The veil, the ample mantle, and two under-garments, all flowing in graceful folds, and defining the shape, may be clearly distinguished.

No features are visible, nor are the limbs actually apparent, except through the uninterrupted waving lines of the drapery, or what may be called so.

A part of the side of what seems the head has been sliced off, otherwise the block is entire.
It would scarcely appear to have been sculptured, but has the effect of one of those sports of Nature in which she delights to offer representations of forms which the fancy can shape into symmetry.
There is something singularly Egyptian about the form of this swathed figure, or it is like those Indian idols, whose contours are scarcely defined to the eye; it is so wrapped up in mystery, and is so surrounded with oblivion, that the mind is lost in amazement in contemplating it.
Did it belong to a worship long since swept away ?--was it a god of the Gauls, or a veiled Jupiter ?--how came it squeezed in between two walls of the great church, close to the ground, yet supported by steps ?--why was it not removed on the introduction of a purer worship ?--how came it to escape destruction when saints and angels fell around ?--who placed it there, and for what purpose ?--will no zealous antiquarian, on his way from a visit to the wondrous circle of Carnac and the gigantic Dolmens of Saumur, pause at Le Mans, at this obscure corner of the cathedral, opposite the huge Pans de Gorron, and tell the world the meaning of this figure with the stone veil?
* * * * * Since I left Le Mans, a friend, who resided there some years, informs me the tradition respecting this stone is, that an _English Giant_ brought the block from the banks of the river, up the steep ascent of the Pans de Gorron, and cast it from his shoulders against the wall of the cathedral, where it now stands.
Imagination may easily, here in the country, where the sage bard, the great Merlin, or Myrdhyn, lived, induce the belief that this mysterious stone represents the Druid lover of the fatal Viviana;--may this not be the very stone brought from Brociliande, within, or under, which he is in durance; or rather is not this himself transformed to stone?
Thus runs the tradition:-- THE DRUID LOVER.
"Myrdhyn the Druid still sleeps under a stone in a forest in Brittany; his Viviana is the cause; she wished to prove his power, and asked the sage the fatal word which could enchain him; he, who knew all things, was aware of the consequences, yet he could not resist her entreaties; he told her the spell, and, to gratify her, condemned himself to eternal oblivion." I know to tell the fatal word Is sorrow evermore-- I know that I that boon accord Whole ages will deplore.
Though I be more than mortal wise, And all is clear to gifted eyes; And endless pain and worlds of woe May from my heedless passion flow, Yet thou hast power all else above,-- Sense, reason, wisdom, yield to love.
I look upon thine eyes of light, And feel that all besides is night; I press that snowy hand in mine, And but contemn my art divine.
Oh Viviana! I am lost; A life's renown thy smile hath cost.
A stone no ages can remove Will be my monument of love; A nation's wail shall mourn my fate, My country will be desolate: Heav'n has no pardon left for me, Condemn'd--undone--destroy'd--by thee! Thy tears subdue my soul, thy sighs Efface all other memories.
I have no being but in thee; My thirst for knowledge is forgot, And life immortal would but be A load of care, where thou wert not.
Wouldst thou but turn away those eyes I might be saved--I might be wise.
I might recal my reason still But for that tongue's melodious thrill! Oh! wherefore was my soul replete With wisdom, knowledge, sense, and power, Thus to lie prostrate at thy feet, And lose them all in one weak hour! But no--I argue not--'tis past-- Thus to be thine, belov'd by thee, I seek but this, even to the last, For all besides is vain to me.
I gaze upon thy radiant brow, And do not ask a future now.
Thou hast the secret! speak not yet! Soon shall I gaze myself to stone, Soon shall I all but thee forget, And perish to be thine alone.
Ages on ages shall decline, But Myrdhyn shall be ever thine!.