus, but is the well-authenticated composition of Venantius Fortunatus, the troubadour and friend of Radegunda, the wife of Clotaire. We may as well admit that a great man did not necessarily do all the great things of his day.

Besides, the search after truth in this matter is complicated marvellously by the trade of the hymn-tinkers, who put new bottoms and tops and sides to a great many religious lyrics. Here is a case in point in Mone (vol. iii., p. 633). The hymn begins Christum rogemus et patrem—“We call on Christ and on the Father.” It has seven stanzas. The first stanza is from a morning hymn, supposed to be by Hilary. The second is from an Ambrosian hymn. The third and fourth are from another Ambrosian hymn to the Archangel Michael. The fifth is from a very noble Ambrosian hymn—the Aeterna Christi munera—of which Daniel says that it itself has been “wretchedly torn to pieces by the Church” (ab ecclesia miser e dilaceratum). The sixth and seventh stanzas are also Ambrosian—from the Jesu corona virginum. Thus this single hymn of seven stanzas is mere patchwork, gathered from that Ambrosian hymnody which the Breviaries supply. And finding all the rest of it credited to Ambrose and to his century, we are inclined to doubt that Hilary should be considered as the author of any portion at all.

Indeed the identification of Hilary’s hymns—except the Lucis largitor—is purely conjectural. It rests mainly on the hymnological acumen of Cardinal Thomasius, which may or may not be liable to error. Kayser refuses, on one ground or another, to positively endorse any, except the one which all now concede. Next to this in probability stands the Beata nobis gaudia (though it is doubted by Professor March), and then the Deus pater ingenite, which is taken from the Mozarabic Breviary. The Jam meta noctis transiit, the In matutinis surgimus, and the Jesu refulsit omnium, have only the authority of Thomasius. The Jesu quadragenariae, Daniel says, is an old hymn, but very certainly composed later than the time of Hilary. The Ad coeli clara we have already rejected. Thus we have one authentic and five conjectural Hilarian hymns. There is, however, great doubt resting on the Jesu refulsit omnium; and if I consulted merely my own judgment, I should declare against it, if only in view of the rhymes—a characteristic which it would scarcely possess if it were genuinely of the fourth century. And while we are upon this somewhat ungrateful duty of trying to set matters right, shall we pass over the slip which Mrs. Charles makes in her capital little book? (Christian Life in Song. Am. ed., p. 74.) For she says that “The Hilary who wrote the hymns was the canonized Bishop of Arles.” There was, much later, a Hilary of Arles; and there was another Hilary of Rome, and there were also others of the same name; but none of them wrote hymns. He of Arles assuredly did not.

Of our own Hilary it may be added that the rest of his life was earnest, but comparatively quiet. We shall find Gregory of Tours and Fortunatus asserting that he raised the dead and healed the sick, and cast out devils (some of them in the shape of snakes) from a boy’s stomach; but these stories belong naturally to a credulous and superstitious age. More to the purpose is it to find that the bishop had entered upon the composition of tunes for his hymns, and had taken up calligraphy and the ornamentation of manuscripts. There was a book of the Gospels found, on which was indorsed, “Quem scripsit Hilarius Pictavensis quondam sacerdos”—“which Hilary of Poitiers, formerly a priest, wrote.” A similar book was left by St. Perpetuus, Bishop of Tours, to Bishop Euphronius, Fortunatus’s friend. This is attested by his will, executed in 474. “I saw,” says Christian Druthmar (ninth century), “a book of the Gospels, written in Greek, which was said to have been St. Hilary’s, in which were Matthew and John,” etc. But whether Hilary wrote this is naturally an open question.

The good bishop died at Poitiers—as Jerome and Gregory of Tours declare—but the date is still a matter of some uncertainty. Valentinian and Valens were upon the throne, and it is safe to say that 367-68 was the year. January 14th has also been assigned by some authorities, but with no better reason than a generally received tradition to this effect, and the fact that this is his day in the Roman calendar. His body was, however, scattered rather widely. It was removed from its tomb in the time of Clovis—a bone of his arm was in Belgium, and some other portions of his anatomy were in Limoges. About the year 638, Dagobert is stated to have placed his remains in the Church of St. Dionysius, and so confident of this fact were the people of Poitiers, in 1394, that they vehemently asserted that they had his relics there in perfect safety. “Calvinistic heretics” were said to have burned the mortal remnants of the great “hammer of the Arians,” and the Pictavians took this method to meet the calumny. For aught we know to the contrary they were perfectly right, and the dust of their bishop is still resting peacefully in their midst.