Aurélie had not noticed the time going by, and had lost sight of her parents during the July procession. She prayed silently as she lit a candle in front of the statue of Jesus in the Church of Locranon, which was the resting place of a rather special saint. Her heart beat like a metronome. She uttered a quiet prayer, and closed her eyes. Every year, the locals in the village of Locronan, Brittany, gathered to celebrate Saint Ronan, the Irish pilgrim who was one of the legendary saints of Armorica. The annual pilgrimage, the Troménie, was a six-kilometre trek. The saint is represented in the church of Locronan, sitting atop a slab of kersanton stone flanked by two angels holding up his coat of arms, while four others prop up his deathbed. The saint’s recumbent statue is plunging his cross into the mouth of a monster, and blessing it with his other hand. Earlier, Aurélie had followed behind the priests as they carried the statue of Saint Ronan while singing melancholy hymns. She hadn’t seen her mother since they’d mingled into the crowd. She knew Saint Ronan’s story by heart, though perhaps you do not.
Ronan was born to pagan parents, somewhere in Ireland during the 6th century. Ronan’s father did not believe in God. His mother held no faith in the resurrection, yet young Ronan was moved by this idea from a young age. He saw the people of his village gathering outside the small chapel, praying to a living God and feeling reason to be alive. His father was a hard worker, though we do not know his profession. Perhaps he a carpenter, like Saint Joseph? Young Ronan lived a peaceful live, hearing the church bells every day and praying every night to the sacred heart of Jesus. He was content with little: admiring the nature of Ireland, watching the birds fly over their house and listening to the rivers. One night, before going to bed, something happened that would shatter the peace of their household. The candles flickered even when the night air was still; nature was silent, but the sky was illuminated by lightning. Ronan’s father was coughing hard, even though it was not cold. There was not a breath of wind that night, which was mysterious on its own.
During the night, while Ronan was sleeping peacefully with his rosary in his hand, an angel came to wake him. The angel shook him in his bed and pulled back the sheet. Ronan was not afraid, knowing that Jesus had sent an angel to answer his tireless prayers. Before Ronan could speak, the figure whispered to him: “To save your soul you must go to live in Cornouaille, on the coast among the Bretons.” And so Ronan left his family home to settle not far from Locronan.
Many legends are told of his life. One day, while Ronan was wandering in Locronan, a wolf sprang onto the path holding a sheep in its jaws. The wolf was preparing to devour the sheep and a shepherd was chasing after them, crying tears of anguish. Ronan took pity on the man, and prayed to God. Then the wolf dropped the sheep from his mouth and the sheep came to Ronan, who returned it to its humble owner. This was the first miracle to be attributed to Ronan.
Later, the farmer often went to visit Ronan so that the hermit could tell him about God. However, his wife Kében did not see things this way. She accused Ronan of having put her family under a spell, of being a charlatan and a false prophet. Where was his rosary, and to whom did he pray? In Locronan they believed only in their king, Gradlon. God held no power over the king’s authority. Kében told Ronan to leave their house or face her punishment. Ronan did so, but this was not enough for Kében, and she hatched a plan. She concealed her daughter in a box and went to see the king Gradlon. She accused Ronan of having killed the child, and of taking the form of a wolf.
The king ordered Ronan to be tied to a tree and for two wild, starving dogs to be unleashed upon him. Without fear, Ronan made the sign of the cross over his heart. As he did so, the dogs fled. After seeing this miracle the king had faith in Ronan, and asked him what he desired. The hermit asked that the king pardon Kében for having accused him, and announced that she had locked her own daughter in a box. The box was opened, and they found the body of the dead girl. Ronan brought the poor child back to life with a humble prayer. The king and his guards knelt before this third miracle, and begged Ronan’s pardon. The pious Irishman returned to his home lived as a hermit for the rest of his life, tired of the violence of his fellow man.
Saint-Brieuc was the place of Saint Ronan’s final retreat. A villager found the saint dead one morning, and decided to keep the right arm as a relic. He cut off the limb, hid it under his cloak and brought it home. But during the night, he awoke in terror to find that his arm was missing below the shoulder. Panic-stricken, he hurried back to the dead hermit’s home to return the arm. Once he had done so, his own arm reappeared.
The locals were unsure where to bury the saint, and so Ronan’s coffin was loaded onto a cart pulled by two oxen, who were allowed to wander at their will. As the procession moved along it passed by Kében, who was washing her laundry. Seeing the spectacle, she could not resist the temptation to mock the saint. But as she laughed cruelly, the earth opened up into a pit of flames and smoke, and a supernatural force pulled her down into the depths of hell. The place would henceforth be known as “Kében’s grave”. The oxen kept on wandering, until they had reached a clearing under the warm sun. Here they would move no more, in spite of the coming night and the creeping cold. It was here that Ronan was buried.
Aurélie knew the story of Saint Ronan well. She was proud to be Breton, and to have a saint who came from Ireland. She was finishing her prayer when suddenly, a hand settled on her shoulder. It was her mother, who said: “Aurélie, I’ve been looking for you! Did you say a little prayer for Saint Ronan?”
Alan Alfredo Geday
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