..::I was always intrigued by the obscure meaning or origin of some of these objects of devotion fueling the mysticism of the 17th century founders of Montreal: What are these Black Virgins doing here? And why does one of them contain the relics of an obscure 4th c. Armenian Saint? What are those red crosses, found on several old maps? Where does the name Stella Maris come from? Why is John the Baptist the patron saint of French Canadians? After putting together dozens of pieces of information, the puzzle revealed an unknown dimension of the history of Montreal's foundation::..
.............
..::The old Salic Law, a Germanic code instituted at the time of Clovis, was invoked wrongly many times to bypass female heirs to the throne of France. This law initially dealt mainly with property inheritance, not the passing of titles.
Was the interior Societe de Notre Dame protecting some secret that could challenge both the French State and the Church, such as the existence of a rightfully royal bloodline of Merovingian descent?
"The Habsburgs are related through marriage with the Merovingians, who are said to have descended from the tribe of Benjamin who went into exile...(which) took them to Arcadia in Greece where they aligned with the Arcadian royal line. Through marriage they engendered the Sicambrian Franks, forebears of the Merovingians, who were ultimately of Semitic or Isrealite origin, and descendants of King Saul."
Esau, Edom and the Trail of the Serpent
www.biblebelievers.org
Edom...the "red" land of the "red-haired" sons of Esau. But if the Merovingians, also described as "red-haired people", with a "red mark" similar to the said priestly mark of Melchizedek, descended from both the Benjamites ("ravening wolf")- Jacob's 12th son - and Esau's (Edomites) it would place them as the universal king-priests of divine right...into the New Jerusalem: Ville-Marie, or Montreal::..
............
Of St.Blaise: It is interesting to note that this Armenian saint is associated with three symbolic animals - the boar, the fish and the wolf. The 'ravening wolf' is the symbol of the tribe of Benjamin.
There are more coincidences: The name Blaise is similar to the breton name Bleiz and Celtic Blez meaning 'wolf'...
The early Templars devotion to St.Blaise probably increased when the Christian Armenian Knights of St.Blaise and St.Mary, who also wore a robe of white with a red cross, joined their ranks in the 13th century.
In Burgundian poet Robert de Boron's Grail legend, he mentions a hermit and scribe by the name of Blaise. Merlin's mother had asked Blaise to help raise her son and Blaise became Merlin's tutor and mentor.
Francine Bernier
The Templars' Legacy in Montreal,
the New Jerusalem
............
The true initiate is he who knows that the most powerful secret is a secret without content, because no enemy will be able to make him confess it, no rival devotee will be able to take it away from him.
Emberto Eco
Foucault's Pendulum
............
Je me souviens/Que nee sous les lis je crois sous la rose
I remember/That born under the lilies I grow under the rose
Eugene-Etienne Tache
"Je me souviens"
Motto: Coat of Arms of Quebec
'Do you believe he can be trusted, though?' Emlyn frowned, holding up a hand before Shannon could begin sputtering indignation: 'I know that you are both close and on the same side, as it were, but, this is very, very serious, Shannon. Already Daryl has been stripped of his timewalking abilities for abuse of them. The powers that be in this, are no joke.'
'What's that? Daryl can no longer time travel?' This was the first Shannon had heard of it. 'But, I thought it was his...invention?'
'Yes, it is. But, it is a...mystical invention. Its operation depends upon the good graces and collaboration with certain powers and principalities...' Emlyn knew little of these matters in her waking life. (Excepting Axelis and Gwydion, Yeats, Thelene, Anara and Merlin...but these, too, remained a mystery for the most part.)
'Daryl's timewalking was more of a partially-accidental magical working than due to any technology,' Em continued, 'The more mechanical technicalities involved were later added by Jack; mobile units, fail-safes and the like.
