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diff --git a/79240-0.txt b/79240-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c395023 --- /dev/null +++ b/79240-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3288 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79240 *** + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: Rt. Rev. Alexander MacDonald, D. D.] + + + + + STRAY LEAVES + + _OR_ + + TRACES of TRAVEL + + + + BY + RT. REV. ALEX. MacDONALD, D.D. + BISHOP OF VICTORIA, B. C. + + + + NEW YORK + CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION + + + + + SOLD FOR THE PROPAGATION OF THE FAITH + PRICE, $1.00. + + + + COPYRIGHT + BY + CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION + PUBLISHING CO. + 1914 + + + + + CONTENTS + + + THE SOUND OF ANOTHER SEA + + THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM + On the misty Atlantic + London and Paris + Paray le Monial + Geneva, Berne, Interlaken + Milan and Venice + Rome + Florence and Genoa + Lourdes + + JOTTINGS OF A TRIP IN SCOTLAND + + ROME--A CHRISTMAS REMINISCENCE + + THE ROSES OF ASSISI + + FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES + + FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO + + THROUGH SPAIN + + LOURDES REVISITED + + A FEW MORE STRAY LEAVES AND TRACES + + + + + TO + MY FELLOW PILGRIMS. + + + + + THE SOUND OF ANOTHER SEA + + Breaks upon mine ear + The sound of another sea, + Linking far with near-- + That far how near to me! + + Echoes out of the past. + Wave-sounds from the shore, + Woven in dreams at last + Of days that are no more; + + Days that ebbed away + By the side of another sea, + When life was young and gay, + And all its ways were free. + --Victoria, B. C, January 1, 1910. + + + + +THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM + + + +WEDNESDAY, JUNE 2, 1900 + +We leave Montreal in a great downpour of rain--a perfect deluge. In +spite of the rain, there are many gathered on the pier to see us off. +There is mutual waving of handkerchiefs, and exchange of farewells. +The rain descends in torrents, type and token of God's manifold +blessings, so at least we pilgrims are fain to look upon it. As our +ship frees herself from her moorings, and glides into the stream, one +fond pilgrim is overheard remarking that Montreal is weeping over our +departure. And such copious tears as they are, too! + +Last evening at eight, we all met at the Cathedral, St. James's, to +assist at Pontifical Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. The great +church, modelled on St. Peter's at Rome--one-half of its length and +one-eighth of its cubic contents--was thronged. The Archbishop gave +the Benediction, and afterwards from his throne addressed the +pilgrims in French. He looked every inch of him a Bishop, and spoke +with great dignity and sweetness, in a rich, clear voice. He seems +well fitted to rule the Church of God in Mary's City--the great +Catholic city of Montreal, which, with its grand churches, its +splendid educational and charitable institutions, makes the pilgrim +prouder of his Faith and of his country. + +We reach Quebec at 7 p.m. Carriages--cabs, caleches, and vehicles of +all sorts--are in readiness to convey the pilgrim party to the Chapel +of the Ursulines. Here for the first time in Canada Mass was offered +in honour of the Sacred Heart. The Ursulines of Quebec were founded +by the Blessed Mary of the Incarnation--the first religious +foundation in Canada. They are a cloistered Order. From behind +their gratings the nuns sing, in their sweet voices, the Benediction +Service, which is preceded by a stirring address in French to the +pilgrims. At nine we are back on board. There are ringing cheers +from the shore, and hearty cries of bon voyage. On the ship, many of +the pilgrims join in singing a French chanson, with its lively +chorus, "Bon soir, mes amis, bon soir!" Scarcely has the last note +died away when the ship's bugler breaks out in the familiar strains +of Auld Lang Syne. We slip our moorings, and are off. + +Down the river we glide swiftly in the stillness of the night. On +either bank is a fine stretch of fertile land studded with +picturesque villages, and dotted with the houses of les habitants. +Now it lies as if asleep, wrapped in the mantle of night. We see but +in shadowy outline the Laurentian hills, rising out of the darkness. +What a majestic river is this St. Lawrence! There is nothing like it +in America--in all the wide world. The scenery on the Hudson is very +picturesque in places, and somewhat more varied, perhaps. But one +misses there the fine expanse of open country, with its setting of +mountains, and the river itself lacks the breadth and grandeur of the +St. Lawrence. + +* * * + +PENTECOST SUNDAY, JUNE 3. + +Nine or ten pilgrims have joined us at Quebec. We are now ninety-two +in all, including twenty-three priests. There is also another priest +on board, who is not a pilgrim. It is the feast of Pentecost, and +all the priests say Mass. There are Masses all the morning at two +altars--such altars as men hastily improvise on board ship--from 4.30 +to 10. The space between decks, forward of the saloon, has been +turned into a chapel. Around about most of the pilgrims have their +staterooms. At the seven o'clock Mass, celebrated by Father Pichon, +S.J., director of the French section of the pilgrimage, the Veni +Creator is sung with fine effect. Some of these French Canadian +priests and several of the lay pilgrims, too, have splendid voices, +trained in the music of the Church. + +In the afternoon we assemble in our chapel to sing the vespers of the +day. Several of the lay pilgrims, men and women, lend their voices, +and the ship resounds with the strains of the divine psalmody, the +Veni Creator, and the Magnificat. What fine voices these French +Canadians have, and how well they know the chant of the Church! Even +the lay pilgrims sing the psalms and hymns in Latin, recite with us +the Litany of Loreto in Latin, and seem to understand every word of +what they sing or say. + +In the evening at eight there is service in English. We sing two +hymns:--Nearer My God to Thee, and, Come Holy Ghost. Many of the +French priests and lay pilgrims join us in singing. Father Kavanagh, +S.J., director of the English-speaking pilgrims, gives an instruction +on the mission and work of the Holy Ghost. This is followed by the +Rosary in English, and Night Prayers in French. Every day we say the +Rosary together, in French at 3.30 p.m., and in English at 8.30. +Every day, too, hymns are sung to our Blessed Lady, the Ave Maris +Stella and her own canticle of the Magnificat being our favourites. + +All day long we steam down the St. Lawrence, hugging the southern +bank. Early in the afternoon, the mountains of St. Anne are seen in +the distance. They rise to a height of from two to three thousand +feet, back of the hills that border on the river. Their summits and +shoulders are white with snow. It forms a pleasing contrast to the +blue of the river, and the green of the fields that lie at their +feet. By this time all trace of tears has been wiped away from the +face of the June sky, which smiles benignantly upon us. It is +glorious weather. + +* * * + +MONDAY, JUNE 4. + +We have passed Gaspe, and are in the Gulf. To the south, Bird Rock +is dimly seen. Our passenger list--already a long one--has received +an addition during the night. Two birds, the smaller a sparrow, +boarded the ship, most likely before we were yet fairly away from +land. They are objects of much interest to their fellow-passengers. +The larger bird, which the sailors take to be "a howl" (as one of +them expresses it), proves, on closer and more careful scrutiny, to +be a hawk. Jack-tar is not an ornithologist. His acquaintance with +the feathery tribe seems to be confined to a few aquatic birds, such +as seagulls and Mother Carey's chickens. As for land birds, it is +probable that he doesn't even "know a hawk from a handsaw," much less +from "a howl." + +The presence of the birds on board gives rise to not a little +speculation. Why hath the sparrow left its cosy nest and the hawk +its home on the dry land, to roam over this waste of waters? Some +say that the birds are stealing a free passage to Newfoundland. +Others, sagely taking into account how ill-assorted the pair are, +reach a more likely solution of the puzzling problem. The hawk, they +say, sallied forth in the early dawn to find itself a breakfast. The +sparrow was already abroad on similar mission bent. Chased by the +pirate of the air, and having a natural dislike to become food for +its hungry pursuer, instead of getting something to appease its own +hunger, it sought refuge on the passing ship, closely followed by its +foe. As we near the coast of Newfoundland the birds leave us and fly +landward. But whether the smaller was inside the larger bird, when +land was reached, is still matter for speculation to the other +passengers of the Vancouver. + +By 10.30 a.m. we are abreast of Cape Ray. As we steam by Channel, +otherwise known as Port Basque, we descry the massive hulk of the +Elder-Dempster liner, Montpellier, wrecked here some weeks ago. Even +the good ship Vancouver might be cast away on these cruel rocks, as +was her sister ship, the Chicago, on the rocks of Kinsale. This is +the thought that comes to one's mind as one gazes on the stranded +ship. But the smiling June sky, radiant with sunshine, chases it +quickly away, and we breathe a prayer to the heart of Him who rules +the wind and the waves. + +We are now fairly at sea, and our ship has made her first bow to the +Atlantic rollers. This token of homage old Neptune claims, nay +compels, from every ship that presses upon his bosom and feels the +throbbing of his mighty heart. And full many a one of those who go +down to the sea in ships, is, in like manner, made to pay tribute, +and never a one but grudges the payment. But the theme is too +painful to dwell upon. + +* * * + +TUESDAY, JUNE 5. + +A little before noon Cape Race is on our larboard quarter, and in an +hour or two more we catch our last glimpse of Terra Nova. The +weather is still fine, and the sea comparatively smooth. At 9 p.m. a +large number of the passengers gather in the saloon to hear a lecture +on the causes that led to the war in South Africa. The lecture is by +the Rev. Mr. Philips, an Anglican minister, who has spent seven years +as missionary among the blacks and half-breeds of the Transvaal. He +arraigns the Boer Government severely for its treatment of the +natives. The truth of what he says is confirmed by Father Kavanagh, +in seconding the motion for a vote of thanks at the close of the +lecture. He remembers quite well when a boy at Stonyhurst hearing +the Jesuit Fathers, returned from South Africa, recount what they saw +and heard of the oppression of subject races by the Boers. "The tale +they then told," he says, "has been retold here to-night." Precisely +at 11 o'clock the sound of the whistle warns us that we have at last +run into the inevitable fog. The dismal tooting is kept up at +intervals of one or two minutes during the rest of the night. + +* * * + +WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6. + +A good deal of motion in the ship; fewer passengers at the breakfast +table. Still Masses are celebrated from 5.30 to 8, and several of +the priests and lay pilgrims receive Holy Communion. In the +afternoon, fogs again steal upon us. They gather around our ship, +these mists of the mighty Atlantic, and envelop her as with a shroud. +They come and go at intervals during the afternoon, forcing us to +slow down and at times come to a standstill, so great is the danger +of collision with an iceberg or an incoming ship. There is nothing +for it but to wait for the fog to lift with such patience as one can +command. We pace the deck, or withdraw to our staterooms and there +listen idly to the murmur of the waves as they beat against the ship, +or brood on the mystery of the sobbing sea. + +* * * + +THURSDAY, JUNE 7. + +From noon yesterday till noon to-day we have covered 316 nautical +miles, and are now a little more than half way across from Quebec to +Liverpool. The log reads at noon: Day, 7; lat., 30.06 N.; long., +38.36; distance run, 316 miles. Remarks: Moderate winds, choppy sea. +The reader will please bear in mind that this is from a ship's log, +and that the "remarks" are to be understood in a strictly nautical +sense. These "moderate" winds of ours would pass on shore for +something between a very stiff breeze and a moderate gale. And as +for "choppy" seas, the Atlantic is not exactly a pond, though +sometimes irreverently described as such by the fellow who has never +crossed it, and this choppy sea makes our big ship reel and tumble +about like a man slightly more than "half seas over." There is a +deal of sickness in consequence. Some are unable to leave their +beds. Others manage to crawl on deck, but only to lie there in +chairs, silent and sullen, or mope about with a most woe-begone +appearance. Even your genial rover of the seas, who has been across +a score of times and assures you that he is not the least bit sick, +is not half so gay and talkative as he was yesterday and the day +before. You see there are degrees and stages of seasickness, and one +passes through a great variety of less or more painful experiences +before the last stage is reached. Over that final act of the +nautical drama (which to the heartless onlooker is too often comedy, +but to the chief actor, or rather sufferer, is in the last degree +tragic) we willingly let the curtain fall. Many drink sea-water, +glass after glass of it, and believe that it relieves them, or keeps +them from falling sick, as the case may be. I fancy I can hear some +one say as he reads this that the remedy is worse than the disease. +But I am quite sure that the one who says so has never been +seasick--perhaps never been to sea--in his life. + +* * * + +FRIDAY, JUNE 8. + +This morning, in spite of the rolling of the ship, Masses were said +and several of the pilgrims received Holy Communion. There are but +few English pilgrims; including cleric and lay, not more than a dozen +out of the ninety-two. I say English rather than English-speaking, +and in contradistinction to French, as many of the French pilgrims +speak English fluently. + +There is little to break the monotony of a sea voyage. One day is +just like another. You wake in the morning, rise, go through the +same little round, turn in at night. Each day you seem to be just +where you were the day before. The same voices call out to you "from +the vasty deep." The same sea-waves lift their crested heads, shake +their flowing manes, and sport and gambol in all the wild abandon of +their unbridled freedom. And your vision is ever bounded by the same +narrow horizon. Anything is welcome that breaks this sameness, the +passing ship, or even the seagull that wings its way over the water. +We have met few ships. The smoke of a steamer--of two of them, +indeed,--was descried yesterday morning, and about sundown a big ship +under shortened sail was seen beating her way to windward. + +* * * + +SATURDAY, JUNE 9. + +One pilgrim, who has been well enough up till now, is so squeamish +to-day that he dare not write even half a dozen lines for fear of +consequences. This "leaf," therefore, is all but blank. + +* * * + +TRINITY SUNDAY, JUNE 10. + +The sea still runs "choppy." It has been our worst night since we +came on board--"rocked in the cradle of the deep," but with no gentle +hand. The rocking continues this morning, and Mass is said by Father +Pichon and one or two other priests under considerable difficulties. +In the afternoon vespers are sung in the saloon, and in the evening, +after the Rosary, there is a sermon in English by the Rev. Father +Sloan, Pastor of Fallowfield, in the diocese of Ottawa. This is a +very distressing day to many of the passengers. There is longing for +the repose of smooth waters, and from four in the afternoon eager +eyes are scanning the distant horizon, in front of us, for a sight of +land. At six it is sighted--a vast rock in the form of a cathedral, +known as the "Skelligs," and by ten we are steering straight for the +Fastnet Light which flashes its welcome rays upon us at intervals of +a few seconds. The anger of ocean is fast subsiding, the stars are +out, and the Irish moon looks down upon us from a cloudless sky. It +is the feast of the Most Holy Trinity, and to-night, as in all the +nights since His creative hand hung those orbs in space, "The heavens +proclaim His glory, and the firmament of heaven shows forth the work +of His hands." + +* * * + +MONDAY, JUNE 11. + +I have spoken of Masses said under difficulties. There are +difficulties and difficulties. While I was serving Father Kavanagh's +Mass at 8 o'clock this morning, voices pitched in a high key came +from a stateroom hard by. This is what the voices said--needless to +say the owners were neither pilgrims nor of the household of the +faith: + +Male voice: "Open the porthole." + +Female voice, from an adjoining stateroom, shrill, as if in anger: +"Do you command? Are you 'boss'?" (The bedroom steward alone may +open the porthole). + +Male voice: "Mine is open." + +Female voice (sarcastically): "Don't fall through." + +We are now in St. George's Channel. On our right, but not in view, +is the coast of Wales. On our left the coast of Ireland is plainly +visible. With a pair of glasses we can see cottages, churches, and +the green, green fields of Erin. We shall be in Liverpool about ten +o'clock to-night. There I will mail this batch of "leaves" which +have at least the merit of continuity. Others to follow will +necessarily be scattered and disconnected--stray leaves blown about +by every wind of travel. + +* * * + + + + +PARIS, MONDAY, JUNE 18. + +We reached Liverpool a week ago to-day. It was about ten a.m. when +we entered the Mersey, having been detained by fog for some time at +the mouth of the river. The famous docks of the city, stretching for +six miles on the left bank of the Mersey, as you enter, were lighted +with electricity, presenting a brilliant spectacle. At ten the next +morning we were on our way to London by the Great Western R.R., which +runs through some of the finest parts of England. Rural England, at +least what we have seen of it, is highly cultivated and very +beautiful. The country traversed by the Great Western trains, from +Liverpool to London, is one vast park--great grassy plains on either +hand, with here a river, and there occasionally a mountain, and +everywhere rows of trim hedges and the majestic oaks of Old England. +We pass through smoky Birmingham, and from the railway catch a +glimpse of the twin towers of Christ's Church, Oxford, both places +fraught with reminders of the illustrious Cardinal Newman. + +In London, we stay for the greater part of three days. Our hotel is +hard by Westminster Abbey. We visit the famous abbey more than once, +and each time with mingled feelings of admiration and +sadness--admiration for the noble temple itself, and sadness for the +change that has come over it, and