Gerard's eye
fell at once on this, and he expressed the liveliest admiration. The
cure assented. Then Gerard asked, "Could the saint have loved hawking?"
The cure laughed at his simplicity. "Nay, 'tis but a statuary hawk. When
they have a bird of gentle breed they cannot train, they make his image,
and send it to this shrine with a present, and pray the saint to work
upon the stubborn mind of the original, and make it ductile as wax: that
is the notion, and methinks a reasonable one, too."
Gerard assented. "But alack, reverend sir, were I a saint, methinks I
should side with the innocent dove, rather than with the cruel hawk that
rends her."
"By St. Denys you are right," said the cure. "But, que voulez-vous?
the saints are debonair, and have been flesh themselves, and know man's
frailty and absurdity. 'Tis the Bishop of Avignon sent this one."
"What! do bishops hawk in this country?"
"One and all. Every noble person hawks, and lives with hawk on wrist.
Why, my lord abbot hard by, and his lordship that has just parted from
us, had a two years' feud as to where they should put their hawks down
on that very altar there. Each claimed the right hand of the altar for
his bird."
"What desecration!"
"Nay! nay! thou knowest we make them doff both glove and hawk to take
the blessed eucharist. Their jewelled gloves will they give to a servant
or simple Christian to hold: but their beloved hawks they will put down
on no place less than the altar.
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