Chapter I: A New Irelander (2)

The numerous trees that formerly grew on St. Honorat gave it the poetic title of the _aigrette de la mer_, but they are all gone except a few olives in the centre, and a girdle of pines along the shore which protect the interior from the winds injurious to vegetation, and serve as an agreeable promenade. But no, there is one more tree—it is rather a monument—the ancient palm of St. Honorat, which stands before the door of the conventual church. “Honor thy paternal aunt, the palm-tree,” says the prophet of Islam, “for she was created in Paradise and of the same earth from which Adam was made!” Let us especially honor this legendary palm; for if we understood, as the rabbis say Abraham did, the language of its leaves, that never cease their mysterious murmuring, even on a windless day, what a page in the history of the church we should learn!

A legend tells us that the island in ancient times was infested with venomous serpents, of which a frightful picture was drawn by the inhabitants of the mainland to retain St. Honorat at Cap Roux, whither he at first went on retiring from the world. When the saint arrived at Lérina, and beheld their number and size, he prostrated himself on the ground and cried to the Lord to exterminate them, and they all died at once. Their bodies infecting the air, the saint climbed a palm-tree and prayed to Him who had led him into this solitude, and the waves of the sea immediately rose and swept over the isle, carrying off the serpents that covered it.

This miracle of the palm, as it is called, is attested by St. Hilaire, who passed several years as a monk at Lérins, and speaks of the numbers of serpents that still infested the neighboring shores. At all events, this isle, like Ireland, is free from them to this day, though they are to be found on St. Marguerite, which is not saying much for the gallantry of St. Honorat. This palm-tree has always been regarded with great veneration, and the legend was represented on the old shrine of St. Honorat—the saint in the palm-tree, and the waves sweeping the serpents into the sea. And on the arms of Lérins the abbatial crosier is placed between two palms.

Under the care of St. Honorat and his disciples the aspect of the island was before long so changed that St. Eucher, one of the first to inhabit it, says: “Watered by gushing fountains, rich with verdure, brilliant with flowers, odorous with sweet perfumes, and with delightful views on every side, it seems to those who inhabit it the very image of heaven toward which tend all their desires.” And Isidore, the monk, speaking of its eternal verdure, exclaims: “_Pulchrior in toto non est locus orbe Lerina_”—No, the universe presents not a more beautiful spot than Lérins.

But it appears that the holy cenobites suffered greatly at first from the want of pure water, and at length they came one day and prostrated themselves at St. Honorat’s feet, beseeching him to obtain by his prayers what nature had refused to the island. “Go, brethren,” he replied, “and dig perseveringly in the centre of the isle between the two palms. [It appears there were two then, as on the arms.] God, who has created the living springs of the earth, is sufficiently powerful to grant what you ask with faith.” The monks set to work with ardor, and dug till they came to a solid rock, without finding water or the least sign of humidity. Discouraged, they returned to St. Honorat, who ordered them to attack the live rock and confide in the Lord. They returned obediently to the task, and succeeded in excavating a few feet deeper, but still without any result, and they finally requested permission to try another spot; but St. Honorat went with unshaken faith to the place and descended into the pit. After praying to the Lord he smote the rock thrice in the name of the Holy Trinity, and an abundant stream gushed forth. Such is the tradition of Lérins, founded on the testimony of SS. Eucher and Hilaire, who both lived with St. Honorat. St. Eucher says the waters rose to the surface and spread over the land around. There is nothing miraculous in the present appearance of the well, but an old farmer of this region, who has been down several times to clean it out, says the water issues from four different points, as from the extremities of a cross. It is now covered with a little rotunda, and over the entrance is an inscription in Latin to this purpose:

“The leader of the hosts of Israel made sweet the bitter waters; his rod brought forth a stream from the rock. Behold here the fountain that sprang up from the hard rock, the sweet water that welled from the bosom of the sea. Honorat smote the rock, and abundant waters gushed forth, thus renewing at once the prodigies Moses wrought with the tree and the rod.”

Everywhere on the island are _débris_ of all kinds—hewn stones, old cement, bricks of Roman type, fragments of inscriptions, etc. The soil is red and stony. The centre is partly cultivated, and bears a few grapes, olives, and vegetables. The Cistercians, who have been here eight years, have built a new convent near one end, which includes part of the old abbey and St. Honorat’s palm. This is enclosed by a high wall, as if they were not girt about by the great deep, and beyond this wall no woman is permitted to go. Even the Duchess of Vallombrosa, the great benefactress of the house, has been allowed to enter but once, and then as part of a suite of a princess to whom the pope had given a special permission. But there are some low buildings without the walls where pilgrims can find shelter, even those of the obnoxious sex, and be provided with refreshments. There are about fifty monks in the community, one of them a novice of sixteen, who looked like an anachronism in his Cistercian robes. Near the monastery is an orphan asylum containing about thirty boys under the care of Brother Boniface. They are taught trades, and for this purpose there are joiner’s shops, a printing establishment, etc., on the island.

While the monks were attending some rite we made the entire circuit of the island, following the path among the odorous pines on the shore, calm, peaceful, and embowered as the arcades of a cloister. These tall pines are aslant, as if bent by the winds, and the foliage, high up in the air, shelters from the sun, without excluding the sea breeze or obstructing the view. Everywhere was the flash of the waves, and the mysterious sound of the waters that gently broke upon the shore of this happy isle, mingled, as in the olden time, with the solemn measure of holy psalmody. It was delightful to wander in this lone aisle of nature, and drink in the beauty of sea and land, and give one’s self up to the memories that embalm the place.