the uses to which it is put. The +hour is half-past ten in the morning and the Canons of Westminster +are chanting their office. Decorous and sweet is the music of their +voices, but it grates upon the ear as one thinks of those old monks +of St. Benedict, who so often here offered the Holy Sacrifice, and +made the vast edifice resound with far other and more solemn music in +the centuries long gone by. Here rest the sainted bones of Edward +the Confessor, in the magnificent shrine prepared for them by the +founder of the abbey, Henry III, in the thirteenth century. Yonder +is the tomb of the ruthless Cromwell, and a few steps beyond it, +Charles Darwin, naturalist and agnostic, lies in death. Over against +the monument of the martyred Mary Queen of Scots, rises that of her +royal cousin and murderess, Elizabeth. The place is full of these +painful contrasts, though fragrant still with memories of its +glorious past--a past which, however, bids fair to renew itself, at +least in a measure, for England and her people. Is it not a token of +this "second spring" that the Faith which built Westminster Abbey, +and which people once fondly thought was dead and buried in England, +past all hope of resurrection, is now building an even more spacious +temple to the Most High, not many hundred yards from the historic +abbey, the new Catholic cathedral of Westminster. + +Back of what was once the high altar of the old abbey is the +Coronation Chair, with, beneath it, the historic Stone of Scone, on +which the Scottish Kings used to be crowned for long ages before the +days of Bruce. Now the monarchs of England sit in the chair on the +day of their coronation. Queen Victoria sat in it twice, once when +the diadem of the greatest empire of the earth was placed on her +girlish brow--she was still in her teens--and a second time, sixty +years after, on the occasion of her Diamond Jubilee. One other, more +youthful, but of low degree, sat in the royal chair since--aye, and +slept in it too, so our guide tells us. A boy from the neighbouring +schools was dared by his mates to spend a night alone with the bones +of the mighty dead, and the ghosts of the Royal Chapel. He did so, +slept in the Coronation Chair, and boylike cut his name and the +record of his nocturnal exploit in the wood on which Royalty has been +enthroned since the days of the First Edward. Many are the sights of +London. But we pilgrims are not sightseers, though of course we do +not travel with our eyes closed. During the two or three days that +we were in London, several places of historic interest were visited, +among others the famous Tower. As for myself, I went not much about, +having spent in all six days in London on the two former occasions +that I was in the city. I paid a visit to an old classmate of mine +in the Propaganda, who is now Canon Gildea, rector of St. James's, in +Spanish Place. From him I learned that there are altogether about +one hundred Catholic churches in London, most of them somewhat small +of size, and that they are so situated that the Holy Sacrifice of the +Mass is offered up every Sunday within ten minutes' walk of any +Catholic home in the vast city. On the Feast of Corpus Christi I +assisted at the Solemn High Mass and Procession of the Blessed +Sacrament in the Brompton Oratory. The church of the Oratory is +easily the finest Catholic church in London. It is modelled on the +great church of St. Philip, in Rome, and is distinctly Roman in every +detail. Here Newman preached those thrilling sermons which drew +Thackeray away from his novel writing and Macaulay from some +favourite haunt in the literary circles of the city. The echoes of +that wondrous voice seem still to linger in the place. Newman's +figure in white marble, larger than life, fronting the street that +runs by the Oratory, arrests the steps of many a passer-by. + +Between England and France, the distance is not great, if you reckon +it in miles, but it is leagues and leagues if you measure it by +differences of race and national characteristics. The English +Channel, with its swift tide and fretful sea, severs two entirely +different peoples. We cross from Folkestone to Boulogne-sur-Mer. +Boulogne is a quaint old-world town, and a favourite resort of +tourists. We make but a short stay, and push on to Paris. Our way +lies through an undulating country, well-wooded and well-watered, +with here and there a great stretch of pasture-land, where flocks of +sheep are grazing and shepherds with their dogs are keeping watch. +This part of France does not appear to be as highly cultivated as are +the parts of England that we have seen; but the scenery is more +diversified. By ten o'clock at night the electric light on the +summit of the Eiffel Tower is visible afar, and we know that we are +nearing Paris. + +We arrived in Paris last Friday night. We leave it next Wednesday +morning. What shall I say of the City on the Seine, the gay and +brilliant capital of France? I will say frankly that I don't like +it--that I would rather live in London with its dullness and fog, +than live in Paris with its gaiety and sunshine. Why? Well, perhaps +because I am dull myself, at least in the sense of not being +gay--certainly not because I love the fog, for I do dearly love the +blue sky and the light of the blessed sun. Perhaps, again, it is +because I don't understand the French tongue or French ways as I +understand the English tongue and English ways. But most of all, I +think, what I dislike about Paris is its godlessness. The evidences +of it are on every hand. The Londoner has at least the good sense to +hide his irreligion, if he is irreligious. At any rate, he does not +wear the badge of his irreligion in the streets. The Parisian, who +is irreligious, parades his irreligion and seems to glory in his +shame. I have seen less of London than of Paris--too little of +either, indeed, to enable me to form a just idea of their condition. +But certainly the latter city seems to be the more godless of the two. + +Religion there is in Paris, and piety, too, much more of it, I have +no doubt at all, than there is in the city on the Thames. But it +hides itself in church and home; the stranger in the streets sees +little of it. Take the matter of Sunday observance. Public opinion +and the law in London make people respect, at least outwardly, the +Lord's Day; public opinion and the law in Paris make people do the +very opposite, at least as far as the force of custom and example and +the spur of business rivalry can bring this effect about. Last +Sunday in Paris almost all the shops were open, and people went about +their work as on an ordinary week day. Paris does not keep the +Sunday, though many Parisians doubtless do. Is there no warrant for +the inference that Paris has ceased to be Christian? + +This is a land of contrasts, and Paris is emphatically a city of +contrasts. Piety and godlessness, virtue and vice, are here more +sharply contrasted than in any other city on earth. "If the devil +reigns in Paris, God is, perhaps, better served there than anywhere +else; good and evil alike find their supreme expression; 'tis Babylon +and Jerusalem both." + +In the grand churches dwells the deepest piety; godlessness is +rampant without. We are in Notre Dame Sunday, during the Procession +of the Blessed Sacrament. What a splendid spectacle! The music how +heavenly! Boys with angel voices make the stately edifice ring with +the grand old chant of the Church. Troops of boys and girls, the +boys with lighted torches in their hands, the girls clothed in +spotless white and bearing great bunches of roses which shed their +fragrance far, march in the long procession. At the end, the +Eucharistic Lord, from His throne over the high altar, blesses the +assembled multitude. It is all so solemn and so soulstirring. We +pass out from the church, deeply moved. The street is almost blocked +with worldly traffic, and men--two soldiers and two civilians--are +playing cards under the very shadow of Notre Dame. + +Sunday morning, the pilgrims went in a body to Montmartre--the +priests to say Mass, the lay pilgrims to hear Mass and receive Holy +Communion. The basilica which the piety of Catholic France has +erected to the Sacred Heart on Montmartre is truly a splendid +structure. Built on a lofty eminence, it dominates the city which +seems to lie quite at one's feet. Five thousand boys from the +seminaries of France received Holy Communion at Montmartre that +morning. As one watched tier after tier of them at the high altar +eat of the Bread of Life, with every mark of piety and devotion, one +felt that there was hope for the future of the Church in France. And +yet at least to human seeming, how gloomy is the outlook! One of the +lay pilgrims, a very devout French-Canadian, told me after we left +Montmartre that morning of a talk he had with a Parisian matron the +day before. She had two children--the regulation number, for in +France, as statistics show, the deaths all but exceed the births. +She sent them to Mass, she said, though she did not go herself, +remarking that no harm would come of their going. She sent them to +the godless State school, because they would not get on so well in +the world, she thought, if they went to the Christian Brothers' +school. There is reason to fear that many of the mothers of France +are to-day like this Parisian dame--solicitous about the things of +this world, and neither knowing nor caring for the things that are +above. + +At dinner, in the restaurant at Boulogne on Friday, only meat was +served. We asked for fish, but could get none. At lunch, in our own +hotel here at Paris the same evening, again no fish. True, the +railway restaurant at Boulogne and the hotel at Paris cater to the +travelling public. But do not the French themselves travel? And if, +in travelling, they eat fish on Friday, will not fish be forthcoming +when asked for? I have said that Paris does not keep the Sunday--at +least the Sunday rest; I fear that France does not keep Friday, or +keeps it but very indifferently. I speak as one less wise and under +correction. But putting this and that together, I cannot but +conclude that there is a dreadful decay of faith in France. It does +not seem possible that the France of the Catholic Missions, the +France of our Lady of Lourdes, will be lost to the Church. But if +she is to be saved to God and Church, it will be so as by fire. +Another chastisement, cutting deeper into the nation's life than that +of 1870, must first bring to her knees, and to the very dust in +penance, the Eldest Daughter of the Church. + +I am at the end of my chapter, and not a word about the Exposition. +I have visited the grounds but once, and then viewed them from the +Eiffel Tower, midway to the top. The buildings, which stand on both +banks of the Seine, are certainly very grand. They seem to be more +spacious, upon the whole, than were those of the Chicago Exposition. +But they do not stand by themselves and apart, as was the case in +Chicago; you do not get one impression of them, so to say; nor is the +sight so beautiful as was that of the White City on the shores of +Lake Michigan. The view to be had from the Ferris Wheel at Chicago +was, I think, finer than that which you get to-day from the Eiffel +Tower at Paris. I am speaking only of what is to be seen of the +Exposition from without. But what of the Paris Fair from within? +That you must learn, if at all, from some one else. I paid but a +flying visit to one of the buildings, and saw a variety of things of +which I have now but a very confused notion. I have no faculty for +seeing things, as your enthusiastic sightseer has, and can find no +sort of pleasure in the process. To me it is all a weariness of +spirit--and a weariness of the flesh into the bargain. Non satiatur +oculus videndo, says the Wise Man--the eye is not sated with seeing. +To which one may add, in view of the special circumstances of the +case, sed fatigatur corpus ambulando--but the body is fatigued with +walking. + +* * * + + + + +GENEVA, SUNDAY, JUNE 24, 1900. + +We left Paris last Wednesday morning, and arrived at Paray le Monial +a little before six in the afternoon. All day we traversed a land of +great fertility, rich in grain fields, for the most part open and +level, in places picturesque. The season here is at least six weeks +earlier than at home. Already the grain is ripe or fast ripening in +the fields, and the people are busily at work making their hay and +gathering in the harvest. + +Paray le Monial is situated on the banks of a small stream, in the +Department of Loire-et-Saone, in the very heart of France. It is a +town of not more than 4,000 inhabitants, quiet with the quietude of +all country places, quaint with the quaintness of almost all of the +old-world towns. No smoke of factories darkens its sky, no sound of +worldly traffic is heard in its streets. You hear instead the song +of birds in the morning, the pealing of bells, and all day long the +pilgrim's hymn. A deep peace, a sweet and restful tranquility, +broods on the place which the Prince of Peace, the Lord of the Sacred +Heart, has chosen for His sanctuary. + +The Chapel of the Sacred Heart, attached to the Convent of the +Visitation, must seem commonplace enough to the ordinary traveller. +It is small of size, and, as seen from without, very plain, very +unpretentious. Within is a wealth of votive offerings from every +land. Consecrated banners, wrought in silk and gold and richly +embroidered, are ranged around the walls, and the light of many lamps +falls upon the high altar where Our Blessed Lord revealed His heart +to the lowly Visitandine, and whence He still dispenses His grace. + +All day Thursday and far into the night pilgrims keep pouring in from +all parts. All night long the Chapel is open, and the stream of +incoming and outgoing pilgrims is as the flow and ebb of a mighty +sea. At two in the morning of Friday, Feast of the Sacred Heart, the +Masses begin. They continue at all of the eight altars until ten, at +most of them until twelve, yet not one-third of the priests in Paray +le Monial with the great International Pilgrimage can say Mass this +day in the sanctuary of the Sacred Heart. They must needs go +elsewhere, to the basilica, to other churches or chapels. + +At ten o'clock Solemn High Mass is celebrated in the basilica, the +Vicar-General of Paris being the celebrant. The Bishop of Autun, +Cardinal Perraud, occupies the throne on the gospel side, for Paray +le Monial is in his jurisdiction. In the sanctuary are several +prelates and dignitaries, among others Arch-bishop Corrigan of New +York, and as many priests as can find standing room. The church is +literally packed with pilgrims, yet many thousands have been unable +to gain entrance. In the nave, directly in front of the main altar, +are ranged the banners of the various pilgrimages, some thirty or +forty in all--I cannot give the exact number. Hither they have been +borne by pilgrim bands from all quarters of the globe, from many +countries of Europe, from Asia, from Africa, from America, North and +South, and from the islands of the far Pacific Ocean. Conspicuous +among them is our own Canadian banner, with its almost life-size +image of Our Lord revealing His Sacred Heart in the centre, and +ranged along the borders the heroic founders of the Church in Canada, +Laval, Champlain, Maisonneuve, Breboeuf, Mary of the Incarnation, +Marguerite Bourgeois, and the foundress of the Ursulines of Quebec. +A little beyond is unfurled another American banner, which proudly +claims a place here to-day by a right peculiarly its own. It is the +banner of Catholic Ecuador, the Republic of the Sacred Heart. +Inscribed on it, in letters of gold, which first were written in +blood, are the words of the martyred President, Garcia Moreno, as he +fell by the hand of the assassin, Iddios ne meure--God dies not. At +the Credo all are on their feet, and the priests in the sanctuary and +in all parts of the basilica pilgrim voices from many lands sing in +unison the time-honoured Confession of the Faith "once delivered to +the saints"--in the chant of the Church and in the language of the +Church, the Creed of the Church Catholic and Apostolic. It is a most +impressive and most solemn scene, one never to be forgotten. + +Thursday night the pilgrims made the Way of the Cross by torchlight +in the great garden adjoining the basilica. The garden itself was +brilliant with lights, and at each station the arch-priest attached +to the basilica delivered a discourse in French, of some five or ten +minutes. In the intervals between stations the vast multitude joined +in singing the hymn of Catholic France, with its pleading refrain, +Sauvez, Sauvez la France. On the afternoon of Friday the basilica +was again packed to hear the sermon of Father Couper, one of the +first preachers of France, and to assist at the International Act of +Consecration to the Sacred Heart. It was indeed a red-letter day in +the City of the Sacred Heart. From earliest dawn the streets were +lined with pilgrims in picturesque costumes and gay with banners, the +Papal colours and the banner of the Sacred Heart ever holding the +place of honour. As the sun went down and darkness fell upon the +scene, the celebration was brought to a close by a great torchlight +procession through the streets. + +That night, in the hotel of the Sacred Heart hard by the Chapel of +the Visitation, the Canadian pilgrims were introduced to General +Charette, sometime leader of the Pontifical Zouaves, and Admiral +Cuverville, of the French Navy. Both made short speeches brimful of +Gallic fire, and of loyalty to the Sacred Heart and to Holy Mother +Church. O that France had many such high-souled, God-fearing men +among her leaders and councillors! + +There were many pilgrimages at Paray le Monial, and many people +represented there. But it is quite safe to say that the pilgrimage +which represented the Catholics of Canada cut the greatest figure and +claimed the greatest share of attention. This it owed not to its +numbers; numerically it was one of the smallest. Nor was it the rank +or dignity of its members that won it a foremost place: it was made +up of plain priests and humble lay people, many of them from the +remote rural districts of the Province of Quebec. But the Catholics +of France saw in the vast majority of the pilgrim band that gathered +round the Canadian banner the descendants of the men and women who +went forth from France three centuries ago to found a new France on +the banks of the St. Lawrence. And as they heard them sing their +hymns in French to airs that have been familiar to generations of +pious Frenchmen, and saw how they still hold fast, with unswerving +fidelity, the Faith of their Fathers, the Faith of Old France, their +hearts went out to them as they went out to the members of no other +pilgrimage there. Most of all was this made manifest yesterday +morning as we gathered in the sanctuary at Paray le Monial to sing +for the last time before leaving the hymn of the Canadian pilgrims. +Mr. Rivet, organizer of the pilgrimage, who has