'It could just as easily be a privilege revoked from myself as well.' Knowing what she now knew, Emlyn would never have been so cavalier as to offer Shannon a mobile unit of her own. Or even introduce Jeanne into the cabal...that had backfired into a particularly Frankensteinishly monstrous mistake.
'I see.' Shannon knew she must remain calm, something she was unused to. 'However, yes, I trust him. Also, Em, I understand why you feel responsible...but, truthfully, I haven't told you half of what Alain disclosed to me. He truly is, or could be, such a resourceful addition to our...quest.' She paused, considering. 'Also,' she added, 'he has an oncle in Montreal. A Freemason.'
Em pondered this. Having a contact in Canada could be key...she wondered how close Alain was with this oncle?
And someone associated with freemasonry, which would, perforce, entail some acquaintance with historical, possibly esoteric resources...could also offer a worthwhile avenue to pursue; including access to Masonic libraries perhaps?
The Canadian oncle was Em's tipping point: she sighed, 'All right. It seems that Alain's presence will be required at some point. Will he be amenable to all this?'
'Absolutely. He doesn't trust Kidd, and you know how he felt about Jeanne...' Shannon slowly shook her head. 'Our own Jeanne, how the mighty have fallen...'
'Well, I don't see how else we can maneuver the logistics of an alliance any other way,' Em allowed. 'Travel by coach or train would be impossible cross country; we need to take action and soon. Athena and Wolf Star can warn the monks at least, while we get things coordinated with Alain. And his Masonic oncle.'
She sighed. 'Meanwhile, I'll get things settled with our Llew.'
Indeed: What about the boy? Suddenly having offspring was becoming rather a major concern, especially if one wasn't expecting such. She must think on this.
Shannon took her mobile unit from her skirt pocket. 'Thank you for the tea and sympathy, Athena. I must be off, then!' She smiled at Emlyn. 'Don't worry! This is truly for the best. We all shall meet up later at the Estate then, oui?'
Em sighed, and waved a limp hand in farewell. 'Yes. Yes. I will meet you there. Oh! And be sure to warn Alain about Llew! They may be back soon!' Em hadn't forgotten that pointy little package, Llew and Wolf Star, yet more chaos in the works. But she didn't see any other recourse.
Shannon blinked out with a salute.
Em stood. 'I must get on back to the Estate, then.' Athena walked with her to the door.
'Athena, again you've been such a life-saver. I can't thank you enough for all your help. At least taking the time trail back with Wolf Star won't tax your poor horse so.'
'He will need some rest, true.' Athena held the door open for her, thinking her horse wasn't alone in that. 'Good luck with your...quest.'
Emlyn hugged her tall friend farewell.'We shall need it.'
...........
Daryl found himself hustled off tout de suite.
...Much, much sooner than he would have liked, or was even prepared for. True, his ankle was mostly healed, and he would be taken to the monastery in a small cart; driven by Brother Valentine, a Franciscan scholar who had been studying in St.William's library and was now returning north.(Coincidence? Daryl thought not) .
He had hoped he would have been able to perhaps say a fond farewell to Sister Cecilia at least. Mais, non: the sooner he was on the road, the better, or so it seemed to Father Michael, to whom obedience was never questioned.
Neither had Daryl been given much information on his new retreat, St.Blaise des Bois, situated just south of Montreal, over the Vermont border.
And so it was that Daryl found himself rattling along a track, which had no aspirations to an actual 'road' as yet, in a small cart along with Brother Valentine, who proved to be an amiable sort, a younger brother than he'd expected for one so well-schooled.
'I am unfamiliar with St.Blaise. What can you tell me about him?' Daryl fervently hoped Brother Valentine hadn't taken a vow of silence for the long drive.
'Ah. Enigmatic, indeed is our bonne St.Blaise!' Valentine intriguingly began. 'He is much-beloved, however, a healer. You are not Catholic?' He looked at Daryl appraisingly, as if he could tell a heretic at a glance, or so Daryl felt. He shook his head slowly, hoping for more information without giving away much of his own.
