Polyhymnia

By popular request of my #1 reader, Hardingfele, here is "Polyhymnia":

A figure on horseback rode before the lengthening shadows, desperately searching for a village where the evil had not yet struck. He searched from east to west, from shore to shore, but the blight had spread everywhere. The evil was without form or beauty, and it left devastation in its wake, devouring everything in its path. Still Slane rode on ahead of it, ever in danger of being consumed himself as he sought a haven that had not yet been destroyed.

Slane's mount, the brave steed Hyfrydol, was foaming at the mouth from exhaustion, and he knew they could not keep up their breakneck pace for much longer. He hoped the dark horseman who rode fast upon his heels with foul intent could not guess at his own purpose. Suddenly, as he came to the crest of a hill, he saw a sun-drenched valley stretching out below him, and in it the untouched hamlet of Llanfair. Slane sighed, "Deo Gracias!" and guided Hyfrydol down into the valley.

Llanfair was a very beautiful old village. At the top of Duke Street was Regent Square, with the ancient churches of St. Theodulph and St. Denio on either side, an enormous fountain in the center, and the Kingsfold Tavern at the edge of the square. The Kingsfold was the center of village life in Llanfair. It was a close, smoky room with a hearth at one end and a heavy wooden door with iron handles at the other. Above the door were inscribed the words: "O Heiland, Reiss die Himmel auf" in Gothic letters. When the door opened and sunlight poured into the dim tavern, everyone looked up in surprise at the stranger who entered.

"Who is that?" Rhosymedre asked the barmaid, Aberystwyth. They were the best of friends, although Rhosymedre and her husband Thaxted went to St. Theodulph, while Aberystwyth and her husband Irby went to St. Denio. The two churches stood across from each other, and each parish thought the other was sorely confused in matters of doctrine.

"I've never seen him before in my life," said Aberystwyth. "Where do you suppose he's come from? He looks as if he's been riding for days!"

"Picardy will soon find out," said Rhosymedre. The mayor of Llanfair was a short, self-important man who stood before the stranger, not at all fazed by the way the man towered over him, and said, "Welcome to our fair hamlet of Llanfair, friend! Let me buy you a drink. You look in need of refreshment."

"Sir, I thank you kindly," said the stranger, "and I will accept your offer, but I'm afraid that I do not have good tidings to share. There is a great evil headed this way. Do you know of the malevolent sorcerer Margen the Haughty?"

Everyone in the Kingsfold Tavern murmured in surprise. They had never heard the name, but the way the stranger pronounced it, this sorcerer was indeed someone to be feared.

"We have no quarrel with anyone," said Picardy. "What do we have to fear from this man? We are pious, upright folk."

"You do not understand," said the stranger. "My name is Slane, and I have ridden for fully a fortnight searching for anything not ruined by the evil perpetrated by this sorcerer. He wishes to destroy us all."

"Then what should we do?" wondered Picardy. "Is he searching for tribute? We have no gold to offer him."

"No amount of gold could save you from him," Slane replied.

"We can defend ourselves," Thaxted declared. "We have plenty of artillery. This Margen the Haughty will never be able to withstand the onslaught of the King's Weston and the Tallis Cannon."

"No," said Slane, "there is no weapon that can defeat his power."

"Down in yon forest there stands a hall," said Irby. "The Germans say it is ein feste burg. We could flee to it and save ourselves."

"No," said Slane, "there is no wall able to keep his evil out. We must stand and face him here, else he will gather us in and destroy us. But I warn you, he is a fearsome adversary. He will take your two beautiful churches, raze them to the ground, and build edifices so hideous you will shudder to look upon them. They will be even more loathsome within, with no beauty of any sort to contemplate, only bare walls and strange angles and ugly banners bearing feel-good slogans. He will force us to learn songs with incorrigible melodies and faintly heretical lyrics. He will erase the memory of our existence from the earth and leave us no descendants. He is utterly ruthless."

"Then what shall we do?" cried Rhosymedre in despair.

"I know!" said Picardy's wife Diademata quite confidently, surprising them all. "We will call upon the Son of L___ who lives beside the lake. He will save us! His power is much greater than that of this Margen the Haughty. Slane, stay with us this night and seek him on the morrow."

That evening Slane was the honored guest of Picardy and Diademata, who lived in an estate called Besançon at the intersection of Old Hundredth and Darwall's 148th. Besançon was a lively place, ringing with the laughter of Picardy's daughters Melita and Aurelia, and Slane sincerely hoped he was not too late to save them all from the clutches of Margen the Haughty.

Early the next morning the watchman cried, "Wake, awake for night is flying!"