a rich, strong and +most musical voice, sang the solos, and all joined in the chorus. +The emotion of many present found vent in tears, and copies of the +hymn were afterwards eagerly sought for. This particular hymn, one +of two, was composed while we were in London, by a French Canadian +Sister who has entered a convent there. I subjoin a copy of it, with +an English translation, which one who looks at it without reading +might mistake for verse, but which is really only a rude rendering +into English, line for line and almost word for word, of the original: + + Cantique des Pelerins Canadiens + a Paray le Monial. + + + + (AIR: PITIE, MON DIEU.) + + + I. + + Des bords lointains de la Nouvelle France, + Du Canada, Maitre, nous accourons; + O Roi des rois, a Vous notre allegeance. + A votre Coeur, nous nous consacrons. + Coeur adorable, + Foyer d'amour, + Le pays de l'erable + Est a Vous sans retour. + + + II. + + Peuples, debout! le Maitre nous appelle, + Rallions-nous autour du Sacre-Coeur; + Il faut au monds une seve nouvelle: + Allons tous boire aux sources du Sauveur. + Coeur adorable, + Nous voici tous, + Nous venons, Coeur aimable, + Chercher la vie en vous. + + + III. + + Nos maux sont grands, nous sommes bien coupables, + Mais Vous, mon Dieu, vous etes toujours bon; + Vous avez fait les peuples guerissables, + Il leur suffit de Vous crier: Pardon! + Coeur adorable, + Qui nous aimez, + A la terre coupable, + Coeur divin, pardonnez. + + + IV. + + Coeur de Jesus, que tous les coeurs soient votres, + Au cher pays, en la France, en tous lieux! + Par votre amour, unis les uns aux autres, + Nous serons forts et nous serons heureux. + Nous voulons etre + A Vous, Jesus; + Prenez nos coeurs, bon Maitre, + Et ne les rendez plus. + + + V. + + Daignez benir notre chere Patrie, + Tous nos foyers, nos Pretres, nos Pasteurs; + Et que toujours, de Jesus, de Marie, + Les Canadiens soient loyaux serviteurs! + Coeur adorable, + Gardez tou jours + Au pays de l'erable + La foi des anciens jours. + + + Hymn of the French-Canadian + Pilgrims at Paray le Monial. + + From the shores of far New France, + From Canada, Lord, we come; + O King of Kings, we swear fealty to Thee, + And to Thy Sacred Heart we consecrate ourselves. + Adorable Heart, + Fountain of Love, + The Land of the Maple + Is Thine forevermore. + + + II. + + Hark, ye peoples! the Master calls us, + Let us rally round His Sacred Heart. + The world needs the sap of a new life; + Let us all go and drink at the fountains of the Saviour. + Adorable Heart, + Behold us all here, + We come, O loving Heart, + To find life in Thee. + + + III. + + Great are our sins, our souls are stained with guilt, + But Thou, my God, Thou art ever merciful, + In Thee is healing for the Nations; + Enough that they cry out: Forgive! + Adorable Heart + That lovest us; + Pardon, Heart Divine, + The guilt-stained world. + + + IV. + + Heart of Jesus, may all hearts be Thine, + In our own dear country, in France, in every land! + Bound together by the bonds of Thy love, + We shall find strength and happiness. + Thine, O Jesus, + We would be; + Take our hearts, dear Lord, + And make them Thine for ever. + + + V. + + Deign to bless our dear Country, + Our Homes, our Priests, our Bishops; + And may Canadians ever be + Faithful Servants of Jesus and Mary! + Adorable Heart, + Always conserve + To the Land of the Maple + The Faith of our Fathers! + +* * * + +We reached Geneva last night and are leaving to-morrow morning for +Berne. Geneva is a beautiful city, situated at the head of the lake +of the same name. The atmosphere is wonderfully clear here to-day +and the sun shines out of a cloudless sky. Afar off--though it seems +not far, it must be some score of miles away--the snowy summit of +Mont Blanc is distinctly visible. All around are Alpine peaks. The +city is full of historic interest. Here Calvin preached his gloomy +creed and ruled with an iron rod. Here, too, the very opposite of +Calvin in every way, that sweetest and most lovable of Saints, +Francis of Sales, wielded episcopal authority over a devoted flock. +His spirit seems to breathe in the peace and calm of this June day. +One can even fancy that one hears the accents of his gentle voice +calling his sheep away from earthly pastures to heavenly ones, +guiding them ever onward to the Great Shepherd of the sheep, in the +fold upon the everlasting hills. + +* * * + + + + +LUCERNE, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 27. + +The parts of Switzerland that are capable of cultivation seem to be +even more fertile than the parts of France that we have passed +through. Both the hay and grain crops are heavier, at least this +year, and the vine thrives marvellously on the hillsides of this +beautiful and romantic land. For beautiful it is and romantic, this +land of bright-blue skies, and snow-capped mountains, and leaping +cataracts, and sylvan glades, and smiling valleys. + +We spent Sunday at Geneva, and stayed two or three hours at Berne +Monday on our way to Interlaken. Berne is the national capital. Its +most notable buildings are the Federal House of Parliament and the +Lutheran Cathedral. The latter dates from the beginning of the 15th +century, and to this day bears about it tokens of the Faith that +first set it up. Berne is the German word for "bear." The city +takes its name "de bellua caesa," as an old monument bears witness, +from a bear having been slain on the site where it stands. Thence +the bear is the emblem and heraldic decoration of the Swiss capital. +You can't turn in any direction without running across the figure of +a bear. The poor beast is drawn in every conceivable shape and +tortured into every conceivable attitude. One is reminded of the +fable of the Lion and the Man, as told by Newman. There are bears +couchant, bears passant, and bears regardant. There are old bears +and young bears, big bears and little bears, bears climbing trees, +bears standing on their hind legs, bears hugging each other, and +bears making faces at each other. And to crown all, the city +maintains four huge live bears and several young ones in an enclosure +about twelve feet below the level of the ground. They are shown to +every visitor who crosses the stone bridge that spans the Aar river, +on the banks of which Berne stands. + +Interlaken, as the name implies, is situated between two lakes. It +is an ideal summer resort, a very paradise of tourists. It is hemmed +in by mountains on every side. On the east, Jungfrau lifts her snowy +summit to the skies. Jungfrau (pronounced yungfrau) is German for +virgin. And a tall virgin she is, this Maiden of the Snows, ever +holding her head erect some 13,000 feet above the level of the sea. +She always wears her white mantle, and for apron a great glacier. On +the evening of our arrival she had on a cap of cloud, and some time +during the night further shrouded herself in a veil of mist. Nor +would she lift it as we went away, eager though we were to catch a +glimpse of her morning face. + +Between Interlaken and Lucerne the scenery is uninterruptedly grand. +Mountain, lake, and Alpine river quickly succeed one another, but +without sameness. The most remarkable feature of this route is the +over-mountain railway. The train climbs an Alpine hill from 1,200 to +1,500 feet in height, and makes its way down on the other side. Our +train was divided into three sections, each section of which was +pulled by a powerful locomotive. The wheels revolve on cogs set in +the rails. At one time the train is on the very edge of a precipice, +with a sheer descent of several hundred feet; at another, an +overhanging cliff threatens to fall down on top of it and smash it +into atoms. Now it seems to be on the verge of dropping into a lake +hundreds of feet below; the next moment the dense Alpine forests +hides even the heavens from one's view. It is a thrilling +experience, and one feels a sense of relief once it is fairly over. + +* * * + + + + +ROME, JULY 6TH, 1900. + +It is more than a week since last I put pen to paper. We were then +at Lucerne, amid the eternal hills. We are now in the Eternal City. +Into this short space much has been crowded--too much even to touch +on here or give in barest outline. There is the sublime scenery of +the Alpine Passes between Lucerne and Como, with the passage through +the great tunnel at St. Gothard's. There is Milan with its +marvellous Duomo, "a dream in marble," as some prose poet has +pictured it. There is the vast plain of Lombardy, stretching for +miles and miles from the foot of the Alps to the Mediterranean, the +garden of Italy, as Italy is the garden of Europe. Then there is +Venice, Queen of the Adriatic, the city of doges and of gondolas. +The doges are dead; we visited the church where monuments in marble +and in bronze enshrine their ashes and perpetuate all that now +remains of their former greatness--a fugitive and fitful memory. The +gondolas are still there, with their graceful, swan-like shape and +movement--just such as they were in the days when the Republic of +Venice was mistress of the seas. There, again, is Padua, with its +shrine of St. Anthony, whose incorrupt tongue still witnesses to the +power with which this "trumpet of the Gospel" heralded Christ and Him +crucified. There, too, is Loreto, with its Holy House, where the +Word was made Flesh--a most gracious shrine. Lastly, as we hasten +Romeward, midway between Ancona and Rome, amid the Umbrian hills, yet +another shrine draws us to itself--Assisi, where live the memories of +St. Francis and the spirit of St. Francis--live, too, as fresh and +fragrant as are the blood-bedewed roses that bloom on thornless +bushes in his garden, where he fought the good fight against +temptation and won for the men of all time the Pardon of the +Portiuncula. + +Those of us who spent Wednesday in Assisi did not reach Rome until a +late hour that night. Imagine our surprise and almost consternation +when we were told that all the pilgrims were to be received in +audience by the Holy Father at eleven the next (yesterday) morning. +We had counted on being at least a day or two in Rome before the +audience took place, and we were not ready. We ran about for two or +three hours in the morning, buying medals, etc., to be blessed--I +with no little difficulty, getting English gold for the cheques +containing the Peter Pence offering of our diocese, some two thousand +one hundred and fifty francs. By eleven o'clock we are at the +Vatican, and half an hour afterwards Pope Leo enters the Sala +Clementina, borne on a chair, amid the 'evivas' of the assembled +pilgrims. There are two pilgrimages, the Brazilian, ranged along one +side of the great hall, and the Canadian along the other. First the +Pope receives the Brazilians, then the Canadians. He is carried in +his chair right around the hall, in front of the pilgrims who line +the sides. To each he gives his hand to kiss; to each his blessing +and some gracious token of tenderness--a word, a smile; to all, at +the close, the Apostolic Benediction. Pope Leo is of course changed +since I saw him last, sixteen years ago; the white hair is scantier +and whiter still, the lines on the face are deeper, the hands are +more tremulous, the voice has lost its resonance. But the light of +the coal black eye is not dimmed, there is more of pathos in the +voice, and the whole face has melted into tenderness. There has come +into it a gentler and more winning look, which one likens to the +mellowness of ripe fruit when it is ready to drop from the tree. +This fruit is surely meet to be gathered, one says to oneself, yet +none but the Master's hand may pluck it from the stem. + +The scene in the Sala Clementina, at the close of the audience, as +the aged Pontiff blessed the pilgrims, I will not attempt to +describe. I shall never forget it, and no one who was there ever can +forget it. When the Pope raised himself on his chair and stretched +out his hand to give the Apostolic Benediction, there was a stillness +as of death throughout the vast hall--a stillness soon broken by +sobs, for tears filled the eyes of all that were there, and many wept +aloud. The first words were spoken in distinct though somewhat low +tones, but as the last words, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus +Sancti, were being uttered the Holy Father himself broke down +completely. The voice grew husky with emotion, the eyes closed, and +great tears rolled down the aged cheeks. Leo XIII felt that he was +blessing for the last time these faithful children of his from the +two Americas, and we felt that never in this life should we look upon +his face again. I must close abruptly, without as much as one word +about Rome itself- -Rome to which I have come, not merely as a +pilgrim from afar to a holy place of pilgrimage, but as a son comes +to his mother after long years of separation. For Rome is to me the +mother of my soul. + +* * * + + + + +GENOA, FRIDAY, JULY 13. + +We left Rome Tuesday at 2 p.m., after a stay of six days, which was +all too short. For one could spend months and months in Rome and +still not see a tithe of what is worth seeing, or even begin to be +weary of a place so rich in all that sages have thought and poets +have dreamed of and artists have wrought and martyrs have bled for +and saints have loved. We leave Rome with regret; feeling as all +must feel in whom there is a spark of Divine Faith, that it is the +City of the Soul, to which, in the words of the poet, "the exile of +the heart" must forever turn. + +The run from Rome to Florence is made in five or six hours. +Florence, the city of flowers, is built on both banks of the Arno. +It is a beautiful city much frequented by tourists. It is the +birthplace of many of Italy's greatest sons, of Dante, of Michael +Angelo, of Galileo. Here Savonarola lived and preached and wielded +an influence more potent than that of any civil ruler. We saw, in +one of the palaces of the Medici, the chapel where he spoke his last +words to his brother monks, just before he was led out to be burnt at +the stake in the Piazza of the Signoria, hard by. Here, too, first +saw the light of day one who was the opposite of Savonarola in many +ways, the sweet and gentle Philip Neri. Rome, the city of his +adoption, of which he became the second Apostle, is still filled with +the fragrance of his saintly life. + +From Florence we come by rail to Pisa, and thence the same day to +Genoa. From Spezia to the latter city, the railway, skirting the +shores of the Mediterranean, is one series of tunnels. In the +intervals between tunnels we catch glimpses of as beautiful and +picturesque scenery as one could wish to gaze upon--a background of +hills, rising in many places abruptly to a great height, sloping +vineyards, groves of olive, clusters of fruit trees, and, in front, +the waters of the Mediterranean, clear as crystal and mirroring in +their depths the fleecy summer clouds that float in the blue above. +Over all, like a great dome over Nature's own Cathedral, is the sky +of Italy. + +"Genoa la Superba"--Genoa the Superb--the Genoese call this city by +the rippling Mediterranean, and well they may. It is, indeed, +superb. In its marble palaces could be entertained to-day, in +princely fashion, all the princes of the earth. It is the richest +city of the peninsula, the great mart of the Mediterranean, the +Liverpool of Italy. From the harbour, where float the flags of all +nations, the city resembles a vast amphitheatre, tier upon tier of +tall buildings rising one above another. Even the urchins in the +street are proud of this queenly city. In the higher part of the +town, away up among the hills, near the marvellous Campo Santo, a +group of them stood talking rapidly, and to me unintelligibly, in +their own Genoese dialect, as we passed by. "Che linguaggio parlate +voi altri?" I asked somewhat bluntly. "Noi," says one of the number, +with a sweep of the hand which took in the other members of the +group, and then pointing proudly with his finger to his breast, "Noi +siamo Genovesi--We are natives of Genoa." + +That Campo Santo, by the same token, is one of the wonders of the +world. Truly the dead of Genoa dwell in marble halls, and this city +of the dead is a miracle in marble. Every monument is a work of art. +The pose of that figure, how graceful and natural! Those faces in +marble and bronze, how life-like are they! The dead seem to live in +them again, and to look down at you with their solemn eyes from the +other world. + + We loved that hall, tho' white and cold + Those niched shapes of noble mould + A princely people's awful princes, + The grave, severe Genoese of old. + --Tennyson, "The Daisy." + + +Quieti et Memoriae--you meet it everywhere, this terse and beautiful +epigraph. Recalling the memory of some dear departed one, it +breathes a prayer for that rest after which the human heart ever +hungers here below--that rest which we look for "where beyond these +voices there is peace." + +For full nine hundred years, from 900 to 1,800, Genoa maintained +herself an independent Republic. Already six centuries had rolled +over this Old World Republic when the boldest of her sailors embarked +at Palos on his voyage of discovery. "Were it not for him we might +all of us to-day be--Indians," is the curious thought that comes to +one of the pilgrims as he gazes on the massive monument, near the +railway station, which bears the legend in huge letters: + + A CHRISOFORO COLOMBO LA PATRIA + +Ah, those might-have-beens of an unborn past! It is bootless to +speculate upon them. + + + + +LOURDES, JULY 19, 1900. + +"Lourdes is a small town in the diocese of Tarbes, Hautes Pyrenees, +picturesquely situated on the right bank of the river Gave." I quote +the words from a booklet which purports to be "A Short Account of the +Apparitions and Miracles at Lourdes." We arrived here from Toulouse +about five o'clock on the afternoon of the day before yesterday. It +had been a very hot day in the cars, but all covered with sweat and +dust as we were we went straight in procession to the Grotto of Our +Lady, without waiting to go to our hotel. There, on our knees before +the statue, which smiles down sweetly upon us, as did erstwhile the +Virgin Mother for whom it stands, upon the simple peasant girl of the +Pyrenees, we recite the Rosary and sing the Magnificat. All about us +throngs are kneeling in prayer, and there are signs of a subdued +excitement, for just five minutes before our arrival a young girl who +had suffered severe injuries by a fall three years ago, and was +carried thither in her little carriage, a few hours before, was seen +to rise to her feet and walk. But neither before nor after the cure +did she report at the Bureau des Constatations Medicales. + +The words that I have quoted at the head of this page were written +twenty-four years ago by an English priest who visited the shrine. +Were he now writing he would no longer say that Lourdes is a small +town. The old town of Lourdes is, indeed, small, just a bit of a +village in the Pyrenees. But the new Lourdes that has sprung up as +if by magic on the banks of the Gave, over against the