'Non. Well, nobody's perfect.' Valentine smiled. (Ah, a joke, thought Daryl, returning the grin.) 'If you were, you would know le bon saint by his feast day, the third of February. St.Blaise is known for saving a lad from choking on a bone, and now, on this day, after Mass, the priest holds two candles, crossed, before the throats of the faithful and makes a special blessing for the deliverance of any maladies of the throat or other illnesses.' The brother regarded Daryl. 'Handy, that.'
'Indeed!' 'Daryl needed more, though. 'Was he French, then?'
'Alas, non;-- Armenian! The Bishop of Sebastea, martyred in 312.' Valentine crossed himself in reverence. 'The Eastern Rite holds him in great favour. However, the French soon saw his worth as well. Certainement.' Valentine continued, 'Both St.Blaise and St.Louis are the patron saints of stonemasons.'
'C'est vrai!?' Daryl's interest was locked on target.
'Oh, mais oui...there are numerous chapels and such dedicated to them, one of which belonged to the Priory of St. Julien le Pauvre, a 13th century chapel which served as the priory's chapter house. Then, in 1476, The Confrerie of Masons and Carpenters occupied it, and renovated, adding grand murals from the life of Saint Louis.'
Daryl sat back, pondering this new information. An abbey dedicated to the saint adopted by masons! Tres' interessant...a niggling thought tickled the back of his mind then; wasn't there a certain Grail legend with a St.Blaise?
Non, it was just 'Blaise' then; and he taught the Merlin...that was it: Robert de Boron's Perceval. Blaise was the hermit who became Merlin's mentor.
Indeed, perhaps his new retreat will prove to be more interressant than he'd hoped.
...........
Emlyn was surprised to find Llew already at the Estate.
'Are you just arrived?' she asked, wondering why she hadn't seen Wolf Star en route.
'Yes. Just a bit ago. How are you, Emlyn?' Llew was in the library, unpacking his bundle.
'I am well. And glad to see you home, safely.' Em was, she realized...having felt badly for sending the lad off, but it had to be done. 'How was your visit?'
'It was grand!' Llew's eyes sparkled, taking her in. 'Wait! I have a souvenir, pour vous...' He rummaged about, tossing brightly painted cards, some venison jerky, a rosary, (Em blanched to think what Gwydion would think of THAT), a hymnal, (oh, mercy...), a bottle of mead, ('for Athena!), and finally, a lovely soft white sheepskin.
'I met the sheep herself, from whence cameth this,' he smiled, settling it across Em's shoulders. 'Her name was Baah-bara.' He bleated, making them both laugh. 'All the sheep were named after saints.'
Em snuggled her face into the soft wool, smelling slightly of lanolin and lavender. 'It's so soft,' she purred. 'Thank you, Llew, it's truly a lovely gift. I will be needing it soon, with cooler weather coming.'
He truly was a nice lad, she thought wistfully.
Llew sat on the library sofa, his booty before him on the table, going through his Catholic ephemera. 'It was more interesting than I'd first imagined,' he admitted, as Em took a seat across from him, still wearing her sheep.
'The music was incredible, Em!' She smiled, hearing her nickname from Llew. 'Such voices! The Sisters of St.Agnes came every evening to join in song with the monks at St.Williams.' He nodded to her, 'That's where the sheepskin's from. They keep sheep at St.Agnes, and the monks keep bees at St.Williams.'
'Truly?' Em wondered. So, that's where the sisters came from. She hadn't expected Llew to become so...enthralled with a monastery. She hoped it wouldn't become a problem. For Gwydion.
Corrupted by monks. And nuns. And sheep. Oh, my.
Emlyn finally got Llew away from his souvenirs and into the kitchen to help her with dinner. Diosa, but the lad could vie with Shannon for fastest-mouth-in-the-west...
'So, you will be all right here, if I have to travel north for a bit?' Emlyn finally got in a word. 'It shouldn't be for long...'