Slane arose and prepared to seek the Son of L___, the only one who could save them all. The villagers all gathered in Regent Square to see him off, and he exhorted them:

"O filii et filiae! Do not let this Margen the Haughty into your village under any pretext whatsoever! He was less than a day behind me when last I saw his evil form. I warn you, he will come with fair appearance and gentle voice to persuade you, but do not let him in! Remember how he burned down St. Columba in Beach Spring, and I hardly need remind you of what he did to St. George's, Windsor. And of course there are the sad cases of St. Anne in Finlandia and St. Agnes in Antioch, and the castle of Fortunatus (New), and others too numerous to mention. But we will prevail! If you but trust in God to guide you, we will all survive this ordeal! God be with you!" And he spurred Hyfrydol on and thundered off down Duke Street.

The residents of Llanfair watched Slane recede into the distance, until they could not see even the cloud of dust kicked up by Hyfrydol's hooves. Then they formed a circle around the village, both the men and the women, and waited for Margen the Haughty to arrive.

The day was sunny and fair, and birds sang in the trees. Suddenly a deathly quiet rose up about them as all creatures of our God and King abruptly fell silent. Even the insects left off their chirping. The villagers felt a shadow fall upon them, then they heard hoofbeats far off to the north. They strained their eyes to see the approaching figure, unsure if it were Slane returning with the Son of L____, or the dreaded Margen the Haughty. The figure drew closer and closer, until finally they could make out his form. It was a stranger wearing a cheerful mask, and the mask is called Happychurch. He rode up to Lambillotte and stood before him on his mount Haas.

"Hail, sir," he said in a pleasant voice. "May I enter yon village?"

"Are you Margen the Haughty?" responded Lambillotte.

"My name is Margen, but I assure you, I am far from haughty. I am here to show you that you need not fear God. He loves you. Why do you continue to sing about His terrible power? Sing about how much He loves us! That is how He wants us to worship him."

Lambillotte thought he saw the sense in what Margen had told him, and he was about to let him pass, but then he remembered Slane's warning.

"No," he said, "while it is true that God loves us, we must also fear Him. When we sing in this village, we sing about how much we adore Him, not how much He loves us. We do not need to make Him love us, but we need to learn to revere Him."

Margen turned Haas and rode around the perimeter of the village until he was standing in front of Ellecombe.

"Dear lady, I entreat you - may I enter your fair village?"

"Are you Margen the Haughty? I have been warned about you!"

"I am not haughty," Margen assured her. "I am here to free you from your fearful conceptions of God. Why should you have to worship in a church that reminds you of how immense He is and how small you are? Let me show you another way, where you will worship in a space that does not make you feel insignificant, but instead lets you feel a part of the group."

Ellecombe thought there may have been some wisdom to what he was saying, but then Slane's words of warning rang in her ears. She said, "A house of worship built to focus our attention on God and His greatness does not detract from our bond as a congregation. If anything, when we all face the altar instead of each other, our purpose is far more united."

Margen turned Haas away from her and rode until he was before Nicaea. He dismounted Haas and held a book out her, saying, "Dear lady, here is a book you may find enlightening. It is called the Michaelangelo Codex, and within its pages is contained a great mystery, a secret that the Church has been suppressing for many centuries."

"Really?" Nicaea reached for the book out of curiosity. "What secret knowledge has the Church kept hidden from us?"

Margen smiled through his mask Happychurch and said, "Let me enter your village, and I will share it with you."

Suddenly a loud cry rang out: "Margen, drop that accurséd tome and begone!"

"Hark, a thrilling voice is sounding!" said Nicaea. "I believe it is the Son of L___ himself!"

The Son of L___ rode up on his fiery steed Breslau, followed by Slane on Hyfrydol. He guided Breslau between Nicaea and the evil sorceror and glared down at the latter.

"Fool!" he said to Margen scornfully. "What do you know of secrets and mysteries? That book is filled with lies and conspiracy theories! The great mystery of the Church is the Victim Divine whose grace we claim, and the Church has always shared this secret with all believers! Why do you pant after other mysteries? What could be more mysterious than His Real Presence among us?"

Margen the Haughty made a move as if to draw a weapon, but the Son of L___ dropped a ton of l__s on him. Dazed, Margen fell to the ground, and the Son of L___ tore off his mask Happychurch so that all the villagers could see his true visage. They gasped in horror and drew back.

"See what you would have given up your faith for?" said the Son of L___. "Would you trade the Divinum Mysterium for this empty promise?"

Then the people of Llanfair realized how close to disaster they had come. They resolved never to fall for the treacherous lies of Margen the Haughty, who climbed back onto Haas and rode away, never to torment them again. For so it is written in the words of the sacred Green Book.

copyright 2005 by the author. No part of this story should be published elsewhere without the author's explicit permission.

All references to hymn tune names or lines from hymns or songs are in lavender.

Famous Hat