famous Grotto, +has pretensions to rank as a city. It has its banks, its public +buildings, its electric cars, rows upon rows of stores, though the +wares are almost wholly of a devotional character, hotels and +boarding houses without number, and a population of about ten +thousand souls. And yet twenty-six years ago, just two years before +our English priest wrote his account, there was not, as an old +inhabitant told us, a stone upon a stone of the modern, and, for the +most part, handsome buildings that one sees to-day. + +Nature has lavished her charms on this favoured spot. Nothing is +wanting of all that can please the eye or soothe and rest the mind in +natural scenery. Lofty hills in front and in the rear, some bare and +bald, others clothed with forest to their very tops; in the +background, the snow-clad peaks and spurs of the Pyrenees; at your +feet a narrow valley, studded with stately trees and carpeted with +green-sward; and ever in your ears, though the eye wearied with +gazing, should seek repose, the rushing waters of the Gave. Surely a +fitting entourage for this most gracious of all our Lady's shrines! + +The waters of the Gave, how swiftly and noisily they flow, flinging +themselves passionately upon the rude rocks that would stay their +onward course! The murmur of the Gave has been in my ears from a +boy, for I seemed to hear the rushing of its waters when in boyhood's +days I lingered over the pages of Henri Lasserre's fascinating story +of the wonders of Lourdes. And to-day as I sit on the bank and gaze +down upon the swift stream that flings itself into the Adour to +mingle finally with the waters of the mighty Atlantic, the Gave of my +boyish dreams is a reality. It is something more. It is an emblem +at once and a sermon--an emblem of the surging multitude of pilgrims +which ever keeps streaming to the Grotto of our Lady, flowing hither +from the ends of the earth; a sermon on the true purpose of life. +See how this eager mountain stream, like a thing of life, runs +joyously to its rest in the bosom of the great ocean! Not less +surely was it meant by Nature to find there its repose than we are +meant by the Author of Nature to find our repose in Him. Yet we +linger by the way and loiter, while the Gave leaps onward, oh, how +swiftly and how surely! to its goal and the home of its rest. + +But the Gave has not always been at this point the deep, narrow, +noisy stream that it is to-day. Once it roamed at will over its +rocky bed, making for itself a wider and more spacious pathway. Now +stout stone walls fence it in and confine it to a narrow channel, and +it frets and foams as does the wild beast of the forest when +imprisoned behind iron bars. In these hot July days, too, the Gave +runs deeper and swifter, fed by the melting snows of the Pyrenees. +But on that February day, forty-two years ago, it was a feeble and +mild-mannered stream. Bernadette and her two little companions +crossed the main stream by the stone bridge. But a narrow side +channel still separated them from the Grotto in the rocks of +Massabielle, where was plenty of the drift wood they were in search +of. Stooping down slowly to pull off her shoes and stockings with a +view of wading this stream, Bernadette heard a noise as of a sudden +gust of wind. "It was a calm grey day, and not a twig of the poplars +was stirring, yet she felt certain that she had heard the rush of +air. She stooped down again, and again the mysterious current +startled her. This time the child looked up towards the niche-shaped +cave. To her amazement a clear bright light issued from the +aperture, in the midst of which stood a woman more wondrously +beautiful than any one Bernadette had ever seen, or could have +imagined. She was clad in white, with a long white veil falling over +her shoulders; a blue scarf encircled her waist and reached to her +knees, and upon either bare foot was a gold-coloured rose." I am +quoting from my little book. But the story has been often told and +is trite now, though it can never be commonplace. + +The number of pilgrims who visit Lourdes yearly is estimated at two +hundred and fifty thousand. They come from every country under the +sun. The two ends of America are wide enough asunder, yet the fact +of our being from the same continent is a real bond between ourselves +and our fellow-pilgrims from Brazil, whom we meet here at the shrine +of our Lady as we met them at Paray le Monial and again in the +audience chamber of the Vatican. + +* * * + + + + +LOURDES, SATURDAY, JULY 21. + +Every day since our coming here has been for us a day of prayer, and, +at the same time, a day of rest--rest for body and for soul. There +is something in the very atmosphere of Lourdes which inspires +devotion and invites repose. Every morning the pilgrims assist at +Mass in the Grotto and many receive Holy Communion. We all of us +take our places, too, in the procession of the Blessed Sacrament, and +at night, in the torch-light procession. This morning at ten o'clock +we had Solemn High Mass in the Grotto, with a Canadian as celebrant, +Canadians as ministers at the altar, and Canadians as singers. The +service was, of course, in the open air, and very solemn and +impressive it was. While we joined in the chant of the Mass, the +wind in the trees around about us seemed to sing an accompaniment, +and the hoarse-sounding Gave lent its deep bass voice as it sped on +its way to the ocean. + +To-morrow at eleven o'clock we bid adieu to Lourdes. With Lourdes +our pilgrimage ends. At Paris, where we are due Monday evening, our +pilgrim party breaks up. Some will stay there for a season, others +will sail from Liverpool on the following Thursday, and yet others +will visit parts of Scotland, Ireland, Belgium, or of France itself, +before turning their steps homeward. Of this number is the present +writer. But here at Lourdes, as I have said, our pilgrimage ends. +And so from Lourdes, from this sweet shrine of Our Lady by the +sounding waters of the Gave, let me send after its fellows this last +leaf from + +THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM. + + + + +JOTTINGS OF A TRIP IN SCOTLAND. + +Leaving Liverpool with its din and smoke behind, we begin our journey +by rail, through the northwestern part of England toward the Scottish +border. It is near the end of July, and the weather, for England, is +hot. But coming as we do direct from the stifling heat of Paris, we +find it cool by comparison. We are travelling by fast express, and +can catch but passing glimpses of the towns and hamlets, the broad +farms and comfortable homesteads, of Old England. Now we are dashing +through one of the many manufacturing towns with which the land is +studded. There are long rows of red brick houses, with here and +there a huge chimney belching forth black smoke. The next moment we +are once more in the open country. On either hand as far as the eye +can reach, are great stretches of farmland and green pastures where +cattle are grazing. The grain is ripening in the fields, and ever +and anon there comes, through the open window of the car, the sweet +savour of new-mown hay. As we go further north the country grows +more rugged. Dark ravines open at our feet, and shaggy hills frown +down upon us. By three o'clock we have passed Carlisle, once the +great stronghold of England against the fierce incursions of its +warlike neighbour to the north. Soon after we cross the border and +find ourselves on Scottish soil. It is the land of our fathers-- + + Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, + Land of the mountain and the flood,-- + +a land of stirring memories and teeming with romance. It is not +without emotion, therefore, that we enter it for the first time. Nor +does the dense Scotch mist into which we run before reaching +Edinburgh damp our enthusiasm in the least--though we should not be +able to say as much for our persons were we exposed to it but for a +moment. + +We spend the Sunday in Edinburgh. That droll Frenchman who writes +under the pen-name of Max O'Rell, defines a Scotchman as one who +keeps the Sabbath and everything else he can lay his hands on! Well, +at any rate he keeps the Sabbath, and that is more than many a +Frenchman does. For the people of Edinburgh the Sunday is still +emphatically a day of rest. To a Protestant gentleman from Toronto +who had just come from Paris himself and put up at the same hotel +with us, we remark upon the contrast between the Parisian Sunday and +the solemn quiet of the Scotch Sabbath. "Quite so," he says, "but +you should have been here yesterday while the Labor Parade was +passing through the streets. You would have seen one after another +of the men dropping out of the procession in a state of beastly +intoxication. In all the time that I was in Paris I saw no single +instance of such drunkenness." He had come away from Paris greatly +edified, and was leaving Edinburgh utterly disgusted and horrified at +what he had seen. Sobriety was more to him than Sunday observance. +And yet human frailty may account for drunkenness, and palliate it at +least in part. But the violation of the Sunday has its root cause, +it is to be feared, in a spirit of contempt for the ordinances of the +Christian Religion. + +Edinburgh is not only the capital of Scotland, but the queen of +Scottish cities. There are few finer cities, indeed, in all the +world. Its broad and well paved streets are kept scrupulously clean. +The buildings, almost all of them of granite, are tall and stately. +And the site with its picturesque setting of hills is superb. On one +of these hills, west from Prince street and Scott's Monument, stands +the historic Castle like a grim sentinel guarding the approaches of +the City. Climbing the hill and entering by the draw-bridge, we see, +among other interesting relics of the past, the Chapel of the saintly +Queen Margaret, and stand in the room where the ill-fated Mary Stuart +took refuge after the murder of Rizzio, and where was born James the +Sixth of Scotland and the First of England. In another room hard by +we gaze upon the ancient Regalia of Scotland, "worthy of a nation's +pride and jealous preservation." + +The run from Edinburgh to Glasgow by rail is made in a little more +than one hour. Our route lies through Lanarkshire, famed for its +coal mines and iron foundries. Glasgow, with a population of over +one million, is the second city of the Empire. Unlike Edinburgh, it +has no pretentions to beauty. Still, it has some fine streets and +very beautiful parks. It contains, too, not a few notable buildings, +and there are in and around it many places of great historic +interest. Its water supply, brought from Loch Katrine, thirty miles +distant, is not surpassed perhaps by that of any other city in the +world. + +Early in the morning we leave Glasgow for Oban by boat. Steaming +down the Clyde, we get a good view of the docks and of the ships both +great and small that are a-building on either bank. A few miles down +the river is Douglas Castle, and a little beyond, on the summit of a +rock 260 feet in height, rises Dumbarton Castle, famed in Scottish +story. We touch at Greenock and Dunoon, and thence make for +Rothesay, the capital of Bute. On our left, as we near the Bute +shore, we see Mount Stuart House, the seat of the Marquis. + +Leaving Rothesay, the steamer runs up the Kyles or narrows (from the +Gaelic caolas, a strait) of Bute, round the northern end of the +island, and down the other side towards Ardlamont Point on the +mainland. The scenery on this strait is very fine, wooded mountain, +loch, and glen blending their varied beauties into one picturesque +whole. Rounding Ardlamont Point, we steer straight for the harbour +of Tarbert, on the coast of Kintyre. Away to the south, and but +dimly visible in the haze, is the island of Arran. From Tarbert we +proceed up Loch Fyne to Ardrishaig, 180 miles from Glasgow, at the +head of the Crinan Canal. This canal, which connects Loch Fyne with +Loch Crinan, and is nine miles in length, runs, for a great part of +the way, along the base of forest-clad hills. + +By this time, unluckily for us, it has begun to rain heavily, which +mars our enjoyment of the rest of the trip to Oban. As the boat +stops for the opening of the locks of the canal, we hear people on +shore talking in Gaelic and realize that we have left the Lowlands +behind. In spite of the rain two little barefooted girls and a +little boy who has shoes on (shame on him!) follows us from lock to +lock, selling milk by the glassful to the passengers. The children +are quite brave at first, and stare at us, as much as to say, "What +do we care what these English strangers say or think of us." But the +moment I speak to them in Gaelic, they grow shy of me, and the poor +little girls look as if they were ashamed to be seen in their bare +feet. + +Leaving Crinan, the western terminus of the canal, we have on our +right the mainland of Argyle; on our left are the islands of Jura and +Scarba. Between the two is the famous whirlpool of Corryvrechan, the +roar of which may be heard at a distance of many miles. Away in the +west, beyond Ross of Mull, lies far-famed Iona, with Ulva dark and +Colonsay + + And all the group of islets gay + That guard famed Staffa round. + +Presently we descry Dunollie Castle, once the chief stronghold of the +Lords of Lorn, and soon after land in Oban. + +Oban has been called the Charing Cross of the Highlands. And such it +is in the sense of being the great distributing centre for tourists +and travellers by rail or boat. But in every other sense how unlike +is this quiet little town, with its cosy harbour and crescent beach, +where the wavelets play at hide-and-seek with the pebbles, to the +bustling railway station in the heart of the biggest and busiest of +all earth's cities! During the summer months this cosy harbour is +crowded with pleasure yachts from all parts of the world, and the +hotels that line the pebbly beach are thronged with tourists from +every land. + + For Oban is a dainty place + In distant or in nigh lands, + No town delights the tourist race + Like Oban in the Highlands. + +So wrote the late Professor Blackie, himself a frequent visitor in +his day to this charming resort on the shore of the western sea. + +At Oban in the early morning we take the 'Gael' steamship for far +Gairloch in Rosshire. Dunollis Castle is on our right as we steam +out of Oban Bay and make for Lismore Light, on the extreme southern +end of the island of that name. Thence our way lies through the +Sound of Mull to Ardnamurchan Point. The scenery along this Sound, +where you have the mountains of Mull on the one hand, and on the +other those of misty Morven, is surpassingly grand. Here on the +Morven shore, in Ardtornish Castle, ancient seat of the Lords of the +Isles, is laid the opening scene of Scott's well-known poem, which +begins with the lines: + + "Wake, maid of Lorn," the minstrels sung. + Thy rugged halls, Ardtornish, rung, + And the dark seas thy towers that lave, + Heaved on the beach a softer wave, + As 'mid the tuneful choir to keep + The diapason of the deep. + + +Near the other end of the sound is Tobermory (Mary's Well), the chief +seaport of Mull, a very pretty town, in whose land-locked harbour +ships of any tonnage find securest anchorage. This port has for us a +very special interest, as we have reason to believe that from hence +our grand-parents sailed in the dawn of the century to make for +themselves a home, beyond the stormy Atlantic, in what was then the +wild woods of Nova Scotia. + +All day long, from early morn till set of sun, we follow our sinuous +course through the sounds and lochs and bays of this western sea, +calling here or there to land or take on passengers. After leaving +Torbermory while rounding Ardnamurchan Point, and until we gain the +shelter of towering Scaur-Eigg, a perpendicular cliff some five +hundred feet high at the southwestern extremity of the island of that +name, we are in the open Atlantic, with no land to the west of us +nearer than America. North of Ardnamurchan lies Moidart, where +Prince Charlie landed on the 25th of July, 1745, and whence after +many wanderings and hair-breadth escapes he sailed, on the 20th +September of the following year, a hopeless and broken man. + +From Eigg we cross over to Arisaig. Judging by what one can see of +it from the deck of a steamer, it is far from being as fertile as the +district that has been named after it in Nova Scotia. But perhaps +there is no other spot on the western coast of Scotland where the +view landward and seaward is so varied and so magnificent. + +After landing passengers at Arisaig, we steam along the coast of +Morar on the mainland, having on our left the islands of Eigg, Rum, +and Canna, and in front of us the southern extremity of Skye. Soon +we enter the Sound of Sleat, and passing through the Kyle of +Lochalsh, hug the eastern or inner shore of Skye till we reach +Portree. It is a perfect day. The sun shines brightly, and the face +of the laughing waters is gently fanned by the summer winds. And the +scenery is as grand as it is diversified. Leaving Portree (King's +Port), so-called from having been visited by James V. of Scotland +while cruising round these isles, we enter once more the Sound of +Raasay. On the Skye shore, near the little island of Holm, is to be +seen the entrance to a cave famed as one of the hiding places of the +unfortunate Prince Charlie. Presently we pass out of the Sound of +Raasay and enter the Minch. On the left, beyond the northern +promontory of Skye, some of the Hebridean Islands are visible in the +dim distance. Behind us the mountains of Skye rise in gloomy +grandeur. As one gazes upon them, there comes to one's mind these +words of MacCrimmon's Lament, done into English by Sir Walter Scott: + + Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming, + Farewell to each dark glen in which red deer are roaming; + Farewell lovely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river-- + Return, return, return, we shall never. + (Cha till, cha till, cha till sinn tuille.) + + +Gairloch has a fine hotel--with prices to match. It is a charming +place, this quiet hamlet by the sea, but lonely withal. For here, +away up north, one has that sense of isolation, of being cut off from +the great world, which is itself twin-sister to the feeling of +loneliness. + +We leave Gairloch early in the morning for Inverness, travelling by +coach for 30 miles to Achnasheen (Field of the Fairies) and thence by +rail. In the first five miles the road runs, part of the time, +through a fine forest of larches, which seem to be related to our +juniper tree, but are very tall and stately. On emerging from the +wood and beginning the descent of a steep hill, we come of a sudden +upon a loch which seems to surpass all the Scottish lochs in the wild +and rugged grandeur of the scenery along its shores. It was some +such sight as here greets our eyes that inspired Sir Walter's muse to +sing,-- + + Stranger; if e'er thine ardent step hath traced + The northern realms of ancient Caledon, + Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed, + By