It was early in the fifth century when St. Honorat established himself here. He belonged to a patrician race, and his father, to divert his mind from religious things, sent him at an early age to the East with his brother Venance, who was of a livelier turn. Venance, however, soon yielded to Honorat’s moral ascendency, but died at Messenia, and the latter returned sorrowfully to Gaul with St. Caprais, his spiritual guide, who had accompanied them. For some time he lived as a hermit in a cave at Cap Roux. Then he came to Lérins, where numerous disciples gathered around him who are now numbered among the most eminent churchmen of Gaul. Maxime, Bishop of Riez, Hilary of Arles, Jacques of Tarentaise, Vincent of Saintes, Fauste of Riez, Ausile of Fréjus, were all formed in his school of Christian philosophy. St. Eucher, whom Bossuet calls “the great Eucher,” here forgot his noble birth and attained the sanctity which raised him to the see of Lyons. Salvian, surnamed “the Master of Bishops,” and styled “the Jeremias of his age,” on account of his lamentations over the woes and corruptions of the world, here wrote his treatise on the government of God. Cassian, after long journeys and great sorrows, spent a year at Lérins before he founded the abbey of St. Victor at Marseilles. St. Patrick, according to the tradition of the island, passed long years here in prayer and frightful austerities. St. Vincent of Lérins here wrote those works which have made him an authority in the church. St. Cæsarius also, who became one of the most influential bishops of southern Gaul, and St. Loup of Troyes, who inspired so much deference in Attila, the Scourge of God, were among the first disciples of St. Honorat, and many more, some of whom have left no name on earth, but whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. “How many assemblies of saints have I seen in this isle!” cries St. Eucher—“precious vases, which spread abroad the sweet perfume of their virtues.” And St. Sidonius Apollinaris, with a bolder figure, says:

“Quanto illa insula plana
Miserit ad cœlum montes!”

—How many lofty mountains rise toward heaven from this low isle! And St. Cæsarius of Arles: “Happy, blessed isle of Lérins, thou art small and level, but from thee have risen innumerable mountains!” Over forty saints are mentioned by name in the Litany of Lérins, besides the hundreds of martyrs who are invoked.

Salvian thus alludes to the paternal rule of St. Honorat: “As the sun changes the aspect of the firmament by its splendor or obscurity, so joy and sadness are diffused among those who, under his paternal guidance, aim at heaven and devote themselves to the angelic functions. If Honorat suffers, all suffer; restored to health, all return to new life.”

Lérins became so renowned as a school of theology that, in the seventh century, there were three thousand and seven hundred monks, and the Christian world sent here to obtain its bishops and the directors for its monasteries. It was in this century that St. Aygulph established here the rule of St. Benedict. In the eighth century, when the Saracens invaded the island, more than five hundred monks fell victims to their hatred of Christianity. Eleuthère, by the aid of King Pepin, restored the ruined buildings, but the enemy returned again, committing fresh ravages, and, indeed, devastating the island. These attacks at length became so frequent that the pope granted indulgences to all who would aid in defending it against the infidel. Whosoever devoted himself to this good work for the space of three months acquired the same indulgences as a pilgrim to the Holy Places at Jerusalem, and minor ones were accorded to those who sent substitutes. In 1088 was erected the lofty citadel, which is still the most prominent object on the island, as a retreat for the monks in time of danger. It was connected with the abbey by a subterranean passage. This is now a picturesque ruin. It is on the eastern shore of the island, and rises directly out of the water. The massive walls of hewn stone have acquired a soft, mellow tint that contrasts admirably with the sky and sea. They are scarred with many a cannon-ball that tells of more than one rude assault.

Here and there are narrow loop-holes, and high up in the air is a line of battlements that still seem to defy both the sea and the Moor. There was formerly a drawbridge, and nothing was lacking necessary to sustain a siege. This stronghold formed part of a line of signals along the sea-coast. It was four or five stories high, and contained four kitchens, several chapels, thirty-six cells for the monks and five for strangers, with cisterns, and everything to render it a complete monastery as well as castle. The Père Antonin was our guide around this interesting ruin. It is entered by a spiral staircase, which brought us into a small court or cloister with several galleries around it, one above the other, communicating with the different stories, sustained by pillars of marble, porphyry, and granite. Old fragments of carved capitals, and inscriptions, some Roman, some Christian, were scattered here and there. In the centre is an immense cistern, paved with marble, which contains a never-failing supply of water. This was constructed by Gastolius de Grasse, who, having lost his wife and children, retired to the island to console himself with the thought of heaven and eternal reunion, devoting his whole fortune to the poor and the improvement of the monastery. The old chapter-room is utterly ruined. Its arches were blown up by some Scotchman in his attempts to find the supposed treasure of St. Honorat, and the rank grass is growing from the accumulated soil. There is the old refectory with its crumbling pulpit, and, in the next room, the lavatory of calcareous stone, like an ancient sarcophagus, where the monks washed their hands before entering the refectory. On it is graven in Latin: “O Christ! by thy right hand, which can cleanse us within and without, purify our souls, which this water cannot cleanse.” Then there is the chapel which once contained the relics of SS. Honorat,[167] Caprais, Venance, Aygulph, etc., and the three sacred altars to which indulgences were attached at the request of the Emperor Charles V. The chapel of Notre Dame de Pitié, or of the dead, was used for domestic purposes by some layman who held the island after the Revolution, and the place where once rose the solemn requiem and the odor of incense was now filled with the fumes of a kitchen. We went up, still by the spiral staircase, to the battlements. Here we looked down on the whole island. Before us was stretched the neighboring shore with fair towns and villages from Cannes to Nice, with the purple mountains in the background. On the other hand, in the distance, rose the mountains of Corsica. And all around was the sea that bathes the shores of so many storied lands.

