truth of their story.[144]

From monastic meditations we may pass without any long interval to a
type of the story that perhaps appears at its best in M. Luzel's
charming collection of distinctively Christian traditions of Lower
Brittany. In this type we are given the adventures of a youth who
undertakes to carry a letter to "_Monsieur le Bon Dieu_" in Paradise.
Proceeding by the directions of a hermit, he is guided by a ball to the
hermit's brother, who points out the road and describes the various
difficulties through which he will have to pass. Accordingly he climbs
the mountain before him; and the path then leads him across an arid
meadow filled with fat cattle, and next over a lush pasture tenanted
only by lean and sickly kine. Having left this behind he enters an
avenue where, under the trees, youths and damsels richly clad are
feasting and making merry; and they tempt the traveller to join them.
The path then becomes narrow and steep, and encumbered with brambles and
nettles and stones. Here he meets a rolling fire, but standing firm in
the middle of the path, the fire passes harmlessly over his head. Hardly
has it gone by, however, when he hears a terrible roar behind him, as
though the sea in all its fury were at his heels ready to engulf him. He
resolutely refuses to look back; and the noise subsides. A thick hedge
of thorns closes the way before him; but he pushes through it, only to
fall into a ditch filled with nettles and brambles on the other side,
where he faints with loss of blood. When he recovers and scrambles out
of the ditch, he reaches a place filled with the sweet perfume of
flowers, with butterflies, and with the melody of birds. A clear river
waters this beautiful land; and there he sits upon a stone and bathes
his cruelly torn feet. No wonder he falls asleep and dreams that he is
already in Paradise. Awaking, he finds his strength restored, and his
wounds healed. Before him is Mount Calvary, the Saviour still upon the
cross, and the blood yet running from His body. A crowd of little
children are trying to climb the mountain; but ere they reach the top
they roll down again continually to the foot, only to recommence the
toil. They crowd round the traveller, and beseech him to take them with
him; and he takes three, one on each shoulder and one by the hand; but
with them he cannot get to the top, for he is hurled back again and
again. Leaving them therefore behind, he climbs with ease, and throws