lake and cataract her lonely throne; + Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known, + Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high, + Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown + Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry, + And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky. + +For where more fittingly than here by Loch Maree, on some lonely +mountain peak, could the Queen of Wilderness set up her throne? +Here, in sooth, are pathless glen and mountain high and torrents +flung from cliffs. And the very spirit of Desolation seems to brood +over the place. You may travel miles on this loch without seeing a +single human habitation. Steep mountains, bare of trees and even of +vegetation, shut it in on all sides. The loftiest peak in Ruadh Stac +Mor, which rises to a height of 3,309 feet; but there are several +other peaks almost as high. Half way up the loch is a summer hotel +for tourists, where Queen Victoria stayed a week something more than +a score of years ago. Over against this hotel, near the other side +of the loch, is a wooded islet, called Isle Maree, on which may be +seen the ruins of a monastery, "in days of yore," says our guide +book, "an oasis of learning in the desert of heathenism." Tradition +has it that the waters of a well on this little island (mayhap +another Tobair Moire or Mary's Well!) cured insanity--a tradition +which the gentle Quaker poet Whittier has embalmed in these lines: + + Calm on the breast of Isle Maree + A little Well reposes: + A shadow woven of the oak + And willow o'er it closes, + And whoso bathes therein his brow, + With care or madness burning, + Feels once again his healthful thought + And sense of peace returning. + Life's changes vex, its discords stun, + Its glaring sunshine blindeth; + And blest is he who on his way + That fount of healing findeth! + + +I suspect that Loch Maree is an English corruption of the Gaelic Loch +Mairi (Loch Mary or Mary's Loch). The monks were ever and everywhere +devout clients of the Blessed Mary. It is not at all unlikely, +therefore, that the community of monks who anciently made their home +in this romantic spot named both the loch and the little isle on +which they built their monastery after their Heavenly Patroness. + +On leaving Loch Maree the road follows the bed of a brook for some +distance up a dark glen. On either hand are "rising mountains red +with heather bells," on the slopes of which the hardy Highland sheep +are grazing. Once the summit of the ridge is gained, it is down hill +to Achnasheen, where we take the train for Inverness. Our way for +several miles lies through a wilderness, but all at once we come upon +a lovely strath, in as high a state of cultivation as any district we +have seen in the Lowlands or even in England. It looks all the more +beautiful by contrast with the barren and desolate region through +which we have just passed. The name of it I cannot for the moment +recall. But the valley itself as I saw it, with the bloom of summer +upon it, and the light of the westering sun, is vividly present to my +imagination. + +Inverness, at the mouth of the River Ness, is, after Edinburgh, the +handsomest city in Scotland. Prof. Blackie sings its praises in the +following sonnet: + + Some sing of Rome, and some of Florence; I + Will sound thy Highland praise, fair Inverness; + And till some worthier bard thy thanks may buy, + Hope for the greater, but not spurn the less. + All things that make a city fair are thine, + The rightful queen and sovereign of this land + Of bens and glens, and valiant men, who shine + Brightest in Britain's glory roll, and stand + Best bulwarks of her bounds--wide-circling sweep + Of rich green slopes and brown empurpled brae, + And flowering mead, and far inwinding bay, + Temple and tower are thine, and castled keep, + And ample stream, that round fair gardened isles + Rolls its majestic current, wreathed in smiles. + + +Scotland, as a glance at a map of the globe will show, is several +degrees farther north than Nova Scotia. Up here at Inverness, during +the first week of August, the twilight lasts till after 10 p.m. +Towards the end of June, when the day is at its longest, the sun does +no more than dip for a few hours below the horison, and at no time of +the night does its light fade away altogether from the northern sky. + +Four miles from Inverness is Culloden Moor. But we visit not that +"field of the dead" so fraught with saddening memories to every +Highlander. + +Leaving the capital of the Highlands, we go by boat to Fort William +through the Caledonian Canal. This passage is sixty-two miles long. +There are twenty-four miles of canal, and thirty-eight of natural +lake, namely, Loch Ness (24 miles), Loch Oich (4 miles), and Loch +Lochy (10 miles). On these lochs and along the stretches of land +between them the scenery is of surpassing beauty. On either side is +a range of purple hills rising in places to a great height. Now they +close in about us as if to dispute our passage. The next moment they +fall back and form into line in the rear, keeping ward over the great +highway of waters that cleaves the land of the Scottish Gael in twain +and weds two seas together. And now Ben Nevis (4,406 ft.) looms afar +off on the left, lording it over all the hills. At his feet and +under his very shadow stands Fort William, known to the old folk as +An Gearristan. Along the plain below rolls the Lochy River till it +empties its waters into Loch Linnhe. Those glens that lie at the +foot of the mountain range northeastward from Ben Nevis are Ruaidh +and Spean, along the rivers of the same name. And this is Lochaber, +"synonym for an exile's wail." Children we of those sad-eyed exiles, +is it any wonder that our hearts beat more quickly as we gaze on the +heather-clad hills now rising before us? Even we, of the third +generation, still feel within us something of their heart-hunger for +the old home they loved so well--the heart-hunger which found a voice +and still finds an echo in that saddest of sad refrains, + + Lochaber, Lochaber, Lochaber no more, + We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more. + + +The Highlands, and the islands on the west of Scotland, are to-day +but sparsely populated. A hundred years ago these lovely straths and +glens were filled with people. Even the braes and moorlands, now so +bare and barren, yielded a frugal livelihood to a hardy race of men +whose wants were few and tastes most simple. To-day whole districts +are given over to sheep and deer. + + In Highland glens 'tis far too oft observed, + That man is chased away and game preserved. + +So wrote the Hon. John Bright, in blunt but honest English fashion. +More pathetic is the tale of desolation as told in Gaelic verse--in +lines of exquisite tenderness and beauty--by one who is a native of +those glens and "to the manner born"--one who has in our own day +successfully wooed the Highland Muse "'mang the bonnie Highland +heather"--Macleod, the spirited bard of Skye. I quote two or three +stanzas from his poem, Anns a Ghleann 'san Robh Mi Og: + + Tha na fardaichean 'n an fasaich + Far an d'araicheadh na seoid, + Far'm bu chridheil fuaim an gaire, + Far'm bu chairdeal iad mun bhord; + Far a fhaigheadh coigreach baigh, + Agus anrach bochd a lon; + Ach cha'n fhaigh iad sin's an am so + Anns a' ghleann's an robh mi og. + + Chaochail maduinn ait ar n-oige + Mar an ceo air bharr nam beann, + Tha ar cairdean 's ar luchd-eolais + Air a fogradh bhos us thall; + Tha cuid eile dbuibh nach gluais, + Tha'n na cadal buan fodh'n fhod, + 'Bha gun uaill, gun fhuath, gun anthlachd, + Anns a' ghleann's an robh iad og. + + Mo shoraidh leis gach cuairteig, + Leis gach bruachaig agus cos: + Mu'n tric an robh mi 'cluaineis + 'N am 'bhi buachailleachd nam bo-- + 'Nuair a thig mo reis gu 'ceann, + Agus feasgar fann mo lo, + B'e mo mhiann a bhi's an am sin + Anns a' ghleann's an robh mi og. + + +The song has been done into English, or rather into mixed English and +broad Scotch, but it has lost somewhat in the rendering. The +foregoing stanzas run thus in the translation: + + Now in ruins are the dwellin's, + Where ance lived a gallant clan; + Their's was aye the friendly welcome, + Their's was aye the open han'; + There the stranger and the puir + Found a place at the fire-en'; + Now alas! there's nane tae greet them + In my bonnie native glen. + + Like the mist upon the mountain + Youth's glad morn of promise died, + And our kinsfolk and acquaintance, + They are scattered far and wide; + Some of them are sleepin' soun' + Neath the shadow of the ben, + That were ance baith leal and hearty + In their bonnie native glen. + + But now fare ye weel each fountain, + Each sweet dell an' grassy brae, + Where fu' aft the kye I herded, + In my boyhood's happy day. + When life's gloamin' settles down, + An' my race is at an en', + 'Tis my wish that death should find me + In my bonnie native glen. + + +Wherever you travel in the Western Highlands you hear Gaelic spoken. +And ever as it strikes upon your ears, there arises within you--at +least if you happen to be a Highlander yourself--the question, Will +the old tongue live on here amid the bens and glens that have echoed +with it since immemorial time? Or is it doomed to die out in this +its ancient home? It is hard to say. For my own part, I believe +Gaelic will be spoken in the Highlands so long as there are +Highlanders there. But I don't know how long that will be. +Certainly they are far fewer to-day than they were at the beginning +of the last century. And the country is becoming more and more a +mere summer resort for tourists and sportsmen. As matters stand at +present there is no future for the Highland youth in their Highland +home. On growing up to manhood and womanhood, they drift into the +cities of the Lowlands, or cross the ocean. And ever as they go, +their sad hearts echo the wailing notes of MacCrimmon's Lament, or +Lochaber No More. I wish I could share the confidence in the +ultimate repeopling of the Highlands that is expressed--perhaps +rather than felt--by the Skye bard already quoted, in the following +lines: + + 'S bidh fhathast a cairdean + Mar bha iad bho chian, + An' duthaich nan ardbheann + An aite nam fiadh; + Gu curanta' laidir, + Gu blath-chridheach fial, + 'S an comhradh gach la + Ann an canan nam Fionn. + + +With the Gaelic language there also survives in the Highlands the +hospitable spirit for which Highlanders, and all Celts indeed, are +noted wherever they are found. But while the people there give of +their Highland cheer to all who visit them, they have a particularly +warm place in their hearts for "muinntir America," their kinsmen from +across the seas. + + +Leaving Fort William, we go by boat on Loch Linnhe to Oban. The boat +calls at several places, among them Ballachulish, at the entrance to +Loch Leven, whence we get a glimpse in the distance of Glencoe. Even +on this bright summers day the narrow pass, hemmed in by frowning +mountains, looks gloomy and dark--fitting theatre for the black and +fearful tragedy that was enacted there. + +From Oban we return to Glasgow through the Trossachs, part of the way +by rail, part of the way by boat on Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, and +part of the way by coach between the lochs. The whole country +through which we pass is classic ground, familiar to every lover of +Scott. To describe the scenery of the Trossachs, therefore, after +the exquisite word-painting of it in prose and verse that we have +from the pen of Sir Walter, were as "wasteful and ridiculous excess" +as + + To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, + To add a perfume to the violet. + + +As I write these last words the solemn bells are tolling the +death-knell of our beloved Queen. The whole Empire mourns, and the +grief is heartfelt, for all own and feel to-day the truth of the +lines written by the worthiest poet laureate of the long and glorious +reign that is now ended, + + "Her court was pure; her life serene: + God gave her peace, her land reposed; + A thousand claims to reverence closed + In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen." + + + + +ROME. + +A CHRISTMAS REMINISCENCE. + +It is not often I am in a reminiscent mood. Even should the mood +come upon me, I can seldom indulge it. In this work-a-day world the +cares and duties of the present crowd out the memories of the past. +But ever as the blessed season of Christmas comes round the mind is +in a measure freed from the tyrant grasp of the present. And at the +approach of this festival mine loves to go back, swiftly overleaping +the barriers of space and time, to the dear old City on the Tiber, +where I spent five of the happiest years of my life. I can remember +as distinctly as though it were yesterday the day when first I set +foot in Rome. It was toward the end of October, 1879. The sun shone +out brightly from the deep blue of the Italian sky, and the soft, +balmy breath of summer still lingered in the air. From early morning +we had traversed a land of almost ideal loveliness, now skirting the +shores of the sparkling Mediterranean, now dashing past villas and +vineyards where the air was laden with the fragrance of the vintage. +The sun was slowly sinking in the west as we passed Civita Vecchia, +the seaport of Rome, and sped on our way through the dreary waste of +the Roman Campagna. Soon the Alban Hills loomed up in front, while +the line of sea-coast stretching away on the right was fast fading +from the view. There, where the Tiber flings its tawny waters into +the Mediterranean, once stood the City of Ostia, the ancient seaport +of Rome, facing, as every student of Virgil knows, in the far +distance, Carthage, Rome's most dreaded rival while yet she was +"dives opum studiisque asperrima belli." + +And now we are within the city walls, the train draws up to the +depot, and I step forth, a stranger indeed, yet not with the feelings +of one who sets foot in a strange city: for Rome, though force has +made it the capital of United Italy, is and always will be the +capital of Christendom, the centre from which radiate the lights of +Catholicity over all the earth, and the home of the pilgrim from +every land. + +One who goes from America into Europe realizes that to have crossed +the Atlantic is not merely to have left one part of the habitable +globe and gone into another. It is a passing from the New World into +the Old, in almost every respect a different world from the one that +is left behind. And in no place as at Rome is it brought home to one +who crosses the ocean that the Atlantic is not the only gulf that +divides these two worlds. Rome is the typical city of the Old World, +or rather is the Old World in miniature. There all its most striking +characteristics meet as they do in no other European city. There you +may study old world customs and the old world life in its many +phases, old world art and architecture, and above all those old-world +monuments and ruins around which gather a thousand historical +associations. Here rises the Palatine Hill, the original site and +centre of the embryo mistress of the world, where tradition places +the dwelling of Romulus, and where later stood the gorgeous palace of +the Caesars, whose ruins still attest its old-time grandeur. Below +is the Roman Forum which once rang with the eloquence of Cicero, and +traversing it from north to south, the Via Sacra or Sacred Way. At +one end of the Forum is the Mamertine Prison, a dark and dismal +underground dungeon, where kings led captive by pagan Rome were +strangled or starved to death, and where still exists the spring +which, according to tradition, St. Peter, imprisoned here under Nero, +miraculously caused to flow in order to baptize his jailers. At some +distance to the south stands the Colosseum, nearly one-third of a +mile in circumference, and originally containing seats for 87,000 +spectators. Here, in the arena, the scene of gladiatorial combats, +thousands of Christian martyrs fought the good fight and won the +crown. A quaint prophetic saying, which dates from the 8th century, +has it that + + While stands the Colosseum, Rome shall stand, + When falls the Colosseum, Rome shall fall, + And when Rome falls, with it shall fall the World. + +But I should never end if I were to speak of all the monuments of +both Pagan and Christian Antiquity that make Rome the connecting link +between the ancient and the modern world. + +The Rome of to-day is not the Rome of twenty years ago. The tourist +who wandered and mused among the ruins in and around it then would +scarcely know it now, so vast is the change that has come over it. +Your matter-of-fact modern man, who scowls at antiquity and lives in +and for the present only, would say that the change has been greatly +for the better. Streets have been widened and straightened, +numberless new ones have been opened, and the wide space east and +south of the Esquiline Hill, once studded with venerable ruins, is +now occupied by rows of huge brick buildings, inferior in make and +unsightly. In a word, the old Rome, amid whose magnificent ruins +still abode the genius of Antiquity, has all but disappeared, and the +new Rome, a third-rate modern city, shorn of much of its historical +interest, has usurped its place. "Rome in twenty or thirty years," +wrote Mr. Frederick Harrison recently in the "Fortnightly Review," +"has become like any other European city--big, noisy, vulgar, +overgrown, Frenchified and syndicate-ridden." + + Rome, Rome thou art no more + As thou hast been! + On thy seven hills of yore + Thou sat'st a queen. + +Newman had written of it, on visiting it for the first time in the +early thirties of last century: "And now what can I say of Rome, but +that it is the first of all cities, and that all I ever saw are but +as dust (even dear old Oxford inclusive) compared with its majesty +and glory?" It has certainly since then lost much of its charm for +the tourist and the antiquarian. But the majesty and glory that so +impressed Newman--these no spoiler's hand can pluck from the brow of +the queenly city on the Tiber. + +It is not merely the glamour antiquity throws around it that makes +Rome a centre of attraction. In the wondrous works of art gathered +into it from every side, in the number and magnificence of its +churches and shrines, in the prestige it possesses as the capital of +the Christian world for eighteen hundred years, it stands peerless +among the cities of the earth. Anything like a detailed account of +the art treasures in the Vatican alone would fill volumes. Almost +every church in Rome, too, and every palace, has its works of art, +its paintings, mosaics, and sculptures, of priceless value. And as +for the churches, no words can fittingly describe them. "They could +not have been in any place but Rome, which has turned the materials +and buildings of the Empire to the purposes of religion." The +exterior, save in the case of the large basilicas, is not striking; +their beauty, like the glory of the king's daughter, is within. St. +Peter's, of