With increased means of defence the prosperity of the abbey revived. It had the exclusive right, conferred by the counts of Provence, of fishing in the surrounding waters. It owned numerous priories all along the coast from Genoa to Barcelona, as well as in the interior. And it continued to be a centre from which radiated light, and many a person escaped from the _Mare Magnum_ of the profane world to this haven of spiritual rest. We read that Bertrand, Bishop of Fréjus in the eleventh century, retired to St. Honorat (as the bishop of Valence has recently done) and died here in the odor of sanctity. For those who wished to lead the eremitical life there were formerly many cells around the island. How dear this holy retreat was to its inmates may be seen by a letter from Denis Faucher, whose duties retained him from the isle, to his superior: “My thoughts turn eagerly towards Lérins. Sad, I bewail my long exile. In spite of my oft-renewed entreaties, you defer my deliverance. A cruel grief torments my desolate soul. I love not these magnificent palaces. Let kings inhabit them. For them, they gleam with marble; for me, the desert and the lonely shore. That little isle suffices for my happiness.”

Around the island were seven small chapels, or oratories, mostly on the shore, to which, like the seven stations at Rome, great indulgences were attached. These were successively visited by the pilgrims as a preparation for receiving the Holy Eucharist.

The tombs of the saints, the holy chapels, the soil impregnated with the blood of the martyrs, and the wondrous history of the island, gave it a glorious prestige that made it not only a resort for pilgrims, but even the dead were brought across the waters, with crucifix and lanterns held aloft in the boats, and chants mingling with the sad murmur of the waves, to be laid in this consecrated isle. Many remains of their marble tombs are still to be found.

We, too, made the stations of the seven holy chapels, though they are mostly in ruins. That of the Holy Trinity, in the eastern part of the island, is the most ancient. Its walls of massive stones are still erect. It is a Romanesque chapel, with three bays, the remains of an ancient porch, and vaults beneath for recluses or the dead. But the windows are gone, and rank weeds grow in the interior.

Only a few traces remain of St. Cyprian’s chapel; not St. Cyprian who shed his blood at Carthage, but St. Cyprian of Lérins, surnamed the Magician, who is honored September 26.

Further on, among the rocks on the shore, is the legendary cave known as the _Baoumo de l’Abbat_, only accessible by going down into the water and wading through a narrow crevice between two tall rocks. It was here, when St. Porcaire and his five hundred companions were martyred by the Saracens, that two of the monks, Colomb and Eleuthère, fled in terror to conceal themselves. But they could still hear the vociferations of the infidel, and, their eyes being opened, could see the souls of their brethren ascending to heaven, conducted by the angels. Ravished by this spectacle, Colomb cried out with holy enthusiasm: “Let us go forth to be crowned like them. Let us fly to the Lord!” Eleuthère still shrank with fear, but Colomb went boldly out to share the glory of his brethren. Eleuthère afterwards gathered together the monks who had escaped, and became abbot of Lérins. Hence the name of the Abbot’s Cave, given to the place of his concealment.

Nearly opposite, in the centre of the island, is the octagon chapel of the Transfiguration, or St. Sauveur, with a star-shaped vault. It is twenty feet in diameter and twelve high. It has been rudely restored by the bishop of Fréjus, and has an ancient stone altar pierced with holes, as if for the passage of liquids. Some consider this chapel the ancient baptistery. The sailors call a neighboring inlet the _Caranquo dé Sant Saouvadou_, or Crique de St. Sauveur.

Several of these chapels were used in the construction of batteries by the Spaniards in the seventeenth century, as that of St. Pierre on the southern shore, near the remains of which is an old votive altar to Neptune with the inscription: _Neptvno Veratia Montana_.

The walls of St. Caprais are partly standing. This saint is still invoked in our day for rheumatism. A portion of his relics, hidden at the Revolution, is religiously preserved at Chartèves, in the diocese of Soissons, and is the object of pilgrimages on the 20th of October. “_Quæ sancta Caprasi vita senis!_” says St. Sidonius Apollinaris—What an admirable life is that of the aged Caprais!

The chapel of St. Porcaire and the Five Hundred Martyrs, on the place where they were buried, has recently been repaired, and Father Boniface says Mass there every morning. Over the altar is a painting of St. Porcaire pointing to heaven and encouraging his brethren. The seventh chapel, St. Michael’s, is within the walls of the Cistercian convent.

