Mother of a Saint: A "Mysteries of Harris Burdick" Tale

In the year 1137, France was ruled by a young king named Louis VII. He was timid and sweet-tempered, and lived a devoutly Christian life that was not typical of rulers at that time. He lived each day with so much simplicity and spirituality that some would say he would be better suited for the life of a monk than of a monarch.

Louis was married to a French duchess named Eleanor. She, on the other hand, was feisty and strong-willed. What Louis lacked in lavishness, Eleanor made up for in her desire for luxury and beauty. Much gold was spent on the décor of the palace for the queen's sake – from intricate carpets and curtains from Istanbul to gold trimmings that line the halls. Because of this, Eleanor was not popular with the courtiers, who thought she was a bad influence on the pious King. But Louis was madly in love with his beautiful and worldly bride anyway. He granted her every whim, even though he did not understand the need for her to possess so many gowns, or to have so many troubadours dance and play music all day, or to have another gallery built to house the many artworks she collected from her travels. There was nothing the King would not do for Eleanor.

As for me, I was a simple abbot who was both counselor and friend to the royal couple. As an abbot, I share Louis's devotion to God and Christianity, and it is in my church that the young king would spend hours in fervent prayer. It is with Eleanor, on the other hand, that I share my love for material beauty. She would frequent my church, not to seek the presence of the Holy Father, but to admire the rich Gothic designs and stained-glass windows that I especially took pains in creating. She would often tease me that I would not enter heaven quickly because of my love for worldly beauty, but I knew she was thankful to have found a kindred spirit in me.

One warm afternoon, King Louis barged into my church looking quite panicked and distressed.

"Good afternoon, your Majesty." I said, bowing my head.

"I had a dream," Louis stammered. "A horrible, horrible dream. Abbot, God speaks to humankind through dreams, yes?"

"Calm down, your Majesty." I said, motioning him to sit down and offering a glass of water. "Please, tell me all about it."

Louis took a long gulp of water and sighed. "I always did think she had the liveliest of minds." He said softly. He sat there, his lips moving but not making a sound, his eyes staring blankly at the aisle leading to the magnificent entrance of my church.

"Your Majesty?"

"We were standing there," Louis raised a finger and pointed at an empty space in front of the main door "when she appeared."

"Who?"

"Eleanor," Louis barely whispered. He moved his gaze upwards, along the length of the church's columns. "My Eleanor, in a nun's habit."

I blinked. "A nun's...habit?"

"Eleanor!" Louis looked at me with eyes so wide it frightened me a little. "Eleanor of Aquitaine wearing a nun's habit, seated on a chair and hovering over our heads with a quiet smile that I could not decipher!"

Louis's heavy breathing was the only sound for a few moments, as I sat there blinking in confusion. My head was having a hard time deciding which detail of his story was more baffling – the apparition of Eleanor floating above my and Louis's heads, or that Eleanor would ever consider donning a nun's habit, even in a dream.

Louis rose slowly from his seat and walked towards a window. "What does it mean, Abbot?" his voice sounded distant.

I cleared my throat. "Your Majesty," I began, "I strongly believe that the meaning of dreams is between the dreamer and God alone."