She wondered if that were true. She hoped to be able to pin down the location of this supposed monastery which hid the Graal. And, she hoped, it wasn't the one Llew had just returned from.
'Emlyn, don't worry,' Llew assured her, as he chopped tomatoes for salad. 'I am much used to being by myself. Medraut and I practically raised each other, we were left on our own throughout childhood.'
'Medraut?' Em inquired. 'A friend of yours?' Emlyn felt something stir in the back of her mind, like hearing a rattler under a rock.
'Meddy, oui.' Llew tossed the tomatoes in the salad bowl, started on some apples. 'He and I grew up together. You may know his father, Jack.'
Em stilled. That was it...Jack and that woman...her son. Their son. Morgaine? Morgana? Was that her name? So long ago...Em was glad she'd nearly forgotten.
'Only...Gwydion spent more time with me, than either of Meddy's parents did with him.' Llew seemed pensive, ceased chopping. 'It's made him a bit, lonely, I think.'
Emlyn's heart ached, hearing this. How she hated hearing of children deprived. Although she had tried to become a part of his life, she'd been effectively barred and banned from almost anything to do with Llew, by the power of Gwydion.
And, poor Jack, he'd been drugged and tricked most devilishly into that ill-fated union with...that woman. Both Morgana and Gwydion were in the Otherworld, with half-human offspring. It was certainly unfair to all, in the end.
Llew began cutting up an orange. 'But, we're both grown now. I believe Meddy is now being trained as a warrior, a knight. He has a former knight instructing him in the use of arms, and the art of war.'
Em paused. Oh, no...not that Medraut. Mordred. Now Em recognised the Welsh. Would he also be unable to escape his fate? To commit patricide. In the Otherworld, King Arthur would be his father. Jack certainly was no Arthur.
Em pondered all this as she made salad dressing. Gwydion sent Llew here to save him from his fate, of too much love for the deceitful blond Blodeuwedd...as it was written in the Mabinogion.
While it had been Mordred's fate, to die in war against Arthur, who had also been dealt a lethal blow by his son's sword. As it was Written.
Her son, dead due to love's betrayal. Jack's son, dead due to war, and his mother's machinations. Love and War, both could be lethal.
And here was she, in this world, trying to save the Holy Grail? All these half-fey relationships were making Em quite dizzy.
Llew tossed the apples and oranges in the salad with the tomatoes and green onion.
'Llew, did you put fruit in the salad?' Em asked.
'Indeed!' Llew smiled. 'What else? Nuts? Grapes?'
Em laughed. 'Yes, yes, why not?' It would be tasty, she decided, whatever the mix. Just because vegetables and fruit weren't to be mixed? Who says?
Em was very happy to be spending time with her half-fey lad, she realised.
Then, came a knock at the door.
...........
'Just in time for dinner!' Emlyn welcomed Shannon and Alain, glad that Shannon had remembered correct protocol and hadn't simply popped into the middle of the kitchen. And that she'd brought wine.
They decided to take their meal in the library, as it was the only part of the house that was warm, outside the kitchen. They cleared the large work table there, added logs to the fire and lit the candles, so it was quite cheery amongst the towering stacks of books all about them.
'Just quiche Lorraine and salad, with pumpkin pie for dessert...' Emlyn passed the plates filled by Llew. 'Your wine and baugette will be perfect.'
'Merci,' Alain reverted much to French, now that he was unmasked as more Gaul than Kelt. 'The wine is from my Oncle Maurice. It's from Provence. He visits back home whenever he can.'
'So, has he been in Montreal long?' Em inquired, wanting to know more about the mysterious Maurice.
'Eh, about ten years now. He became a freemason in France. But he joined a local temple when he moved to Montreal.' Alain was watching Llew's ears with mild curiosity, but wisely saying nothing. Llew, meanwhile, was watching Shannon.