The isles of Lérins have been a place of pilgrimage for more than a thousand years. They were already frequented when Pope Eugenius II. came here early in the ninth century to venerate the traces of the saints and martyrs. When he landed on the shore of St. Honorat, he put off his shoes and made the tour of the island in his bare feet. He consecrated the church, blessed the whole isle, and granted those who visited it with the proper dispositions between the eve of the Ascension and Whit Monday all the indulgences to be gained by a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, as well as smaller ones to those who came here at other seasons, with the exception of those who had been guilty of striking their parents or violating their marriage vows. In accordance with his wish, all who had gained the indulgence used to receive a palm in testimony thereof. These pilgrimages were called, in the language of the country, _Romipetæ_. All the towns on the neighboring coast were numerously represented here at the Grand Pardon. Twenty-seven nobles are mentioned as coming once from Arles. Pilgrims even came from Italy. The old records tell how fifty-three came from Pisa to offer thanks for their miraculous escape after being taken by the corsairs. But the annual pilgrimage from Rians was the most famous, and has been celebrated in a quaint old Provençal ballad that is delightfully redolent of the age. It consisted of the greater part of the villagers, and to sanctify the journey, they used to halt at all the places of devotion along the road. Every one of these places had its holy legend that, like a fragrant flower, embalmed the way. At Cotignac they paused to drink at the miraculous fountain of St. Joseph—

Foou ana boiro à la sourço
Doou benhurux Sant Jaousé—

which, say the people, sprang up to quench the extreme thirst of a poor simple country laborer, named Gaspar, to whom the compassionate St. Joseph appeared under the form of an aged man, and pointed out the spot where water could be found—a spot since widely known as a place of miraculous cures and abundant spiritual favors.

Then the pilgrims ascended the hill of Verdale, near Cotignac, to pray at the altar of Nouastro Damo dé Graci. This is quite a noted chapel. It was visited in 1600 by Louis XIV. and his mother, Anne of Austria, for whom a new road was expressly constructed, still known as the _Chemin de Louis Quartorze_. He hung his _cordon bleu_ on the Virgin’s breast, and Anne of Austria founded six Masses in the chapel. The king afterwards sent here copies of his marriage contract and the treaty of the Pyrenees in a magnificently-bound volume, by way of placing these important transactions under the protection of our great Lady; and when his mother died he founded Masses here for her soul, and set up a marble tablet with a commemorative inscription. Pope Leo X. conferred indulgences on this chapel.

At the village of Arcs, or near it, the pilgrims turned aside to venerate the remains of the beautiful St. Rossoline, who sprang from the barons of Villeneuve and Sabran. Her cradle in infancy was surrounded by a supernatural light. The miracle of the roses was renewed in her favor to avert the anger of her father, who was weary of the importunity of beggars at his castle. At the age of seventeen she buried her youth and beauty in the Chartreuse of Celle Roubaud, and was consecrated deaconess by the bishop of Fréjus in 1288, which gave her, by an exceptional privilege to the nuns of this house, the right of reading the Gospel in church. Hence she is represented in art, not only with the crown of roses wherewith she was crowned on the day of her sacred espousals, but wearing a stole. She spent the remainder of her life in transcribing the sacred books, in order, as she said, to be always holding intercourse with God, and, as she could not preach in public, aid in propagating the Gospel. She held the office of prioress for a time, but, at her own request, ended her days as a recluse. While she was breathing her last St. Hugh of Lincoln and St. Hugo of Grenoble appeared and incensed her cell, and she died with _Deo gratias_ on her lips.

An old ballad tells how, after her death, St. Rossoline delivered her brother, Helion de Villeneuve, a crusader, who had been taken prisoner by the Saracens. She appeared to him in his dungeon, loosed his heavy chains, opened the doors, and conducted him to the sea-coast, where, spreading her veil on the waters, they both placed themselves thereon, and so came safely to Provence. Helion now happened to fall asleep, and when he awoke his sister was missing. He thought she had gone home to announce his arrival, but, when he came to the manor-house, learned she had for some time been dead. Her tomb became noted in Provence, and was one of the stations where pilgrims loved to pay their vows.

Our villagers next came to Fréjus to see the image of the Holy Child Jesus venerated in the cathedral. At Esterel the prior gave them refreshments under the great chestnut-trees near the inn. Cannes welcomed them with the ringing of bells, and went out to meet them in procession:

“Canno, villo maritimo—
Remplido dé zèlo è d’estimo
Per leis pélérins dé Rians—
Seis campanos souanoun toutos
Per faire la proucession.”

Then they came with

“_Allegresso
Dins leis ilos dé Lérins_.”

It seemed to them like entering Paradise. They went to shrift, visited the seven chapels, and finally came to the church of the _glourious Sant Hounourat_, where they received the Holy Eucharist and their palms. Besides the latter, they also carried away, as the custom was, some sprigs of a marine plant still known as the _herbo doou par doun_—the herb of the Pardon or Indulgence. This is the _cineraire maritime_, common on the shores of the isle, which has hoary, pinnatifid leaves and a flower that grows in panicles.

On their way home the pilgrims went to pray at the tomb of Sant Armentari, a great miracle-worker at Draguignan, specially invoked for those who have lost their reason. But we shall speak of him further on. Arriving home, they were met by their fellow-townsmen and led in triumph to the church, when Benediction was given, thus ending the pilgrimage.

The expense of the journey, or the gradual lukewarmness of the people, at length diminished the number from Rians, and finally the pilgrimage ceased altogether, till a failure of the crops induced the town to revive it partially by sending a yearly deputation as its representative.