course, stands apart from and above them all, a world of +wonders in itself. The first visit does not reveal its vastness nor +the exquisite grace and delicacy of its proportions. It is only by +visiting it again and again that one can, so to speak, take it all +in, if indeed one can ever do so. There is this peculiarity about +it, too, that it has what, for want of a better word to convey the +idea, I am tempted to call a climate of its own. In winter, when +Rome is swept by the tramontana, a penetrating and chilling wind +which blows for days at a time from the snow-capped Apennines, making +life scarce worth living in the fireless apartments of the Roman +dwellings, you will find warmth and comfort within St. Peter's. And +in vain will you seek amid the shady groves of the Roman villas for a +tithe of the delicious coolness that dwells within the charmed circle +of its walls all through the broiling heat of the summer months in +Rome. + +And what of the festival of Christmas in the Eternal City? In +September, 1870, Victor Emmanuel's troops entered Rome by the breach +of Porta Pia, and with their coming in the old-time Christmas and the +old-time Easter went out. The faithful Romans have not had a Merry +Christmas since. The Pope used to proceed in person to celebrate the +midnight Mass at St. Mary Major's, where is preserved the Crib in +which the Infant Saviour was laid on the night of His Nativity. With +the exception of the Easter celebrations, it was the most imposing +ceremony that could be witnessed at Rome in those days. The +Saviour's Crib is always borne in procession through the church of +St. Mary Major's on Christmas Eve. In some of the churches, and even +in private houses, the scene of the Christ Child's birth in Bethlehem +is represented in a wonderfully artistic and life-like way. One of +these representations, which are got up mainly for the children, is +to be seen in the church of Santa Maria in Aracoeli, situated on the +Capitoline Hill, where once stood a temple of Jove. Hither we +students of the Propaganda used to wend our way, during the days +within the octave of Christmas, to listen to the "children preachers +of Aracoeli." These little ones, from five to ten years of age, +standing on a platform facing the Christmas Crib, lifted their fresh +young voices in greeting and prayer to their new-born King. It +recalled the scene described in Matt. 21:15-16: the children crying +in the temple, "Hosanna to the Son of David," and Jesus saying to +those who would rebuke them, "Yea, have you never read, Out of the +mouths of infants and sucklings thou has perfected praise." + + + + +THE ROSES OF ASSISI. + +In The Ave Maria, of February 8, 1908, the noted Danish writer, +Johannes Jorgensen, tells of a visit to Assisi, and makes this +passing allusion to the singular phenomenon also alluded to in The +Diary of a Pilgrim: "Then there is the rose garden where the bushes +are strangely flecked as if with spots of blood." When the present +writer stood beside this little plot, in the early days of July, +1900, the roses were not in bloom--it was past their season in +Italy--but the bushes were in leaf, of course. Strictly speaking, it +is not the bushes that bear the flecks of red, but the roses and the +leaves. The impression made upon one is not soon effaced. It looks +for all the world as if those leaves had been sprinkled with blood. +Here and there a leaf seems to have caught a drop, a few, two or +three, which left a crimson stain, while most show a fleckless green. +But this is not the most striking phase of the phenomenon. It has +passed into a proverb that there is no rose without its thorn, though +Milton, in a flight of fancy, found in our lost paradise, + + Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. + +But under the lovely sky of Italy and under the shadow of the Umbrian +hills, in fair Assisi, famed forever as the birthplace and early home +of the Poverello, grow roses without thorns. The writer felt the +bushes with his hand, and proved them thornless. What is more, our +little pilgrim group, of whom some have since gone on their long +pilgrimage, were told on that July day, seven years ago, by the Prior +of the Franciscan Monastery, a true son of Saint Francis if +appearances count for aught, that time and time again was the +experiment made of transplanting those bushes, and that they grew up +with thorns and with stainless leaves. Here is the legend, if legend +that can be called, which Nature seems to vouch for, copied from a +leaflet, enclosing a spray of the rose leaves now brown with the +years, which the writer brought with him from Assisi: + +"One bitter winter's night, S. Francis being sorely tempted by the +devil to lessen his austerities, overcame the evil one by throwing +himself into a thicket of briers, and rolling himself in it till his +body was all torn and bleeding. At the same moment the briers were +changed into rose trees in full bloom, and a heavenly brightness +shone around, and angels came to lead S. Francis to the Church of the +Portiuncula, where Our Lord appeared to him in Person accompanied by +His Mother and a heavenly host, and granted him the Indulgence of the +Portiuncula. The miraculous rose bushes have no thorns, their leaves +are stained with spots like blood in May, and can be seen in the +Garden of the Friary adjoining the Portiuncula at the village of +Santa Maria degli Angeli which is close to the Station of Assisi in +Italy." + + + + +FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES. + +DECEMBER 10, '08. + +We leave New York at noon. It is a perfect winter's day--the air +cold and crisp, the sun brightly shining. There are all manner of +craft in the North River, or Hudson, and our big ship makes her way +among them with leisurely dignity. On our starboard is Jersey City; +on the port side, the buildings of Old Manhattan raise their giant +forms, fearfully and wonderfully tall. Presently we pass by the +statue of Liberty, and leave the great metropolis of the New World +behind. A marvellous city is New York, marching forward with +gigantic strides to the forefront of the world's cities. Even now it +is second only to London, and in ways not a few it is first. We pass +out of the roar of its traffic, away from its teeming, busy life, and +the restful ocean takes us to its heaving bosom. + +"Our next port of call is Boston," says one passenger to another +standing near him, just as we are getting out to sea. "Not at all," +rejoins the other, "this boat doesn't call at Boston." An officer of +the ship, who is standing by, is appealed to, and he bears out the +first speaker. The news is received with surprise amounting almost +to consternation. Hardly one of the passengers knew of this change +in our programme of travel. Back to Boston; it is like going back +home again! But to Boston we steer our course. Off Cape Cod, miles +and miles out at sea, men are fishing in their dories. We pass +within fifty yards of one, but so intent is he upon his work that he +does not as much as cast one look at us. After a little we pick up +our pilot, and begin threading our way through the narrow entrance to +Boston harbour. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 11. + +Our ship is docked at Charlestown. We go ashore, take an "L" road +car at City Square, and speedily reach Boston. Our friends in the +city, to whom we bade farewell a few days before, are almost +thunderstruck at seeing us. They can scarce believe their eyes. We +seem to have dropped upon them from the skies, or rather to have been +spirited back through space from the ocean. A few words clear up the +mystery. Next morning (Saturday) we say an early Mass, and hasten +back on board. But the good ship "Cretic" is in no hurry to put to +sea. She lingers for a full hour beyond the allotted time. We could +not have missed her if we tried. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 12. + +It is snowing heavily as we steam slowly out of Boston harbour. We +drop our pilot, and at noon have the lightship abeam. At last we are +fairly under way, but so thickly falls the snow that we move along at +little more than half-speed, and the steamer's whistle keeps blowing +as in a fog. After an hour or two we run out of the snowstorm, and +the whistling ceases. A tugboat inward bound, towing three huge +barges, is the last object we descry this day, for darkness soon +settles upon the scene. + +This evening I sit and listen dreamily to the soft accents of the +Italian tongue. One or two of the saloon passengers are Italian and +the ship's doctor is a native of the land of sunshine and song. It +is twenty-five years since I dwelt in that land, but those +intonations strike the ear and those inimitable gestures the eye as +familiarly as if it were but yesterday. What a wonderful thing is +memory! How it bridges the years, and brings the dead past to life +again! By it we reverse the poet's process, and "stretch a hand +through time to catch" the forms of things long passed away. + +"Vedi Napoli e poi Mori." This, my Italian friend tells me, is the +original of the saying that runs in English: "See Naples and die." +As you approach Naples, Mount Vesuvius rises in the rear, and beyond +it is the little town of Mori. The original saying is, "See Naples +and then Mori." But as it happens that "mori" is also the imperative +of the verb "morire"--"to die," a play upon the word gives the +meaning, "See Naples and then die"--as if no place else worth seeing +were left in all the wide world. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 13. + +Our first Sunday at sea, the third of Advent. We have passed from +the region of snow and sleet, and the change is welcome. The morning +breaks bright and clear, and as the day wears on it grows distinctly +warmer. The sun shines out of a cloudless sky and the air is balmy +as in a June day. While I write the thermometer out on the promenade +deck shows 56 degrees in the shade. Frost and snow are things of the +past--things of the land we have left behind. + +Not having a portable altar, we are unable to say Mass. There are +more than seven hundred persons in the steerage, mostly Italians +seeking "la bella patria"--their own lovely homeland. I arrange with +the captain to have a service for them at 3 p.m. The second-class +saloon being too small, we hold the service under an awning on the +deck. Dressed in cassock and with my rochet on--for the very first +time--I kneel upon the main hatch and say aloud in Latin the Rosary +and Litany of the Blessed Virgin, which they all answer in the same +tongue. These people, I may remark by the way, are all taught from +childhood to say those prayers in the language of the Church. +Prayers over, I address them a few words in Italian, the season and +the occasion furnishing a theme. Exiles are we from home, seeking a +fatherland afar, and One has come down from that fatherland to raise +us up and to lead us on. As we cross the sea of life, not always +calm and untroubled as the one we sail to-day, we must pause from +time to time to lift up our eyes and fix them on the eternal truths +that shine like stars upon our pathway. We must prepare for the +advent of the Sun of Justice, and from the lesser lights turn our +gaze longingly to the bright morning Star that heralds His rising. +Such is the sum of what I said, but I must own that it sounds much +better in this English summary than it did in such poor Italian as I +could muster. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 14. + +At noon the log reads: + + Lat. Long. Weather Remarks + 41.34 56.28 Fresh gale: W. SW. + Dis. 317 SW. S. S. W., rough + quarterly sea. + Average Speed: 13.49 + +We have run into a storm, or it has run in upon us. "Fresh gale" +means a wind blowing 50 or 60 miles an hour. But our ship is very +steady. Still there is a good deal of motion--of that queer, +all-round, uncertain, miserable motion so apt to induce sea-sickness. +My companion, though he has been so seldom to sea, is a better sailor +than I. As for me, I feel that I could very easily be quite sick if +I wanted to. But I don't want to, and up to a certain point one can +fight this sickness off. My chief occupation all day is fighting off +seasickness. The wild winds, the wailing sea-waves, the reeling, +staggering ship keep telling me it is of no use; that I had better +crawl into my berth and give up the uneven struggle. But I hold out +in spite of all of them. As I write this in the steamer's library at +6 p.m. the battle is still on and the issue somewhat doubtful. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 15. + +The battle is fought and won--thanks to the abating of the storm and +a calmer sea. The weather to-day is fine and warm--58 degrees in the +shade. It was 68 degrees yesterday, and the mugginess of the +atmosphere made it unpleasant. For me, indeed, it is never too +pleasant on board ship. I have an uneasy feeling that the most one +can hope for is a truce, and that the battle with sea-sickness may +have to be fought over again at any moment. Under such circumstances +writing is not easy. + +The sea, the deep mysterious sea, with its changeful, elusive hues +and its passionate moods! The dominant mood, I fancy, is melancholy. +The sea lifts up its voice only to weep, and every sea-sound dies +away in a sob or a wail. When the crested waves break into foam, +what are the spray drops but the tears of the salt sea? It not only +yields a grave to the countless millions that are buried beneath its +waters, but weeps for them ever, and chants over them an unending +requiem. And its loneliness is beyond words. Mid-ocean seems the +native home of solitude--a solitude that the passing ship leaves +unbroken. What a tale this lonely, moaning sea could tell of the men +who have sunk into its depths, "unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown!" +But till it gives up its dead, that tale shall not be told. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 16. + +Late last evening I sat talking in the smoking-room with a Protestant +gentleman from Minneapolis. Some years ago he visited the Holy Land, +and I was interested in the account he gave of it. He does not seem +to have been much impressed by the country itself or its sanctuaries. +"The most beautiful sight I saw in the Holy Land," he declared with +evident sincerity, "was the face of a nun." It was not the physical, +but the spiritual beauty of the face that struck him and imprinted +itself upon his memory. A beautiful soul beamed out from it--a soul +made beautiful by close communion with God. "I will feed on God," +says Alexandrine in A Sister's Story, not knowing very well at the +moment what she means. But she did feed on God, and became beautiful +as an angel, with that beauty which never can fade. If we would be +truly beautiful let us feed on God the Uncreated Beauty, ever ancient +and ever new. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 17. + +How shall we feed on God? First by prayer. Not as completely is the +fish immersed in the sea or the bird in the air as the soul is in +God, for He is everywhere, and "in Him we live, and move, and are." +Every time we breathe we drink in the fresh air to renew the life of +the body; every time we pray, if we pray aright, we draw down the +grace of God to give new life to the soul. And as when a man ceases +to breathe we know that the life is gone out of him, so when a man +ceases to pray we may know that his soul is dead within him. But +there is another, a more literal and yet more wondrous way of feeding +on God, and that is Holy Communion. "I am the Bread of Life," and +again, "He who eats Me shall also live by Me." "As the hare in +winter," says St. Francis of Sales, "grows white by feeding on the +snow, so the soul grows white by feeding on this Heavenly Manna." +The science may be at fault, but the thought is true. "It is the +boast of the Catholic Church," observes Cardinal Newman, "that she +can keep the young heart chaste, because she gives Jesus for food and +Mary for nursing-mother." I am quoting from memory, and do not vouch +for the exact accuracy of the quotation. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 18. + +Last night we passed the first two of the Azores. These islands were +discovered by Portuguese navigators about the middle of the fifteenth +century, and still belong to Portugal. They number nine in all, and +have a population of some 260,000. About noon we sight Pico, the +third of the group, and steam by it for hours, at a distance of six +or seven miles off. Though we have sunshine at sea, it is raining +and misting ashore, and we fail to get a good view. However, I have +counted as many as seven little villages where the snow-white +cottages form into clusters on the sloping shore. These islands are +of volcanic origin, and the conical peak of an extinct volcano seems +to have given its name to the island we are passing by. It is +visible for a moment or two, and we catch just a glimpse of it as it +peeps out of a cloud. But it is a coy peak and hastes to hide itself +beneath its veil of mist. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 19. + +I have learned that the mountain we passed yesterday rises to a +height of 7,460 feet, and slopes to the sea at an angle of 40 +degrees. The bare head of it, uplifted above its bed of cloud, and +outlined against the blue sky, with the sun shining full upon it, is +still vividly before my imagination. No human eye witnessed the +volcanic upheavel which cast this mountain peak up into the clouds +out of the bosom of the sea. But Captain Tillard of H.M.S. "Sabrina" +was eye-witness, in 1811, of the rise and extinction of an island in +the neighbourhood, which reached a height of 410 feet and was +swallowed up by the sea after an existence of 119 days. + +For more than a week we have held our lonely way on the ocean, no +sail seen, no smoke of steamer on the far horizon. The sea gulls +alone bear us company, whether the same birds that followed us from +the first, or fresh relays from the pastures of the deep, no one can +tell. Birds of ocean, foster-children of the wandering sea, their +home is on the rolling wave, their haunts no man may know. But the +same Providence that feeds the sparrows on the dry land gives food to +these rovers on the wilderness of waters. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 20. + +Our second Sunday at sea. I say the Rosary and Litany in the second +cabin, where there are a number of Italians. I also give a short +instruction. A wee mite of a boy, with the coal black hair and dark +complexion of the South, keeps eyeing me curiously the while, as if +wondering how one who looks so little like a countryman can speak the +language. + +Ever since we got fairly away from the American coast we have had +summer weather, the thermometer ranging from 50 to 70 degrees. The +temperature of the water has been even higher. One day it was 72 +degrees; this morning it was 62. The Gulf Stream is here at its +widest. Only the short day can bring home to us the fact that we are +at the winter solstice. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 21. + +To-day the larger gulls that haunt the seashore and nest in the rocks +are abroad. They are tokens that the land is not very far away. +Sometime to-night we reach Gibraltar, but must lie outside till +morning, for no ship can enter the port of that grim fortress save in +the day. + +Now that our ocean voyage is nearing its end, our thoughts turn back +to the loved ones we have left behind. The uppermost feeling in my +own mind at the moment is gratitude, first to God for all His +goodness, and next to the many friends, whether personally known to +me or not, who have so generously given of their means and freed my +mind from all anxiety on that score. I feel that I owe them more +than can be put in words. May the peace of God and His blessing +abide with them always, and may He, in His own way and in His own +good time, repay them a hundredfold. + +This batch of notes was mailed at Gibraltar. + +* * * + + + + +FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES + +II + +DECEMBER 22. + +Last night we reached Gibraltar and dropped anchor in the bay. It +was an impressive sight when first we came in view of land. On our +right lay Morocco, on our left Spain, and the lights on either shore +became visible about the same time. There are not many spots even on +this goodly globe of ours where one can see two continents. The +night was lovely, the air almost balmy, the stars were all out--ever +so many more stars than can be seen at home--and we stood long on +deck and gazed our fill at the splendour of the night. Truly the +skies declare the glory of God and the firmament of heaven shows +forth the work of His hands. + +This morning, about 8.30, most of the first-class passengers landed +in a tender. It was good to feel one's foot once more on terra +firma--and surely if there is firm footing on earth it is the Rock of +Gibraltar. The place I will not attempt to describe; that were quite +beyond me. Enough to say, and certainly not too much, that the +panorama which lies before one from half-way up the mountain--we had +not time to go all the way--is one of the grandest that anywhere +unfolds itself to the eye of man. And the city is full of interest. +It is the meeting-place of two continents, the free mart and seaport +of all nations, the most famous stronghold of the greatest empire +under the sun. One could wish if one had time, to study the various +types of humanity that gather here. By all odds the most striking is +the turban'd Moor, with his swart features, his impassive face, his +picturesque costume, his gait and carriage not lacking in dignity. +We enter the principal Catholic Church, rather a fine building, and +are happily able to assist at Mass. We see the Bishop for a moment, +an Italian Benedictine, a native of Siena, a very genial and pleasant +man. By eleven we are back on board, and by noon are steaming around +Barracks Point and entering the Mediterranean. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 23. + +We have made our best run--348 knots from noon yesterday till noon +to-day. Our ship, though a splendid seaboat, is not speedy, and +these two last trips has fallen behind her schedule. An expert +engineer, sent down especially from London, has joined us at +Gibraltar, and we are now making better time. Smooth seas, sunny +skies, and a summer temperature have made this latter part of our +voyage extremely pleasant, and yet we long for its end, or rather we +long to reach our goal. Several of the passengers left us at +Gibraltar, others joined us there. It is the way of life, which is +all summed up in a coming and a going and a passing away. In truth +we do but get glimpses of one another as we pass through it. How +short is all that comes to an end! "We have not here a lasting city, +but seek one which is to come." + +* * * + +DECEMBER 24. + + Sardinia's snowy mountain tops fringing the + southern sky. + + +The line comes back to me from school days, as I gaze on those +mountain-tops, bare and rugged, and snowless to-day. Sardinia is one +of the largest islands in the Mediterranean. It has a population of +more than 700,000. Once one of the granaries of Carthage, and later +of imperial Rome, it is now in great part untilled and barren. The +natives are more like Spaniards than Italians, though the island +belongs to Italy. In certain districts of the interior the people +speak the Latin tongue, which serves to confute the received +notion--never more than a wretched half-truth, and not even as +much--that Latin is a dead language. What, the language of the +Church Catholic a dead language! Not while she lives, and the +eternal years of God are hers. + +Christmas at sea; Christmas without the wonted Christmas cheer; +Christmas far from home and friends. But so were Mary and Joseph on +that first Christmas night in Bethlehem, far from home and friends. +And, please God, we are going to land in Naples to-morrow in time to +celebrate the Christ-Mass. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 25. + +Before daylight this Christmas morning we are on deck, where we +linger most of the time till our ship is docked in Naples at 10 a.m. +The approach to the city from the sea is very grand. In the gray +dawn we discern the light on Ischia, which shows far out at sea. As +day creeps on, the outline of Vesuvius becomes dimly visible through +the morning haze. We pass some islets, then Pozzuoli and other +suburbs of the queenly city. The sun is now full risen; 't is + + Morn on the waters, and purple and bright + +its light illuminates the lovely bay, gilds the heights of Sant' Elmo +and the roofs of Chiaia, which curves beneath. The docks and +shipping lie further on, and beyond them rises the giant form of +dread Vesuvius. Little wonder that lovers of panoramic scenery go +into raptures over this scene. If it is not "See Naples and die," at +any rate it is "See Naples and never-more forget." The words of the +well-known boat song come unbidden to one's lips: + + O dolce Napoli! + O suol beato! + Ove sorridere + Vuole il creato; + Tu sei l' impero + Dell' armonia; + Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia! + + O lovely Naples! + Favoured ground. + Where smiling Nature's + Charms abound; + The native home + Of beauty thou: + Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia! + + +It takes a deal of ceremony to get a big ship like ours docked, and a +deal of patience to wait on an empty stomach for the word to land. +At last we are ashore, through the custom-house, and on our way to +the Convent of the Soeurs de L'Esperance, No. 10 Via Santa Teresa, +Chiaia. We say Mass at 11.30 a.m. in the Church of St. Teresa hard +by, which, with the adjoining monastery is in the hands of the +Discalced Carmelites. In the afternoon we take a walk on the +esplanade, which runs along the bay, visit the Aquarium, mount the +hill to Sant' Elmo, and from that commanding height gaze upon the +city, the bay, and the broken ranges of mountains that stud the +coast. The native band of Chiaia, a great but inharmonious concert +of crowing roosters, awakens us next morning long before the dawn, +and by 10.30 we are getting our last glimpse of cloud-capped Vesuvius +from the window of the Romeward-bound train. + +* * * + +DECEMBER 26. + +The country through which we pass for the first hour or two after +quitting Naples does not yield in beauty or fertility even to the +plains of Lombardy. Every foot of it is tilled; the tillage is +intensive as well as extensive. Here the vine is trailed on great +rows of trees, the wide spaces between being now green with all +manner of vegetables, while the stately Italian pine lends an added +grace and dignity to the landscape. As we go further north, the +broad plain narrows into valleys hemmed in by bare and lofty +mountains, with here a village clinging to a rocky slope, and there a +lone monastery crowning a rugged crest. By noon we reach Casino, and +presently admiring eyes are raised to the giddy height where the +great abbey of that name, famed in story, lords it over all the land. + + +As straws show how the wind blows, so very little things serve +oftentimes to bring racial and national characteristics into clear +relief. Thus, over a plot of green in the public garden at Chiaia, I +read these formidable words of warning: I TRASGRESSORI SARANNO PUNITI +A NORMA DI LEGGE, which may be rendered: TRESPASSERS SHALL BE +PUNISHED TO THE LIMIT OF THE LAW. We simply and bluntly say: Keep +off the grass! Again, a railway ticket, on which with us are +sometimes found the words, Not transferable, bears here the blazoned +legend, La cessione e punita a termini di legge, that is to say, The +transfer is punishable in the precise manner laid down in the law. +On the other hand, the attempt of some Italian railway official to +ape your bluff Englishman, in rendering a notice graven in letters of +bronze on the window of our carriage, E pericoloso sporgersi--It is +dangerous to put one's head out of the window, comes to grief in this +ludicrous fashion, similarly cut in bronze, Don't stretch out! Ecco +Roma! We have finished our journey. Monday afternoon (Dec. 29) I +saw Cardinal Gotti. This (Tuesday), evening I go on retreat at the +Lazarist Mission House near Montecitorio, where I made my retreat for +the priesthood twenty-five years ago. Sunday (Jan. 3) is the day +fixed for the consecration. There is a hastening of events, as one +chapter of life draws to a close; and hastily I close this last +paragraph. + +* * * + + + + +FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO. + +WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 20, 1909. + +We leave Rome by the 10 a.m. express and reach Naples at 14.30. +Yesterday we came to Rome from Assisi. At Terni I bought a lunch +basket which contained (1) a paper napkin, (2) a knife, (3) a loaf of +bread, (4) a cake of sweetbread, (5) two slices of meat, (6) a couple +of slices of sausage, (7) salt, (8) a bit of chicken, (9) toothpicks, +(10) a bottle of wine, (11) an orange, (12) a piece of cheese, (13) +some walnuts--all for two francs. I question whether there is any +other country in the world where you could buy so much food for so +little money. + +A facchino, or railway porter, at Naples, plays us a scurvy trick. +We hand him over our luggage at the station, and tell him we want to +get a carriage to take us on board the Regina Margherita. After a +moment's thought, he tells us it is but two minutes' walk, and he +will take us on board for four francs--which we think rather too +much, but agree to give. He leads us along dirty streets for at +least ten minutes, and fetches up finally at a landing place, where +he and sundry boatmen engage in a war of words, to which vehement +gesticulations lend a sanguinary aspect--all calculated to impress us +with the difficulty of getting to our steamer. Presently he motions +us to step into one of the boats, which we, in our innocence, do in +fear and trembling, while he quickly makes off. But the boatman will +not budge till we have paid him four francs. Then he quietly rows us +round a ship, and up to a dock, where, to our surprise and great +disgust, we behold our Regina Margherita cosily moored! Two +Neapolitan ragamuffins extort further tribute for carrying our traps +on board. "For ways that are dark and tricks that are--vain" seems +hardly the word, and I leave the reader to finish the sentence. + +* * * + +THURSDAY, JANUARY 21. + +We awake this morning in the Strait of Messina, scene of the late +frightful catastrophe. On our right, but at some distance, is the +city of that name, once fair as few cities are, now a corpse, torn +and disfigured, with the light of life gone out of it. Farther up +the Strait, on our left, is ruined Reggio. At a first glance the +ruins are not seen, but closer scrutiny, with the help of a pair of +glasses, reveals them. One very large building in the upper part of +the town is still on its feet. In many cases the walls are left +standing, mute witnesses of the ruin within and without. I cannot +discern a single church tower or steeple in all the stricken city. +By ten o'clock we are off Cape Spartivento (Split-the-wind), the toe +of the Italian boot, and by twelve the last of the tall hills of +Southern Italy has faded away on the horizon. + +Great is Italian reverence for that which has been and is, an +admirable sentiment in its way, but one which tends to conserve in +being things that are and ought not to be. For example. I was +awakened this morning at five o'clock by a rattling noise which I +took to be due to some iron fastening having become loose. I groped +my way on deck, but could see nothing. Meeting one of the stewards, +I asked him what made the noise, "E il temone--it is the +steering-gear," he made answer, and suggested that I could get a room +on the lower deck where the noise would not be heard. Going on deck +after daylight I found the clatter was caused by a bolt, which kept +the rod of the steering-gear in place, having too much play. The +ship's smith was busied hard by with mending a windlass, and I drew +his attention to the matter. He eyed me in mild wonderment, and with +a characteristic shrug of the shoulders, said, "E sempre stato +cosi--It has always been like that." So there you are! Hundreds +upon hundreds of passengers have been robbed of their sleep by the +clatter of this bolt, but what of that? The nuisance must go +unabated, because--E sempre stato cosi! + +P. S. I must set on record the fact that the thing has since been +remedied: for the future, passengers in stateroom No --, of the +Regina Margherita may rest in peace. + +* * * + +FRIDAY, JANUARY 22. + +All the afternoon we are chased by a thunderstorm, but manage to keep +ahead of it. We do, however, get the wind that goes with it, and +there is a deal of motion in the ship, and a deal of squeamishness in +certain stomachs. By eight o'clock we have left the storm behind, +and by ten have abeam the light on a little island off Crete, or +Candia, as it is also called. We think of St. Paul and the hardships +he endured along this coast while he was on his way to Rome. The +Cretans of his time seem to have been a pretty bad lot, for he cites +"a prophet of their own" as saying that they were "always liars, +wicked brutes, lazy bellies," and vouches for the truth of the +indictment. But there must have been some good ones among them, for +he made many converts there, and gave his beloved disciple Titus to +be their first Bishop. + +* * * + +SATURDAY, JANUARY 23. + +I've had an interesting talk with two Franciscan Fathers, one the +Visitor-General of the Order, the other the well-known American +author, Paschal Robinson. We are now within ten hours' sail of +Egypt--Egypt old in story, of which the Sphinx is fitting emblem, +land of many riddles yet unsolved. We shall reach there before dawn +to-morrow. + +* * * + +WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 27. + +Back on board the Regina Margherita, and on the way to Jaffa (Joppa). +Early Sunday morning we land at Alexandria, say Mass in the +Franciscan Church there, and at 11 a.m. take the train for Cairo, +which we reach some three hours later. The distance is about 140 +miles. We are traversing perhaps the most fertile tract of country +in the world, along the delta of the Nile. It is one vast plain as +far as the eye can see, from edge to edge of the horizon, green with +growing crops of wheat and cotton. On all sides are groves of +acacias and lines of stately palm, while long caravans of camels, +passing parallel to the line of railway, lend an added +picturesqueness to the landscape. Egypt, to the intellect a land of +mystery, is to the eye a land of beauty--land of the evergreen. And +yet one misses the snow-capped mountains which make of Italy, and +still more of Switzerland, a fairyland of romance. Here it is always +summer, and the crops keep growing perennially; as many as four crops +are raised in the year. Little rain falls, and the tiller of the +soil would wish it were less than that little, for the waters of the +Nile irrigate the land, and it is the hot sun out of a cloudless sky +that favours growth. I have said the tiller of the soil when I +should have rather said the owner, who is generally a Jew or a Turk. +Your Arab Fellah gets his pittance of four piastres (about twenty +cents) a day, and is better off with that than he was before the +English came in, when the Khedive sent his servants to take heavy +toll of the ripened crops. + +The Arab subdued the Copt, lineal descendant of the ancient +Egyptians, and was in turn subdued by the Turk. He is a picturesque +figure, with his white turban or red fez, his flowing robes, his +sandalled, oftentimes bare, feet. The women are veiled up to the +eyes, with a curious covering on the nose, which seems to serve no +particular purpose and is certainly not an ornament. The young of +the male sex are for the most part of a pleasing appearance. But +with advancing years the features of these people take on a hard and +somewhat repulsive look, half of submission, half of hopelessness, +not unlike that which one sees in the eyes of that much abused beast +of burden, the ass, which for six decades of centuries has borne the +whips and scorns of his master, man. It is the fatalism of the race +that finds expression in that look--the feeling that it is of no use +kicking against the pricks of a relentless destiny. And so the Arab +goes his way, bearing the burden of life sadly but submissively. His +whole philosophy is summed up in the one word malesh (a as in "ma," e +as in "edge," both vowels long drawn out,) which is forever on his +lips: "It doesn't matter"--nothing matters in a world where so much +is amiss and so little can be mended. We spend two days in Cairo, +during which we visit Matarieh, Old Cairo, the citadel and famous +mosque of alabaster, the museum with its mummies, and the pyramids. +At Matarieh is the well of sweet water which gushed forth, tradition +has it, when the Holy Family came into Egypt, and the sycamore which +gave them shelter. The present tree is more than three hundred years +old. At Old Cairo is shown the site of the cottage in which dwelt +the Holy Family. It is in the crypt of an ancient basilica, the +style of which bespeaks the fifth or sixth century. The place is in +the hands of the Schismatical Copts; it was the daughter of the +Coptic priest who unlocked the door for us. In Old Cairo one sees +the Arab in the primeval environment of the unchanging East. All is +primitive here. Bedouin and Jew, camel, donkey, and goat move along +pell-mell, jostling one another in the narrow, crooked, foul-smelling +streets. I would not advise a visit to the market-place just before +dinner--it might spoil one's appetite. There is some very ancient +dirt in Old Cairo--and some that is not so ancient. Newman says +somewhere that no dirt is immortal, but he is speaking of another +sort of dirt, and, anyhow, he never set foot in this Egyptian town, +laved but washed not by the waters of the Nile. + +In striking contrast to the lowly ass, is that other beast of