Alain seemed unconcerned, however. He poured more wine all around. 'Mont Real was dedicated to Our Lady...its original name was "Ville Marie". There are many churches, cathedrals who claim the Blessed Virgin as their patroness.' He raised his glass: 'To Our Lady! Notre Dame De Bon Secours!' All raised a glass, and the company toasted Our Lady of Good Help.
'That is my favorite church. Built in the 1600s. And rebuilt. It had a fire.' Alain had indeed done his homework. 'It contains a Black Madonna. The Black Virgin of Montaigu.'
Emlyn was intrigued. 'Oh, I do love stories of the Black Madonnas. They are so mysterious.'
'Always.' Alain smiled. 'Oui, she is "dark but comely" like the Queen of Sheba. And, she always hides secrets.' He looked at Shannon and winked, making her grin. 'This particular statue hides a secret in her base. Can you guess what it may be?'
Em and Shannon traded glances. They kneweth not. But Llew piped up with, 'I bet it's a relic.'
Alain raised a glass to Llew. 'Bon. Indeed, it is a relic of bonne St.Blaise! He and St.Louis, our one good king, a crusader...' Alain smiled, 'Eh, they were both adopted by the Confreries of Masons of Paris as patron saints.' He paused, pointing his fork at the salad. 'This salad, may be the best I've ever tasted! Tres' bien!'
'Llew made it.' Emlyn smiled indulgently at Llew who was obviously proud of his new-found culinary skills.
Em nodded to Shannon then. She was becoming more and more convinced that bringing Alain with them, and contacting Oncle Maurice, were indeed tres' necessaire.
By day two, travel by cart was causing pain in Daryl's back and regret as well. He lay on several rugs and sheep fleece covers in back of the cart, trying to avoid most of the jarring to his spinal column.
By the angle of the sun, he ascertained the time was just past noon. Cresting the top of a hill, Brother Valentine reined in his mules and turned into a copse of birch trees.
'We can have a mid-day meal here, I think.' He informed Daryl. 'How's the back?' He offered Daryl a hand, as to a rickety elder. No dummy, and greatly humbled of late, Daryl took his hand gratefully and alighted from the cart, groaning.
'Merci.' He hobbled about, trying to get his land-legs working. He gazed out from the hilltop, shading his eyes, and perceived nought but more rolling hills and dales, trees and countryside for miles ahead.
'Are we coming closer to St.Blaise? Have we crossed any borders at all?' Daryl asked hopefully.
'Eh, oui.' Valentine rummaged about the many canvas bags in back of the cart which had kept Daryl company, rolling this way and that on top of him.
'We crossed over the border and through Vermont in the night.' He lifted his chin to the left. 'Over there, just beyond that last hill, you should be able to barely make out the St.Lawrence River. Beyond that, Montreal.'
This cheered Daryl considerably. Indeed, he could just make out a thin sliver of silver that could be taken for a river, far over the seemingly interminable hills.
He must have slept somehow, in spite of the rocky cart and baggage, throughout the night's journey.
'We will take some rest here.' Valentine informed him. 'But first, we will eat, non? If you can, see what dry wood you could gather for tea.'
Daryl was eager to be moving about for a change, and took to his chore readily, relieved to be stretching.
It was a fine fair day, though the nip of fall was in the air, still the sun shone bright and warm. When he returned with an armload of windfall, he found the good Brother busy with a nascent fire in a shallow pit with a cookpot on the boil and some small potatoes roasting in the ashes.
'Bon.' Valentine added the larger branches to the fire as Daryl broke them into fire-size pieces. He then took a seat upon a handy moss-covered log and accepted an earthenware mug of tea. 'It is some of Brother Sebastian's tea mix. You are probably familiar with that, oui?
'Ah, oui.' Daryl was, sipping the herbal blend of rosehip and strawberry leaf with added honey, he noted. 'Are you bringing back honey from St.Williams?'