There is a naïve legend of one Boniface who lived at Oraison—a simple, upright man whom lack of worldly wisdom had reduced to such want as to force him to become the swineherd of a wicked usurer, named Garinus, who was blind. For six successive years he had visited Lérins at the time of the Grand Pardon, and, when the seventh arrived, he humbly begged permission of Garinus to go and gain the indulgence. Garinus refused, and, lest the swineherd should secretly join the other pilgrims, he carefully fastened him up. Boniface’s grief increased as the feast of Pentecost drew near. The eve arrived, but he was prevented from keeping even a lonely vigil by an overpowering drowsiness.

Suddenly the sound of music awoke him, and, opening his eyes, he found himself before the altar of the church of Lérins. When the stations were made and the divine offices were over, the monks, as usual, distributed the palms among the _Rominæ_. Boniface also approached with the others to receive his, and then retired to an obscure corner of the church, where he soon fell sound asleep. When he awoke he found himself once more in the prison where he had been confined by his master. The rest of the pilgrims from Oraison arrived three days after, and, not knowing the state of affairs, complimented the usurer on his kindness to his servant. He denied having given Boniface permission to go, and summoned him to his presence. The swineherd related with great simplicity what had happened to him. Garinus was at once astonished and affected by the account, and besought Boniface to give him the palm he had brought from the holy isle. Taking it reverently in his hands, he applied it to his eyes, and at once not only recovered his sight, but the eyes of his soul were likewise opened.

But to return to the history of the island. The abbey was secularized in 1788—some say on account of the luxuries and excesses of the monks. But the inventory shows how few luxuries they really had—not more than the simplest villagers now possess. The monks withdrew to their families. Not one was left to guard the graves of the martyrs and continue the prayers of so many ages. The last prior of Lérins, Dom Théodule Bon, died at his sister’s residence in Vallauris. The people of Cannes used to say of him: _Moussu lou Priour es Bouan dé noum et dé fach_—M. le Prieur is good by name and good by nature.

In 1791 the island was sold at public auction, and the purchaser’s daughter, who had been an actress, came here to reside. O isle of saints!... In 1856 Mr. Sims, an Anglican minister, bought it. He showed some respect for the ancient monuments, and had begun to restore the citadel when he died. The bishop of Fréjus bought it in 1859. Two bishops, several dignitaries of the church, and a number of priests came over to take possession of the island. A great crowd awaited them. The clergy (those of Cannes bearing the relics of St. Honorat) advanced toward the old church, chanting the mournful psalm, _Deus, venerunt gentes_, many verses of which were so particularly applicable. The walls so long profaned were blessed, and the crowd prostrated themselves while the Litany of Lérins was solemnly sung. Some agricultural brothers of the Order of St. Francis were established here for a time. On the eve of the feast of St. Caprais (St. Honorat’s spiritual guide) the bishop blessed the chapel of St. Porcaire and the Five Hundred Martyrs, which had been restored, and Mass was said amid the ruins of the old church of St. Honorat.

* * * * *

There are several places of great interest on the mainland, associated with the saints of Lérins, all of which we devoutly visited as a part of our pilgrimage. One is Cap Roux, at the western termination of the Bay of Cannes, always dear to the monks of the isle on account of the _baume_, or cave, on the western side of the cliff, inhabited for some time by St. Honorat after his return from the East, and still called by his name. The ascent to this grotto is rather dangerous, and at the foot was once an oratory where pilgrims stopped to pray before undertaking the ascent. They used to cry: “Sancte Maguncti!” perhaps because they associated the name of this saint of Lérins with the Provençal word _m’aganti_, as if they would say, _Saint I-cling-to_, as they seized hold of the sides of the cliff.

Denis Faucher, the monk, graved an inscription in Latin verse over the entrance to the Baume de St. Honorat, which may thus be rendered: “Reader, in Honorat, our father, thou wilt find an example of lofty virtue and reason to admire the wonderful gifts of God. Others visit the holy places and seek afar off the noble models they have not at home. The renown of Honorat renders sacred every place he approached, though now devoid of his presence. Behold this retreat, once almost inaccessible to the wild beasts, now rendered so famous by the holy bishop as to attract innumerable visitors from every land.” In the cave there has been for centuries an altar for celebrating the Christian mysteries. At the left is a well that rarely fails, even in the greatest drought. At the right is a hollow in the rock like the impress of the human form, called by the people the _Couche de St. Honorat_. Over it is also an inscription by the same monk: “Illustrious pontiff, from the height of heaven reveal thy august presence to him who seeks thy traces upon earth.”

Another cave in the side of the mount near the sea was inhabited for a time by St. Eucher, to whom his wife, Galla, came to bring food while he gave himself up to contemplation. An angel revealed to the people of Lyons where he lived concealed, and they sent messengers to ask him to be their bishop.

St. Armentaire, who was bishop of Embrun in the middle of the fifth century, being deposed by the council of Riez, retired to Cap Roux. It was he who slew the dragon that infested the neighborhood of Draguignan. The fame of his sanctity led to his being chosen bishop of Antibes, but his body was, after his death, brought back to Draguignan and placed in a church he himself had erected in honor of St. Peter. The concourse to his tomb was formerly very great, as we have seen in the case of the pilgrimage from Rians.

There were hermits at Cap Roux as late as the eighteenth century, and pilgrims used to go there in procession, chanting the litany of Lérins, to implore the cessation of some scourge. Now it is only visited from time to time by a solitary devotee, or some naturalist to study the flora and the formation of the rocks, who pauses awhile at the cave and drinks at the fountain.

