As a
narrator he has the tendency to garrulity, which few mediaeval poets
altogether escaped, but he is by no means without conversational
charm, and in brief sentences abounding in colloquial turns, he leads
us easily on with seldom flagging interest even through those pages
where he is most inclined to be prolix. He is a systematic person with
accurate mental habits, and is keenly alive to the limitations of his
own knowledge. He doubtless often had to bid his common sense console
him with the reflections with which he begins his _Life of St.
Nicholas_:--"Nobody can know everything, or hear everything, or see
everything ... God distributes different gifts to different people.
Each man should show his worth in that which God has given him."
He is extremely careful to give his authorities for his statements,
and has all the shyness of an antiquarian toward facts for which he
has not full proof. Through Breton tales, for example, he heard of the
fairy fountain of Barenton in the forest of Broceliande, where fays
and many another marvel were to be seen, and he determined to visit
it in order to find out how true these stories were. "I went there
to look for marvels. I saw the forest and I saw the land; I sought
marvels, but I found none.
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