st. mael’s navigation on the ocean of ice.
the devil, having tucked his clothes up to his arm-pits, dragged the trough on the sand, and fitted the rigging in less than an hour.
as soon as the holy mael had embarked, the vessel, with all its sails set, cleft through the waters with such speed that the coast was almost immediately out of sight. the old man steered to the south so as to double the land’s end, but an irresistible current carried him to the south-west. he went along the southern coast of ireland and turned sharply towards the north. in the evening the wind freshened. in vain did mael attempt to furl the sail. the vessel flew distractedly towards the fabulous seas.
by the light of the moon the immodest sirens of the north came around him with their hempen-coloured hair, raising their white throats and their rose-tinted limbs out of the sea; and beating the water into foam with their emerald tails, they sang in cadence:
whither go’st thou, gentle mael
in thy trough distracted?
all distended is thy sail
like the breast of juno
when from it gushed the milky way.
for a moment their harmonious laughter followed him beneath the stars, but the vessel fled on, a hundred times more swiftly than the red ship of a viking. and the petrels, surprised in their flight, clung with their feet to the hair of the holy man.
soon a tempest arose full of darkness and groanings, and the trough, driven by a furious wind, flew like a sea-mew through the mist and the surge.
after a night of three times twenty-four hours the darkness was suddenly rent and the holy man discovered on the horizon a shore more dazzling than diamond. the coast rapidly grew larger, and soon by the glacial light of a torpid and sunken sun, mael saw, rising above the waves, the silent streets of a white city, which, vaster than thebes with its hundred gates, extended as far as the eye could see the ruins of its forum built of snow, its palaces of frost, its crystal arches, and its iridescent obelisks.
the ocean was covered with floating ice-bergs around which swam men of the sea of a wild yet gentle appearance. and leviathan passed by hurling a column of water up to the clouds.
moreover, on a block of ice which floated at the same rate as the stone trough there was seated a white bear holding her little one in her arms, and mael heard her murmuring in a low voice this verse of virgil, incipe parve puer.
and full of sadness and trouble, the old man wept.
the fresh water had frozen and burst the barrel that contained it. and mael was sucking pieces of ice to quench his thirst, and his food was bread dipped in dirty water. his beard and his hair were broken like glass. his habit was covered with a layer of ice and cut into him at every movement of his limbs. huge waves rose up and opened their foaming jaws at the old man. twenty times the boat was filled by masses of sea. and the ocean swallowed up the book of the holy gospels which the apostle guarded with extreme care in a purple cover marked with a golden cross.
now on the thirtieth day the sea calmed. and lo! with a frightful clamour of sky and waters a mountain of dazzling whiteness advanced towards the stone vessel. mael steered to avoid it, but the tiller broke in his hands. to lessen the speed of his progress towards the rock he attempted to reef the sails, but when he tried to knot the reef-points the wind pulled them away from him and the rope seared his hands. he saw three demons with wings of black skin having hooks at their ends, who, hanging from the rigging, were puffing with their breath against the sails.
understanding from this sight that the enemy had governed him in all these things, he guarded himself by making the sign of the cross. immediately a furious gust of wind filled with the noise of sobs and howls struck the stone trough, carried off the mast with all the sails, and tore away the rudder and the stem.
the trough was drifting on the sea, which had now grown calm. the holy man knelt and gave thanks to the lord who had delivered him from the snares of the demon. then he recognised, sitting on a block of ice, the mother bear who had spoken during the storm. she pressed her beloved child to her bosom, and in her hand she held a purple book marked with a golden cross. hailing the granite trough, she saluted the holy man with these words:
“pax tibi mael”
and she held out the book to him.
the holy man recognised his evangelistary, and, full of astonishment, he sang in the tepid air a hymn to the creator and his creation.