About a league west of Cannes, above Cap Roux, is Mt. Arluc, which rises out of the plain of Laval. It belongs to the tertiary formation, and looks so artificial that it has often been regarded as a tumulus made by the Romans, who, according to tradition, had an intrenched camp here to protect the Aurelian road[168] that ran through the plain, as well as the galleys on the coast. After the submission of the province to the Roman domination a temple was built here in honor of Venus, who could not have desired a fairer shore, in sight of the very sea from which she sprang. Her altar was surrounded by trees to veil her unholy rites, and the mount took the name of _Ara-luci_—altar of the sacred wood—whence the name of Arluc. This consecrated grove was cut down by St. Nazaire, abbot of Lérins, who knew the importance of destroying these high places of the Gentiles. To him, too, the waves beneath were always whispering of love, but not profane love. They spoke of “love eternal and illimitable, not bounded by the confines of the world or by the end of time, but ranging beyond the sea, beyond the sky, to the invisible country far away.” And he set up an altar to the Infinite One, and beside the church built a monastery, which he peopled with holy maidens under the direction of Hélène, a princess of Riez. One of the first abbesses bore the name of Oratorie. It was to her St. Césaire of Arles addressed two of his essays: one on the qualities that should be possessed by those who have the direction of souls; the other on the text, “O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and the knowledge of God!”

About the year 677 St. Aygulph, abbot of Lérins, rebuilt or enlarged this monastery at the request of several noble ladies of the region, and, the house having perhaps been depopulated by the Saracens, a colony of nuns came here from Blois under the care of St. Angarisma. When the holy abbot was martyred, Angarisma, learning the fate of her spiritual father, went with the sisterhood to venerate his remains. The monks who had escaped described the sufferings and constancy of the martyrs, and showed their mangled remains. One of the nuns, named Glauconia, who was blind, applied the right arm of St. Aygulph to her eyes and at once recovered her sight. Whereupon the abbess begged for his body, but in vain. The arm which had restored Glauconia’s sight was given to her, however, and they carried it with them to Arluc. St. Aygulph is invoked in this region still, under the name of St. Aïgou, for diseases of the eye, and a statue of him is to be seen at Châteauneuf in the chapel of Notre Dame de Brusc.

The nuns of Arluc fled several times before the Saracens, but we read of the monastery in the tenth century, when St. Maxime, of the illustrious family of De Grasse, came here in search of Christian perfection. She was afterwards sent to found a house at Callian, where part of her remains are still preserved.

In the life of St. Honorat there is an interesting legend of one of the nuns of Arluc, named Cibeline, the daughter of Reybaud, a lord of Antibes. She had been married in early life, but lost her husband soon after, and was still renowned for her beauty when she became infected with leprosy. St. Honorat appeared to Reybaud in a dream and said to him: “Give me thy daughter as a bride.” He had the same vision three times, which at last so impressed him that he took Cibeline with him and went to Lérins to relate it to the holy abbot Porcaire. The latter at once comprehended its spiritual significance and said to Cibeline: “Wilt thou, out of love to God and devotion to St. Honorat, lead henceforth a pure life and take the sacred veil in the monastery of Arluc?” Cibeline then confessed this had been the earliest desire of her heart, and that she regarded her disease as the judgment of God for having violated the vow she had made in yielding to worldly persuasions and wedding the husband she had lost. St. Porcaire then took pure water, in which he plunged holy relics, and ordered her to bathe therein. She was instantly cured of her leprosy, and her father led her to Arluc and consecrated her to God.

Arluc probably took the name of St. Cassian, by which it is now more generally known, in the fourteenth century, when it fell under the jurisdiction of the abbey of St. Victor at Marseilles, which Cassian had founded. Nor is the name inappropriate for this mount that stands in sight of the places rendered sacred by St. Honorat and St. Eucher, for whom Cassian had so great an admiration as to cry in one of his books on the ascetic life dedicated to them: “O holy brothers! your virtues shine upon the world like great beacon-lights. Many saints will be formed by your example, but will scarcely be able to imitate your perfection.”

Cassian has been regarded as a saint in Provence, and the people of Cannes used to make a _romérage_, or pilgrimage, to the chapel that took his name at Arluc, on the 23d of July, the festival of St. Cassian.

When the Revolution arrived the republicans wished to sell the mount, and two hundred soldiers were sent to strip the chapel. The number was none too large, for at the news the people of Cannes sounded the tocsin and went in crowds to the rescue. The very women were armed. One in particular aimed her reaping-hook at the neck of the leader. They bore triumphantly away the relics and ornaments, but the chapel and land were sold some time after to nine men belonging to Cannes. St. Cassian, or Arluc, is still crowned with oaks, as in the time when Venus held sway there, though Bonaparte, when in the vicinity, had many of them cut down.

The monastery of Arluc gave its name to a village on the sea-shore at the mouth of the Siagne. This stream, in which the monks of Lérins once had the sole right to fish, derives its name from the Provençal word _saignos_ or _siagnos_, given to the cat-tails that grow so abundantly on its banks. On the Siagne is the hamlet of Mandelieu, on land which once belonged to St. Consortia, the daughter of St. Eucher. She gave her fortune to works of charity, and founded here a hospital under the invocation of St. Stephen. And there is a cape on the coast, near La Napoule, called Theoule, from another daughter of St. Eucher, named Tullia. When St. Eucher abandoned the world and retired to Lérins he took with him his two sons, Véran and Salonius, leaving his wife, Galla, and her two daughters on his domains near La Napoule, where Tullia, who died young, was buried.