'Oh, indeed!' Valentine smiled. 'Honey, and mead as well. Not to mention some of that bien biere of the good brothers!' Daryl nodded, remembering. 'Which, we will save for journey's end, or I would sleep the rest of the afternoon!' He poured more tea. 'Also, wool, and sheep fleece from the bonne Sisters of St.Agnes. Although the brothers at St.Blaise do keep a few sheep as well.'
Daryl watched as Brother Valentine greased an iron skillet and set it upon the fire. He then began to blend cornmeal with some other flour and proceeded to make some sort of johnnycake mix, which he began to fry up, 'dollar-sized'.
'In the smaller sack to the left of the cart, there are apples and walnuts as well, if you like,' he informed Daryl, as he expertly flipped the golden cakes, which were beginning to smell quite good to Daryl's starved senses.
Daryl brought back a few apples and began to crack the walnuts with a rock, picking out the meats and setting them in a wooden bowl between himself and the monk.
'So, is St.Blaise's where you are...based then?' Daryl inquired, munching a pippin.
Valentine took a handful of nutmeats. 'Eh, non. We Franciscans are mendicant monks. We go wherever we are needed and sent, in the spirit of meliorism, and for the edification of souls.'
He poked the potatoes, turning them over. 'But, when I am not on a mission, I stay here and there.' He scooped up a couple of the small cakes and tipped them into Daryl's nut bowl.
'The brothers at St.Blaise are Benedictines. These are also good with honey.'
Daryl knew the good brother meant the cakes and not the monks at St.Blaise.
'Merci, oui...the honey is excellent. You can almost taste the lavender.' Daryl recalled with a slight pain of nostalgia St.William's lovely herb garden surrounded by hedges of rosemary and lavender.
Valentine nodded, busy with his nosh. After the men finished eating, Daryl washed the pans and bowls in a nearby creek, while Valentine smoored the fire.
They lazed about comfortably in companionable silence a while, and then, over the last of the tea, Brother Valentine began a strange tale...
'The emblems of St.Blaise that are connected to him, are the fish, the boar, and the wolf. Indeed, the name 'Blaise' is much like the Breton 'Bleiz' -- 'wolf'.'
Valentine added a string of honey to his tea.
'You will notice, when you arrive at the monastery, there is a grand stained glass window in the chapel there, which depicts a wolf carrying a pig, back to the widow from whom he had stolen it, thanks to the admonitions of St.Blaise, who is standing by, making sure of the pig's safe return.'
Again with the wolves! Daryl was wondering what it was with the many Saints-with-Wolves confederations...St.Francis of Gubbio, St.William, and now St.Blaise, or Bleiz, 'Wolf'.
'It was rumoured,' he continued, 'that many years ago, the St.William as well as the St.Blaise monastery, harboured stray wolflings at one time!' Valentine's gaze connected with Daryl's. 'Mais oui! They were but cubs then, wee wolf cubs, somehow abandoned. Perhaps their parents had been killed.'
Daryl wondered greatly at this...could these wolf cubs have been young Wolf Star and Sister Cecilia? In their more canis lupine incarnations?
His suspicions of Wolf Star as a skinwalker were becoming more real.
'Whatever happened to these...cubs?'
'Eh, no one knows.' Valentine reached up for the bag of sheep fleece and fluffed it up, laying his head upon it and folding his hands across his belly, readying for a postprandial nap.
'Eventually, they grew too big to keep in captivity, I assume, and they were released back into the wild.' He opened one eye Daryl's way. 'It is but a story...' He yawned mightily, then began to breathe deeply which soon became a wheezy sort of musical snore.
Daryl lay back himself, getting comfortable. Or...he mused, the two siblings made their way however they could in the world, somewhere either away from people in general, or, someplace amongst others who craved a life somewhere apart from the general company of society.
-- Someplace like a monastery.
CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN:
Mudcrutch: Orphan of the Storm
No comments:
Post a Comment