Advent 2024 Week One

St. Giles and the Deer

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The Ballad of Saint Giles and the Deer

All in the forest far away

Where no one ever came,

There dwelt a good man, old and gray,—

Saint Giles the hermit's name.

His forest home a rocky cave

Beneath an aspen tree;

And for his friend Saint Giles did have

A Deer, who wandered free.

A gentle red and mottled Deer

Who made her home close by.

Who at his call came without fear.

Forgetting to be shy.

Sure never all in lovely France

Was there a Deer so tame;

Ah, but to see her start and prance

When he would call her name!

She gave him milk, his simple fare,

And browsed upon the green,

Ah, such a gentle, loving pair

I wis was never seen.

And he was happy in his cell,

And joyous 'neath his trees,

Content with woodland beasts to dwell,

His only neighbors these.

The wood was dark, the wood was grim,

And never till one day

Had human voices troubled him,

Or world-folk passed that way.

But on a dewy springtime morn

When April climbed the hill,

There came the wind of silver horn,

Halloos and whistles shrill;

The galloping of horses' feet,

The bloody bay of hounds,

Broke through the forest silence sweet

And echoed deadly sounds.

Saint Giles sat in his lonely cell,

Whenas the rout drew nigh;

But at the noise his kind heart fell

And sorrow dimmed his eye.

He loved not men who hunt to kill,

Loved not the rich and grand,

For in those days the Pagans still

Held lordship in the land.

But scarcely had he reached the door

And seized his staff of oak,

When like a billow with a roar

The chase upon him broke.

With one last hope of dear escape,

Into the open space

Bounded a light and graceful shape,

The quarry of the chase.

All flecked with foam, all quivering

With weariness and fear,

Crouched at his feet the hunted thing,

His gentle friend, the Deer.

Behind her bayed the pack of hounds,

Their cruel teeth gleamed white,

Nearing with eager leaps and bounds;

He turned sick at the sight.

Saint Giles looked down upon the Deer.

Saint Giles looked up again,

He saw the danger drawing near,

The death, with all its pain.

He laid his hand upon her head,

The soft head of his friend,—

"And shall I let thee die?" he said,

"And watch thy hapless end?"

He stooped and gently murmured, "Nay!"

Stroking her mottled side,

He stepped before her where she lay;

"They slay me first!" he cried.

Her frightened eyes looked up at him,

Her little heart beat high,

She trembled sore in every limb,—

The bushes parted nigh.

"Halloo! Halloo!" the huntsmen cried

As through the hedge they burst;

An archer all in green espied

The crouching quarry first.

Swift as a thought his arrow flew,

Saint Giles threw out his arm,

Alack! the aim was all to true,

Saint Giles must bear the harm.

The arrow pierced too well, too well;

All in that mournful wood

Saint Giles upon the greensward fell,

And dyed it with his blood.

He fell, but falling laid his hand

Upon the trembling Deer,—

"My life for hers, dost understand?"

He cried so all could hear.

Now as upon the green he lay

All in a deathly swound,

The King dashed up with courtiers gay

And looked upon his wound;

The King rode up, and "Ho!" he cried,

"Whom find we in our wood?

Who spares the deer with mottled hide?

Who sheds an old man's blood?"

The King looked down with ruthful eye

When all the thing was told,

"Alack!" he cried, "he must not die,

So kind a man and bold.

"Bear me the Saint into his cave;

Who falls to save his friend

Deserves for leech his King to have;

I will his pallet tend."

They spared to him the sore-bought Deer;

And in that lowly cell

For many weary days and drear

The King came there to dwell.

The King, who was a godless man,

A pagan, heart and soul,

Played nurse until the wound began

To heal, and Giles was whole.

But in the little forest cave

The King learned many things

Known to the meanest Christian slave,

But secrets from the kings.

For good Saint Giles had won his heart

By his brave deed and bold,

And ere the great King did depart

His Christian faith he told.

And while the red Deer stood beside,

The King gave Giles his word

That e'er a Christian he would bide,

And keep what he had heard.

And so the monarch rode away

And left the two alone,

Saint Giles a happy man that day,

The good Deer still his own.

Safe from the eager hunting horde

The Saint would keep his friend,

Protected by the King's own word

Thenceforth unto the end.

For unmolested in his cell,

Careless of everything

Giles with his friendly Deer could dwell

Liege to a Christian King.

Story source: The Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts by Abbie Farwell Brown

Saint Giles, also known as Giles the Hermit, was a hermit or monk active in the lower Rhône most likely in the 7th century. Revered as a saint, his cult became widely diffused but his hagiography is mostly legendary. ~ Wikipedia

This story comes from long ago when Europe was a mix of old and new religions.

Prophecy: In Advent Week One, it is told that one would come who would lay down his life for his friends. We are all like the deer, pursued by the hounds. We all need a “St. Giles” to cry on our behalf: "My life for hers…"

Deer are a central figure in many folktales and legends. They symbolize purity and are also often guides, leading people to their destinies.

This legend has an obvious correspondence for those like me who live in the Christian faith. St. Giles is a Christ figure; our souls are the poor, gentle deer running for her life pursued by the hounds of hell, as it were. To Him, our protector and friend, we fly when we are in need.

Beyond that, plenty in this tale warms the heart of anyone who loves solitude and animals and laments the intrusion into wild spaces by those who destroy the peace and harmony of nature and disrespect woodland creatures. Like St. Giles, when confronted by the wanton destruction of nature, you may feel what he felt when…

sorrow dimmed his eye.

He loved not men who hunt to kill,

Loved not the rich and grand

Those who bring this disruption and destruction are called “world-folk,” which I suppose refers to those who are from the “civilized” world of power, commerce, technology, and short-sighted human wisdom.

We glimpse St. Giles as druid-kind when we witness him “seized his staff of oak” to defy the murderous will of the “world-folk.”

There is so much epic and grand going on in this tale that I recommend re-reading it several times, letting your imagination expand the borders of the story and fill in the details of what is happening behind the scenes.

Like Aesop's Fables, Jesus’ parables, fairy tales, and indigenous peoples’ myths, Saint’s Tales contain hidden wisdom, symbolism, and sophistication that is easy to overlook at first. Slow down and explore, seeking new perspectives and understandings that will enrich your inner world and open your eyes to deeper truths you are currently aware of. Advent is the perfect season for this pursuit.

May the blessings of the Deer be upon you during this first week of Advent.

The comments section is a safe and welcoming space to share your insights and experiences.

Comments and conversation are always appreciated and enjoyed, so feel free to let your voice be heard. I read them all and try to respond to each one.

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