Such are the memories associated with the isles of Lérins, for many of which we are indebted to the interesting work by M. l’Abbé Alliez. We made a second visit to St. Honorat before leaving Cannes, to take a farewell look at the old donjon on the shore, the holy palm in the cloister, and the ruined chapels. When we left the isle several of the white-robed monks accompanied us to the shore, and, on looking back from our swiftly-receding boat, we saw two of them still standing at the foot of a huge cross among the sad pines....

“O satis nunquam celebrata tellus!
Dulce solamen, requiesque cordis!
Cœlitum sedes procul a profani
Turbine vulgi!”

—O land that can never be sufficiently praised! Sweet consolation, repose of the heart! Haven sheltered from the tempests of a profane world!

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IN RETREAT.

“Break, my heart, and let me die!
Burst with sorrow, drown with love!...
Lord, if Thou the boon deny,
Thou wilt not the wish reprove.” ...

Whence that piercing, burning ray,
Seem’d to reach me from the light
Where, behind the Veil, ’tis day—
Where the Blessèd walk by sight?

Thine, ’twas thine, O Sacred Heart!
Mercy-sent—that I might see
Something of the all Thou art,
Something of the naught in me.

Ah! I saw Thy patient love
Watching o’er me year on year;
Guarding, guiding, move for move—
Always faithful, always near:

Saw Thy pardon’s ceaseless flow
Evermore my soul bedew;
Washing scarlet white as snow,[169]
Sere and blight to morning-new:

Saw this self—how weak, how base!—
Still go sinning, blundering, on;
Thankless with its waste of grace,
Wearied with the little done.

Then I murmur’d: “O my King!
What are all my acts of will?
Each best effort can but bring
Failure and confusion still!

“This poor heart, which ought to burn,
Smoulders feebly; yet may dare
Offer Thine one last return—
One fond, fierce, atoning prayer?

“Let it break, this very hour—
Burst with sorrow, drown with love!
For if Thou withhold thy power,
Thou wilt not the wish reprove.” ...

Pass’d that moment: but, as fall
Lovers’ whispers, answer’d He;
“_Daily_ die[170]—with thy Saint Paul.
Die to self—and live to Me.”

SEPTEMBER, 1877.

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PREACHERS ON THE RAMPAGE.[171]

Men who are by no means optimists are apt unconsciously to allow themselves to get a dim impression that the world is becoming better, more kindly, more charitable, and that we are approximating a time when, by the pure influences of increased material appliances and “well-regulated human nature,” the hatreds and strifes both of nations and sects will have measurably ceased. The delusion is a pleasant one, but it is none the less a delusion, and will not endure the slightest contact with the sharp edge of fact. In this nineteenth century, notwithstanding the peace society, more human beings have lost their lives by war than in any other since the advent of our Lord. In this, the freest, the most prosperous, and, so far as the masses are concerned, the best-instructed of all Christian countries, we have but had breathing time since one of the bloodiest civil wars on record. In the lull (protracted by war and its results) many Catholics seem to have become in like manner possessed with an undefined notion that the people who made the Penal Laws and executed them have become imbued with a milder spirit toward the church; that Know-nothingism is a thing of the past, the virtue of the cry of “No Popery” dissipated, and the fell spirit of the Native American party utterly extinct.

Those who think thus will see cause to awake from their dream on examining the volume whose title heads this article. In October, 1876, a Joint Special Committee of three senators and three members of the Lower House sat in San Francisco for the purpose of procuring testimony in regard to the advisability of restricting or abolishing the immigration of Mongolians to this country—a question which has been for some time exciting at least a considerable section of the inhabitants of our Pacific coast. Whether truly or falsely we cannot say, but the impression is produced that the Catholic, and more particularly the Irish Catholic, population of California has ranged itself in hostility to the Chinese. If this be true we should be very sorry for it, knowing full well that by any such action foreigners of all sorts, more especially Catholics, are simply supplying whips of scorpions with which they will be lashed on the outburst of the next campaign (under whatsoever name it may be known) conducted on principles of hostility to them. On its face it looks altogether likely that so plausible a movement as this opposition to the Chinese should take with a laboring class not very well posted in the principles of political economy, and we know that the large majority of white laboring people are in San Francisco Catholic, while certainly a great many of them are Irishmen. Their priests are too few and have too much to do to give them lectures on Say, Smith, and Ricardo; and it is no part of their duty, still less would it be a pleasure, to instruct them how they shall view purely political issues, whether local or national. Repeating, then, that we cannot but deem it a terrible blunder for their own sakes, and utterly against their own real interests, that these people should so range themselves against the influx of the Chinese, we have certainly no right to dictate to them how they shall vote or on what side they shall exert any influence they may have; and we must add that they seem to err (if error there be) in very good company, and plenty of it, since both political parties have in their national platforms endorsed the views said to be held by the Irish Catholics of California, as did also both Republicans and Democrats in the last campaign of the Golden State.

