Siri Mitchell - Chateau of Echoes

day of Saint Laurent

I have taken the decision that I will write a mystery, a play in verse, for the services this year for Easter. The first task must be to choose a story. For a mystery, perhaps something Breton, the life of St. Ivo or Saint Guénolé. Or something more pious: the life of Jésu Christ. If I will work hard, and write well, then I may have 1,000 verses.

day of Assomption

I have explained to my lord that which I will try to accomplish: a mystery with 1,000 verses. He says me that the priest is not decided what importance these mysteries have to the church.

But I tell my lord that he has much power, and why should the priest not listen to the advice of a comte?

My lord looked at me, an appraisal I must imagine, and says me that I begin to think like a comtesse. But also that he must read the mystery in whole before he will recommend it to the priest even in part.

I will begin my work tomorrow.

one day after Assomption

This day I have chosen St. Ivo as my mystery. I had wanted the life of Jésu Christ, but then have reminded myself that the scene of the crucifixion must take as long as it did for our lord, the Christ. If the priest is not decided on the value of a mystery, then perhaps a mystery which will take fifty of the peasants the day entire to perform, would not be a wise choice.

And now, I must educate myself on the life of St. Ivo. Who better to tell me the story of this saint than my lord? Surely it must number among the dozens of which he has knowledge.

two days after Assomption

I have demanded of my lord to come to my chamber this night.

He replied to me to be certain that this is what I desire.

I replied to him, but of course I am.

And in leaving, he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.

When he is come, he has seen me at my desk. And he says me, I had thought to come to your chamber of your heart and I come instead to the chamber of your head?

At this phrase I turned, and found him clothed in a costume of blood red velvet which seemed to me too warm for the weather, but is his most fine, and I had fear that I had taken him from some important affair. I presented all my excuses and told him of why I wished him present: That I must know the life of St. Ivo before I can write the mystery of it.

At this he had the look of a soule of which the air has left. And he took from his shoulders the outer houppelande, with clenched jaw, and placed it around my chair and laid himself the length of the bed and began to speak.

Ivo, patron saint of Bretagne, is also advocate of the poor. Ivo was born in Kermartin near Tréguier, the son of a noble man. When he is grown, he is gone to Paris to study the laws of the church and when he is done he is gone to Orléans to study the laws of the state. And all this time, he drinks no wine, eats no meat, and many times takes only bread and water. And often he wears a shirt of hair and he sleeps less than he would like.

When he is returned to Bretagne, he is become a judge of the church, first in Rennes and then in his own town of Tréguier. There it was that he began to seek justice for those who could find none. It is said of Ivo that he was a lawyer, but was not dishonest. He refused bribes. He tried to arrange cases outside the courts so the peasants must not pay. And if they must pay, then St. Ivo would give the money himself. He defended the poor, and went to them in prison. He fought against unfair taxes and gave to the poor much that he had earned. And even those he must judge against later returned and thanked him for his judgments.

And then he became a priest to preach at Lovannec. And there he built a hospital with his own monies and himself cared for the sick who were poor. He gave his own clothes to those who had none and his own bed to those who had only ground on which to sleep. And when there was harvest, he gave to others all of the fruits of his field.

The miracles of Saint Ivo are many according to my lord. And these not occurring while Saint Ivo has life, but after his death. Among them, a sick man falling into a well who calls on Saint Ivo for aid and neither drowns, nor is lost beneath the waters.

A man who is condemned to death by hanging who swears to Saint Ivo that if he is delivered from death then he will visit the tomb of the saint; the man is hung and will not die. And although the hangman tries three times to kill him, he is not able.

A man crossing a bridge falls with his black horse into the river in a spot so deep they cannot touch the bottom; and as they flounder, the leather bag in which are important documents detaches itself from the horse and sinks. They are certain to drown, but the man calls on Saint Ivo for help. At this, the horse bounds from the water onto land, and as the man watches, the bag also comes to the surface. And the man retrieves this from the water and he finds after he has this opened that not one of the papers has become even wet.

One day, as a knight and fifteen persons take a boat to gain the ile of Teven, they are overtaken by a storm which breaks twelve of the oars and engulfs the boat. They have fear of being drowned when they pray to Saint Ivo for aid. And their boat, filled still with water, is pushed to the land in the place exact where they had left.

And then my lord gave pause and I demanded of him if these were all.

He replied to me that if I had three days then I might hear the end of them.

And so I have begun to record these four. And most commendable to me are not the miracles and not the fact that Saint Ivo quit the law to take care of the poor, but that he was honest in law from the start.

And while I am writing still, my lord has fallen asleep. It has taken my prodding and poking to wake him, but now that he has gone, I may finish the transcription.

Four days before Saint Etienne

I surprise myself with the effort the writing of a mystery must take. Habituated to translating texts and to keeping record of my days, I had not anticipated that writing verse must be so difficult. I have but ten. I miss 990. I suppose that I could leave writing for reading and no one would know what I have done not. But I remind myself that I have told my lord what I have thought to accomplish. I must still finish this task. And with enough time for the peasants to learn their verses.

two days after Saint Michel

I but write this day. And have only twenty more verses to add to my meager total.

four days after Saint Dynys

My lord has rendered me a visit this night. And has found me at my desk. My verses number 100 at this moment, but this is not enough. My lord demanded of me on what I work.

I replied to him on my mystery.

And he demanded of me if I will read these verses to him.

I trembled for what he will think: for myself, I think them poorly formed. But he must hear them on Easter the same.

He stopped me on the fifth verse and demanded of me who has told me Saint Ivo has worn a shirt of hair.

I replied to him that it was himself. Not two months before.

He commanded me to read on, but then stopped me on the fourteenth verse and demanded of me who has told me that those Saint Ivo has judged against return to thank him?

I replied to him again that it was himself.

He commanded me to read on, but again then stopped me on the seventeenth verse to tell me that perhaps the hangman does not try only three times to kill the man who is supposed to die.

I demanded of him if he had told me the story incorrectly at the first instance.

And he replied to me that stories change. It makes no difference if the hangman tries to kill the accused three times or twelve. He says me that I try to make history from legend and that to write a mystery, one must attend to the mystery, not the verity.