HERE BEGINS THE PRIORESS’ TALE: In Asia, in a large city populated mainly by Christians, there was a Jewry established by a lord of that land for evil purposes of usury and excessive gain, which are hateful to Christ and His people. One was able to ride or walk right through this ghetto, for it was open and unlocked at either end. A little school for Christians stood at the farther end, attended by many children of Christian descent, who year after year learned in that school such teachings as were needed in this land; that is, to sing and to read, as small children are accustomed to do.
Among these children there was a widow’s son, a little choirboy seven years old, who day after day attended the school; and he had been taught the habit, whenever he saw an image of Christ’s Mother as he went on his way, of kneeling down and repeating his Ave Maria. The widow had thus instructed her little son always to worship our blessed Lady, Christ’s dear Mother, and he never forgot, for happy children learn very quickly. Whenever I recall this situation, St. Nicholas seems to stand before me, for he as a child did reverence to Christ.
This little boy, studying his small book as he sat in the school with his primer, heard other children singing the Alma Redemptoris as they were taught from their anthem-book. As soon as he dared, he crept closer and closer to them, and listened closely to the words and the music until he knew the first verse by heart. He did not understand what the Latin meant, for he was too young and of too tender an age. But one day he begged a schoolmate to explain this song to him in his own language, or to tell him for what purpose this song was used. Many times upon his bare knees he begged his comrade to explain this and make it clear to him.
His schoolmate, who was older than he, answered in this fashion: “This song, so I have heard, was made for our blessed, generous Lady, to salute her and also to pray her always to be our help and succor when we die. I cannot explain this matter any better; I do learn to sing, but I do not know much grammar.”
“Then this song was made in reverence of Christ’s mother?” asked this innocent boy. “Now, certainly, I shall work my hardest to memorize it all before Christmas is over. Though I may be punished for not learning my primer, and even may be beaten three times in one hour, I am going to learn it in honor of our Lady!”
Day after day his schoolmate secretly taught him as they went home from school, until he knew the whole song by heart. Then he sang it clearly and well, word by word in keeping with the music. Twice a day it filled his throat: as he went to school, and as he returned home. His complete attention was fixed on Christ’s Mother. As I have said, this little boy, when he passed through the Jewry, going back and forth, would regularly sing O Alma Redemptoris happily and loudly. The sweetness of Christ’s Mother had so pierced his heart that in order to pray to her he could not choose but sing to her as he walked along.
The serpent Satan, our primal enemy, who has his wasp’s nest in Jewish hearts, swelled with anger and said, “Oh, Hebrew people, alas! Is this a thing which is worthy of you, that such a boy shall go along as he pleases, spiting you by singing a song which does dishonor to your religion?”
From that time on, the Jews plotted to rid the earth of this innocent child. Consequently they hired a murderer, who had a hiding-place in an alley. And as the boy walked by there, this cursed Jew grabbed him, held him tightly, cut his throat, and threw him in a pit. Threw him, I say, into a privy, where these cursed Jews emptied their bowels. Oh, cursed people of Herod, born again, how can your evil intention help you? Murder will out—it never fails, especially where God’s glory shall thereby spread. The blood cries out against your cursed act.
Oh, martyr, confirmed in virginity, now may you sing forever in the company of the white Lamb celestial—said the Prioress—concerning whom the great evangelist St. John wrote in Patmos. He said that those who never experience women in the flesh go before this Lamb and sing a song ever new.
The poor widow waited all that night for her little child, but he did not return. Therefore, as soon as it was daylight, she sought him at school and elsewhere, her face pale with fear and her thoughts busy. Finally, she was able to learn that he was last seen in the Jewry. Her breast full of a mother’s sorrow, and half out of her mind, she visited every spot where she thought there was any likelihood of finding her little child. And steadily she cried out to Christ’s Mother meek and kind, who at last caused her to seek him among the cursed Jews. She asked and begged pitifully every Jew who lived in that place to tell her if her child had passed through there. They told her “No”; but after a time Jesus in his grace so guided her that she called out to her son from a spot near where he was thrown into the pit.
Oh, great God, whose praise is effected through the mouths of innocents, herein we see your might! This gem of chastity, this emerald, and also the bright ruby of martyrdom, lying there upright with cut throat, began to sing Alma Redemptoris so loudly that the entire place resounded. The Christian people passing through the street gathered to marvel at this fact, and sent at once for the provost. He came immediately without delay, and praised Christ, the King of Heaven, and also his Mother, the glory of mankind. After that, he had all the Jews imprisoned.
The child was taken up with piteous lamentation, steadily singing his song; and, honoring him with a great procession, the people carried him into the nearby abbey. His mother lay fainting beside the bier; scarcely could the people there lead this second Rachel from his side.
Without loss of time the provost had all the Jews slain who knew of this murder, with torture and a shameful death for each. He would not tolerate such evil-doing. “Evil shall have what evil deserves.” Therefore he had them drawn by wild horses, and afterwards he hanged them according to law.
The innocent child lay on his bier before the high altar while mass lasted. Then the abbot and his convent hastened to bury him quickly. When they cast the holy water upon him, the child still spoke; when they sprinkled him with holy water, he still sang O Alma Redemptoris Mater.
The abbot, who was a holy man—as monks are, or else should be—began to implore the young boy and said, “Oh, dear child, I beg you, by virtue of the Holy Trinity, tell me how you are able to sing when in my judgment your throat is cut?”
“My throat is cut down to the bone,” said the boy, “and according to natural law I should indeed have died some time ago. But Jesus Christ, as you may find written, wishes that his glory shall last and shall be remembered; for the honor of his dear Mother I am still able to sing O Alma loudly and clearly. This well of mercy, Christ’s sweet Mother, I always loved according to my ability. When it happened that I lost my life, she came to me and bade that I should sing this song even as I died, as you have heard me do. And when I began to sing, it seemed to me that she placed a kernel upon my tongue. Therefore I sing, and certainly I must sing, in honor of that blessed, generous Maid until the kernel is taken from my tongue. Later she spoke thus to me: ‘My little child, I shall come for you when the kernel is taken from your tongue. Be not afraid; I shall not forsake you.’ ”
This holy monk—I refer to the abbot—drew forth the boy’s tongue and lifted off the kernel. Then his spirit left him peacefully. when the abbot beheld this miracle, his salty tears trickled down like rain. He fell down prostrate upon the ground and lay as still as if he had been tied there. The convent lay also weeping upon the pavement, praising Christ’s dear Mother. Later they rose and went out bearing this martyr from his bier. They placed his small sweet body in a tomb of clear marble. There he remains now—God grant that we meet him!
Oh, young Hugh of Lincoln, also slain by cursed Jews—as is well known, since it happened not long ago—pray for us who are unstable sinful folk, that in his mercy the merciful God shall multiply his mercy upon us, in reverence of his Mother Mary. Amen. HERE ENDS THE PRIORESS’ TALE.