This report contains the sworn testimony on the subject at issue of one hundred and thirty witnesses; but we only call attention to the evidence of some of the preachers, and that, too, not on the general merits of their testimony or concerning Chinese immigration at all, but on account of the Vatinian hatred which they have gone out of the way to display towards Catholics, and the deadly venom they exhibit towards Irishmen especially. For just as women are sometimes most bloodthirsty during a war, far outdoing in rancor the combatants themselves, so would preachers seem to be the least charitable of the human species—to have, as Dean Swift well remarked, “just enough religion to make them hate, and not enough to make them love, one another.” The first of these worthy representatives of Christian charity and disseminators of the truth is a certain Rev. O. W. Loomis, in the employ of the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions, who takes occasion to say: “_Unlike some others who come to America, as we have been told (and who manage to get to the ballot-boxes very soon), they [the Chinese] are not sworn to support any foreign hierarchy and foreign ecclesiastical magnate who claims the whole earth as his dominion_” (p. 417). While the English of this sentence is very far from clear, yet the animus of the whole is so patent that he must needs be a very stupid fellow indeed who does not perceive that Catholics are aimed at. Whether Mr. Loomis “_has been informed_” that Catholics come to America, or that they reach the ballot-boxes early, or that they are sworn to support a foreign hierarchy, or that the Chinese are not under such obligations, is far from being as limpid as “bog-water,” and it is to be hoped that, in his instructions to his neophytes, he seldom degenerates into such want of perspicuity; still more would it be desirable that he should confine himself more strictly in his usual ministrations to the truth and to matters within his own knowledge than he does when before the committee and on oath.

It is distinctly _false_ that Catholic foreigners, in coming to this country, make a business of getting to the ballot-boxes any sooner than the law allows them to do. It is equally mendacious, if he means to assert the same thing of any one set of Catholics as a specific nationality. If the statement were as true as it is false, scurrilous, and malicious, that “man of God” could not possibly know more than a few individual instances, and could not predicate the fact as true of a whole nationality, any more than the writer (who happens to have known in his life four instances in which young Americans voted without having attained their majority) would be justified in slanderously describing the young men of the United States as in the habit of perjuring themselves in order to anticipate the right of elective franchise. But our friend, though on oath, never blinks—in fact, he has, while on oath, gone out of his way to drag in the above statement, and is only prevented from taking the bit in his teeth and careering madly over the whole plain of anti-Catholic bigotry by being checked peremptorily with the information furnished him by Representative Piper: “_That is entirely foreign to the matter at issue._”

As to the assertion that Catholics swear allegiance to the Pope in any sense that would interfere with their fealty to any temporal rule or government, its absurdity has been so often, so ably, and so clearly demonstrated that it is only persons of the third sex who at this day pretend to believe it. We will give even Mr. Loomis credit for appreciating the distinction between the loyalty which his people owe to the confession of faith, their synods and presbyteries, and that which they owe to the government of the land. We wish we could in conscience credit him with as much candor as ability and knowledge in the premises; for a great deal of his testimony proves him to be by no means one of those persons whom we pass by as being entitled to a “fool’s pardon.” Did it never occur to this man, and to others of his way of thought or expression, that this oath or obligation of two hundred million Catholics must be of very little avail—might, in short, quite as well not have been taken—if its only result is to land the Pope here in the fag end of the nineteenth century, in the Vatican, without an acre of land over which he can exercise temporal jurisdiction, while Catholics all over the world, with the numbers, the power, and the means to restore him, if they had but the will, lie supinely by, not making a move, either as governments or as individuals, in his behalf? That bugbear is too transparent for use; people can no longer be scared by it; it is high time to excogitate another and a more plausible one, if you are still bent on war with the Pope. For our own part, we would recommend the propriety of a change; but that change should be to the culture of Christian charity, the practice of the golden rule, not forgetting the commandment which people of Mr. Loomis’ persuasion call the _ninth_. Ah! Mr. Loomis, hatred springs apace fast enough among men without any necessity for its culture on the part of professing religious teachers.

Again, the same professor of the doctrine that “the earth is the Lord’s,” that “we are all his children,” and that “we are all one in Christ,” announces: “_I was a Native American on principle, and I believe that America should belong to Americans_” (p. 464). This is bad, in our opinion, but it is English, it is intelligible, and it is no doubt true as an utterance of his individual sentiment. The set of principles referred to have twice been adjudged by the voice of the American people, and condemned on both occasions as anti-American, opposed to the genius and traditions of our people, and subversive of the aims which made us one of the foremost nations of the earth. Mr. Loomis, or any other man, has an inherent right to believe in them, if he so list; but we question much his discretion in dragging his enunciation of political principles into his sworn evidence on the Chinese question, and we doubt much whether a knowledge that such is his belief would be calculated to enhance the regard of the Chinese, among whom he states that he is an evangelist, for either the philanthropy or the hard sense of their coryphæus.

That there may be no doubt about the intensity of his virulence against the church, he returns to the charge; and, strangely enough, it is the same committeeman that now goads him on who, on the previously-mentioned reference to foreign hierarchs, stopped his mouth by stating that his opinions on that subject were not at issue in the examination.

“_Ques._ You spoke about these Irish as people coming here who
have sworn allegiance to some foreign potentate. To whom have
you reference?

“_Ans._ I refer to the Roman Catholics.

“_Ques._ Do you, then, think Chinese immigration less dangerous
to our institutions than that of Roman Catholics?