The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1909-01-02

the Midi during the mlQQlo ages, anu the uIduidc
enacted within its walls formed favorite theme
for medieval troubadours and poets. Among
the ancient romances preserved In the library of
manuscripts at Avignon, one encounters fire.
quentIy the following phrase. usually termi-
mating some tale of unrequited love: "Ainsi il
Sc rendit moline Montmajour." (Sohe became
a monk at Montmajour.)
The concierge. or guardian. of the abbey is
dear little woman, whose tiny, wrinkled face
beamed with pride and pleasure when she learn
ed from my questions that was already some
what familiar with the wonderful past of "her
monastery"
Armed with bunch of gigantic keys and fol-
lowed by a yellow dog-a solemn, silent beast,
whose temperament had evidently been affected
by countless promenades in mOnkish cells and
cloisters, not to mention the fact. which dis
covered by chance. that 1t was his regular GUS
tom, when thirsty. to drink the holy water from
a dismantled baptismal font in the courtyard
we entered the chapter hall and descended into
the crypts, a series of chambers hewn in the liv-
ing rock, from which rise the columns support
ing the colossal superstructure. Nowhere, ex-
cept at Mont Saint Michel, have seen such
heavy pillars, such noble, massive arches. Most
Of the subterranean apartments had served as
chapels. mortuary vaults, or simple store rooms,
but there was one dismal cavern that had, be-
yond question, been prison and torture cham
Der. Its locality is too definitely indicated IN the
chronicles of the abbey to leave any doubt;
roughly carved in the rocky wall, there still ex-
lists the famous slit de penitence," coffin
shaped bed of stone, with the bottom intention
ally left irregular and jagged upon which the
unhappy prisoner was chained at full length
and left for days at time to mediate" upon
his sins. The holes through which the chains
were passed are still intact.
After visiting the donjon tower and the beauti-
fully sculptured cloister, during which excur-
sion the concierge and had become fast friends,
we repaired to her kitchen and she produced
bottle of rich, golden wine. manufactured with
the aid of herbs and simples gathered on adja-
cent hillsides. We had been talking of the GU
rious traditions clustering around the abbey,
and, while we drank our cordial, the good dame,
chuckling over some evidently amusing recol-
lection, launched into the story which will en-
deavor to recount. Variations of the same tale,
have learned. are mingled with the legends of
several other abbeys in Provence, and Alphonse
Daudet has given one of them place among his
humorous contes, but doubt if the curious re-
cital which follows has ever found its way into
English print.
During a certain epoch, so runs the legend,
the country round about was kept in state OF
continual terror by marauding bandits, and the
helpless farmers of the district, more intent on
saving their mortal skins than their immortal
souls, began to stake their faith upon the sword
of some powerful protecting baron rather than
on the cruciix of the good Father Abbott AS
a natural consequence the monastery fell upon
hard times; the poor monks watched in vain for
the procession of donkeys which had formerly
wound its way up from the valley, loaded with
tithes of grain and oil and wine; fasting be-
came a necessity rather than virtue, and every
day was Friday for the hungry brethren; the
bells rang for mass, but nobody came broken
window panes were left unrepaired, and soon
winter winds were whistling through the chilly
corridors, putting out the tapers on the altar
and blowing the holy water from its shallow
basin to scatter it upon the shivering bare legs
of the devoted band.
Driven to desperation the unfortunate men of
God began to take counsel among themselves If
it were not better to dispense in order that each
might seek for himself more fertile pastures.
1t was while this grave question was being dis
cussed in the assembly room-the very chapter
hall through which had just passed with the
concierge and her pious dog-that Frere Miron
timidly appeared in the doorway and begged
permission to be heard. Now Frere Miron was
the cowherd of the community, simple soul.
kind of heart and thick of head. who had never
penetrated deeply into the holy mysteries, and
whose duties consisted solely of driving his cows
to pasture and reciting his paternosters. But
his COWS had all been eaten, and his paternosters
had grown wearisome by force of continued
repetition. Finding himself without occupa-
tion he get himself to thinking-probably for
the first time in his hitherto tranquil life, and
finally, by dint of humping upon his shaver
bullet. head, had hit upon an idea, an idea that
he was about to communicate to the assembly
and which was destined to deliver the commu-
nifty from poverty.
At an early age, said he, he had been confided
to the care of an aged aunt, an old she-goat who
knew the secret virtue of every herb on the
mountain side and who possessed the unwritten
formula of an incompatible cordial which she
manufactured by mixing six or seven of these
simplcs. With the aid of Sainte Marie and the
permission of Father Abbott, Frere Miron be-
lieved he could recollect the formula of that
mysterious liquor, it could be bottled, sold at a
good price, and soon Mantmajour would be as
rich as Chartruesso of La Trappe. The Abbott
fell upon his neck and wept, and the brethren,
not deferred by certain stains and odors reminis-
cent of the barnyard, kissed the hem of his
him to the mountains.
At the end of six months the marvellous
elixir was on every shelf from Aries to Baux.
the monks were fat and Frere Miron. the cow
herd who had now become the Reverend Pere
Miron, was shut up all day in an abandoned
chapel which had been converted into distil-
lery, while score of monks secured the noun
tainside for herbs and simples. All was WE'LL
But one evening during vespers Pere Miron
entered the church in state of extraordinary
agitation lurching from side to side like sailor.
wetting his arm up to the elbow in the holy
water and bowling before the organ instead of
the altar. During the psalm, in lieu of chant
ing the usual response, he launched into roll
licking, licentious ballad. The reverend father
then toppled over on the floor and was dragged
to his cell by the neck and heels summariy,
but respectfully withal, as was befittiug for the
saviour of the community.
The next morning he confessed tipsy on his
own liquor the victim of his own invention.
Father Abbot scratched his head, meditated on
the splendid revenues which were pouring into
the monastery treasury and granted his unquali-
fed dissolution. The case was simple, said he.
Pere Miron was compelled to taste the liquor in
order to give it the proper flavor. and he had
tasted too freely. henceforth it would be neces-
sary to count the drops. VOLTA tout. But in
order to forestall trouble he excused Pere Miron
from attending vespers in the future.
Like Frankinstein, Pere Miron found himself
overpowered by the creature he had brought
into being. He prayed and wrestled with the
temptation, and in the end he counted by COB
lets and not by drops Several weeks rolled by
and then, one evening he staggered into the
chapter hall where all the monks were assem-
bled to render their accounts to Father Abbot
ut is finished" cried the unhappy Miron.
mot another drop of this accused liquor will 1
distil Its odor has driven from my mind the
fear of perdition. have become disgraceful
drunkard. and have been preparing for myself
an eternity of fiames."
"And what is to be come of us If our only source
of revenue is cut off 2" cried his brethren. "You
will ruin the monastery"
do you prefer that damn my eternal soulr
responded Pere Miron.
But Father Abbot was equal to the occasion.
1T is only in the evening that the demon
tempts you ?'' he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, henceforth every even ing after yes
pers we will recite in your behalf the Crason
de st. Augustin. which has the virtue OF grant
ing dissolution during the commission of the