burden, +the lordly camel. With what lofty disdain it sniffs the air as it +looks down upon its mean environment--pigmy man included. It is a +proud creature--proud even of the hump on its back. It has been +tamed by man after a fashion, but not subdued, and its eyes belie the +obedience that it outwardly yields to its puny master. + +* * * + +ROME, MARCH 9, 1909. + +We returned from the East a couple of weeks ago, and are now getting +ready to leave for home. We are to sail from Southampton for New +York on the 31st. Of our visit to the Holy Land I write nothing now; +I may later, but life is uncertain. Of Egypt I might have written +more, but my notes are lost, as ill luck would have it, and I write +from memory. Had not those notes been lost--in some such way we used +to put it in boyhood's days when spinning sgialachan by the +fireside--this letter had been longer. + + + + +THROUGH SPAIN. + +Two things led me to leave the "Saxonia" at Gibraltar, and journey +through the Spanish peninsula. I wanted to go to Lourdes, and I +wanted to drink in the memories of St. Teresa, Spain's chiefest +glory, at the fountain-head. At Algeciras, right across from +Gibraltar, I set foot for the first time on the soil of Spain. The +train for Ronda was waiting, and I stepped on board. The railway +passes through a wild, mountainous region, rich in traces of the +Moorish occupation. At Ronda I said Mass in the chapel of the Little +Sisters of the Poor. One of the Sisters was from Dumfries, in +Scotland, and one from our own Quebec. I asked them how they came to +be in Ronda, and they said they were like soldiers and had to go +where they were sent. The Little Sisters have their houses and do +their Christlike work in many parts of the world. Wherever the +Catholic Church is, where the Cross of Christ points heavenward, +there they are at home. + +* * * + +Andalusia comprises the four old Moorish Kingdoms of Jaen, Seville, +Granada, and Cordova. It is the most fascinating province of Spain. +The scenic beauty of mountain and valley soothes the mind, while the +soft languorous climate steeps the senses in repose. To the +voluptuous Mohammedan Andalusia was well worth fighting for. And +long he fought and fiercely ere he gave it back finally to the sons +of Spain. + +* * * + +The region from Ronda to Seville is wonderfully fertile. So indeed +is nearly the whole of Spain--land of the vine and the olive, land of +corn and wheat, land of clear blue skies and brilliant sun. Seville, +on the banks of the Guadalquiver, is a city of great interest, +possessing a wealth of historical associations. It has passed +through many vicissitudes from the time of the Romans down. The long +domination of the Moors has stamped an oriental character upon it. I +said Mass at the Convent of the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary, +founded by the famous Mary Ward. The Sisters are commonly known as +the Loreto Nuns, and in Spain as "Las Madres Irlandesas." They teach +a day school in Seville, and have a boarding school outside the city. +I met one who said she was connected by ties of kinship with the +family of St. Teresa. She wrote for me in Spanish a saying of the +saint, which shows she was human enough to hate Seville because it +was so hot: "Whoever suffers the heat of Seville with patience has +done penance enough." It seems a pity the human element should have +been almost wholly eliminated from our Lives of the Saints. The run +of those that have come down to us, especially from mediæval times, +are little more than an abstract of the heroic virtues practised by +the saints and the miracles performed by them. The servants of God +are set up on a pedestal so high and so far away that we feel as if +we could never hope to get near to them at all. And yet they had +their human side, to us intensely interesting, for, to apply in a +good sense what was first written disparagingly, + + One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. + +* * * + +At Seville I visited the monastery of Discalced Carmelites founded by +St. Teresa. The present one was built by St. John of the Cross in a +different locality from that of the original monastery, because the +situation of this latter one was found to be unhealthy. Over the +grille is a wooden cross erected by St. John, the faithful co-worker +of St. Teresa, a man of lofty spirit kindred to her own. I was shown +an autograph letter of his, bearing date March 28, 1586. The +handwriting is very legible. Of St. Teresa's own relics there are +the following: (1) an autograph letter, signed "Teresa of Jesus," the +name being spelled as written, not "Theresa," which follows the +French "Thérèse;" (2) a bit of the hair shirt worn by the saint; (3) +a medicine bottle used by her in her last illness--which shows her to +have been human to the end; (4) a large white woolen mantle that she +wore, the mantle of her Order; (5) one of her slippers, now so richly +embroidered that the original cannot be seen; (6) last and far the +most signal relic of all, the autograph original of the Interior +Castle, or Castle of the Soul, perhaps her greatest work. The +handwriting is somewhat peculiar, and the text not easily read, +because in many cases the syllables are separated. This priceless +autograph is in an excellent state of preservation, bound with heavy +plates of gold. It came into possession of the monastery, the nuns +told me, through one of the first novices of the community, her +father, a gentleman of high social standing, having received it from +a Carmelite priest who was intimate in life with St. Teresa. + +* * * + +The Father Prior of the Discalced Carmelites at Seville, who speaks +English well, having spent some years in England as a missionary, +gave me a story handed down by tradition in the Carmelite Order. It +shows at once the terms of loving familiarity on which St. Teresa +lived with Our Lord and her ready wit. The convent at Burgos, in the +north of Spain, was her last foundation. She feared to go there in +mid-winter because of the cold, but Our Lord reminded her that He was +the source of all warmth. The roads being all but impassable, she +and her companions suffered great hardships, and at one place were +nearly drowned in the waters of a stream that had overflowed its +banks. Gently complaining to her Divine Spouse, she was told that +these were favours He reserved for His friends. "That," she +rejoined, "is why your friends are so few!" "She as very saucy with +Him," said an Irish nun at Madrid, on my reciting this story. The +playful sally finds its proper setting and balance in those other +words of the saint that we read in her _Foundations_, ch. xxxi: "O my +Lord, how true it is that you repay with a cross those who do you a +service! But what an inestimable treasure that cross is to those who +truly love you, were it but given them at once to realize its value! +And yet, they would not have sought to possess themselves of the +treasure, the price to be paid seeming at the moment too great." So +hard is it for us to bear what presses here and now upon us, even +when we are quite persuaded that every trial is a crucible for the +minting of heaven's gold. + +* * * + +I did but pass through Madrid on my way to Avila. The city is +modern, having none of the quaintness of other Spanish towns. The +Loreto Nuns have a convent and school in the outskirts. Even the +little tots must speak English. A course at this convent is greatly +desired for their daughters by Spanish mothers since Princess +Victoria came to share with Alfonso the throne of Spain. + +* * * + +About midway between Madrid and Avila, with great ridges of rock +above and around it, stands the palace of the Escorial, built by +Philip the Second, husband of Mary Tudor. It compares with the +pyramids of Egypt in size and solidity. It is at once a palace, a +monastery, a church, and a mausoleum. There are not in all the world +more gorgeous tombs than those that here enclose the ashes of the +kings and queens of Spain. In the treasury of the monastery I saw +the little statue of the Blessed Virgin before which Pope St. Pius V +prayed during the battle of Lepanto. Queen Elizabeth II has decked +it with a crown of brilliants. In the library, among manuscripts of +priceless value, are four of the autograph writings of St. Teresa, +the Book of the Foundations, the Manner of Visiting Convents, the Way +of Perfection, and the Life by herself. All these were collected, +not without difficulty, by the royal founder of the Escorial, who +died sixteen years after St. Teresa, in 1598. + +* * * + +Avila, famed evermore as the birthplace and home of St. Teresa, is +situated in the centre of the province of that name, west of Segovia +and south of Valladolid. The hill on which it stands rises out of an +undulating country to the north, and, on the south, overlooks a broad +plain which stretches away almost as far as the eye can see to a +range of mountains known as the Sierras of Avila. The waters of the +Adaja river bathe the foot of the cliffs to the west. On the +southwestern slope of the hill, facing the wide extent of meadow land +and the distant mountains, stands the old home of St. Teresa, +enclosed within a Dominican monastery. Here one is shown the room +where she was born, now a chapel in which the Blessed Sacrament is +kept. Here also, but some feet under the ground--for old things have +a way of sinking into the earth--, is the little garden where, a +child of seven, she played at being a nun, and with her brother, four +years her senior planned to seek the crown of martyrdom among the +Moors. "We settled," she tells us, "to go together to the country of +the Moors, begging our way there for the love of God, that we might +be beheaded there." "I ran away," was the naive excuse precocious +piety gave her mother, "because I wanted to see God, and one cannot +do that without dying." + +* * * + +Avila is little changed since Teresa de Ahumada and Rodriquez de +Cepeda stole softly along its cobbled streets and left its lofty +portals behind, in the gray dawn of that summer's day, some four +hundred years ago. The stones, since worn by many feet, are the same +that they trod; the stout walls that defied Moorish assault still +look proudly down upon the stranger that enters at the gate. Outside +the walls are two religious houses which are fragrant with the +memories of St. Teresa. One is the Convent of St. Joseph, the other +the Monastery of the Incarnation. The latter stands on a hill a few +hundred yards to the north of the town. There Teresa first made her +vows, and there she lived for twenty-seven years, three of which she +was Prioress. Among her relics there are (1) a little water jug, (2) +a crucifix borne by her when she went forth to found new convents, +(3) the key of her cell, (4) a document concerning the dowry of a +religious, signed by the saint and the four nuns who established with +her the new foundation. I sat in the chair, by the side of the +grille, where St. Peter of Alcantara and St. Francis Borgia conversed +with her on spiritual subjects. It was there that a nun, happening +along one day, found herself and St. John of the Cross raised above +the ground in an ecstasy of contemplation. The quick-witted Teresa +put it all on her companion. "See," she said, "what comes of talking +with Father John!" + +* * * + +St. Joseph's of Avila, now known as the Convent of St. Teresa, is on +the east side, just outside the walls, but within the town limits. +It was the saint's first foundation, the beginning of the Reform. +Here are several relics, among others a tambourine on which the saint +used to play. Her body lies incorrupt at Alba de Tormes, where she +died. The morning I went to say Mass at St. Joseph's, I was +accompanied by two English ladies, a mother and daughter, Anglicans +both, very High Church, and very much interested in all that related +to St. Teresa. They knelt to the Blessed Sacrament on entering, and +assisted at Mass with every mark of devotion. We afterwards spoke +with the nuns at the grating. They showed us the relics of their +holy foundress, and bade us be sure to visit the chapel built by her +in connection with her first foundation. I had told the mother the +night before of the sweet odor I perceived when, at the Escorial, the +Augustinian Father had opened the glass case that contained the four +autograph writings of St. Teresa. Just as we entered the chapel I +felt the same sweet odor, and asked the mother if she perceived it. +"Yes," she said, "but it is a very elusive odor." A nun at Seville +had spoken to me of the odor exhaled by the relics of the saint, and +had said that some perceived it but others didn't, and that even to +the same person it was perceptible at times, at other times not. It +seemed to me something like the odor of incense, and yet I am quite +sure it was not that. I was much impressed with the fact that it was +the self-same odor I perceived in those two widely distant places. + +* * * + +At the hotel in Avila I met an American lady who had not visited her +native land in five years. She was so taken with Europe, she said, +that she thought she should never cross the Atlantic again. Perhaps +the recent terrible happenings may have made her change her mind. +The conversation turning on St. Teresa, I said I looked upon her as +being, after the Blessed Virgin, the greatest woman saint that ever +lived. My American friend believed she must yield the palm to St. +Catherine of Siena. And truly the latter may contest the palm in the +outer world of action. But I was thinking rather of the inner world +of the spirit, where piety rears "a building of God, a house not made +with hands." No one has thrown clearer or more copious light upon +the things of that inner world than the author of "The Way of +Perfection" and "The Castle of the Soul." For the rest, "star +differs from star in brightness," and it is not for us, short-sighted +and dim of vision as we are, to say which shines with the greatest +lustre. Stars there are, too, in the firmament of the Church that +have never swum into our ken. We shall see them when we have passed +hence, even as those who pass to the other side of the globe behold +the Southern Cross.--Mrs. Hemans's lines on that brilliant +constellation come to one unbidden: they are put in the mouth of some +son or daughter of Spain: + + Thou recallest the ages when first o'er the main + My fathers unfolded the ensign of Spain, + And planted their faith in the regions that see + Its unperishing symbol emblazoned in thee. + + Shine on--my own land is a far distant spot, + And the stars of thy sphere can enlighten it not, + And the eyes that I love, though e'en now they may be + O'er the firmament wandering, can gaze not on thee! + +* * * + +On leaving Avila I visited Valladolid. To me the most interesting +place there was the Scots College, once a home of the Jesuits and +their house of studies in the days of the great Suarez. Here many of +the men who kept the torch of faith burning in the Scottish Highlands +during the dark night of persecution received their education for the +priesthood. The Very Reverend Alexander MacDonald, V.G., who died at +Mabon, Cape Breton, in 1865, left Valladolid for Lismore, Scotland, +in 1816, as the college records bear witness. It was from him I got +in baptism the light of faith. + +* * * + +I slept at San Sebastian on my way to Lourdes. Of my visit to that +famous shrine I write elsewhere. + + + + +LOURDES REVISITED. + +VICTORIA, B.C., AUGUST, 1914. + +I visited Lourdes again in May of the present year. Much water had +passed under the old stone bridge that spans the Gave since last I +gazed on that swirling stream, and listened to the hoarse music of +its voice. Lourdes has grown a great deal in these fourteen years. +The old town has widened its bounds on the right bank of the river, +and on the left the low meadow land is covered with shops and hotels. +These, indeed, may be said to make up the town. In the shops, as I +also noted when last I was there, the wares are almost wholly of a +devotional character--a fact that gave rise to the following +incident. The joke that gives it point is at my own expense. + +I left my soap at Saint Sebastian, the last town in Spain ere you +cross into France. It may be needful to tell the reader that the +traveller in Europe has to carry his own soap. I wanted to buy that +necessary article in Lourdes, but did not know where to get it. The +stores that lined the streets on either side seemed to offer nothing +but beads, medals, statues, etc. What was worse, I could not for the +life of me recall the French word for soap. I tried to get at it +through the Italian "sapone." Cutting off the final vowel, I entered +the nearest store, and boldly asked for "sapon." The salesmaid at +first looked puzzled. But on my repeating the order, her face broke +into a smile of comprehension. Quickly she sped to a corner of the +store, and thence brought me a tiny statue of St. Paul! "Sapon," no +doubt, sounded more like "Saint Pol" than like the elusive "savon" +that I had tried in vain to get hold of. Going into another shop, +where a window bore the legend "English and German spoken," I asked +for soap. They told me the girl who was to wait on English-speaking +customers had not yet joined the staff. I inquired in Italian if +they knew that language, and to my great relief was answered in the +affirmative, and directed to a little shop down a near street, where +I bought an excellent piece of soap that is still in my possession. + +Man has wrought many changes in Lourdes. Only the works of God +remain unchanged. The Gave flows merrily on, singing its way to the +sea. Round about are the eternal hills, which change not. The +grotto in the rocks of Massabielle still looks out over the hurrying +river, even as Our Lady, from her quiet niche, smiles down upon the +ever flowing and ebbing multitude at her feet. How mighty has been +that tide of pilgrimage since last I knelt before the statue of Our +Lady there! Day by day, month by month, year by year, it keeps +renewing itself, flowing ever onward like the leaping waters of the +Gave. + +I reached Lourdes on the eve of Saturday, May 10, and stayed there +over Sunday. The great Swiss national pilgrimage was there, in eight +trains; a pilgrimage from Metz in two trains; a mixed pilgrimage from +Strassburg, in two trains; the seventeenth pilgrimage from Namur in +three trains; the ninth national Bavarian pilgrimage in two trains; +and the ninth Austrian, also in two trains. There were in all some +fifteen thousand pilgrims, of many nations and many tongues. But one +was the faith that drew them thither; one the devotion. And one was +the hymn they sang in unison in the marvellous torchlight procession +that night. I stood watching it as it wound its way down the great +oval pathway through the meadow of Lourdes. The spire of the stately +basilica that stands over the Grotto, the grand façade, and the +Church of the Rosary beneath, were all ablaze. Then ten thousand +pilgrims, a very torrent of moving lights, poured into the pathway, +circled slowly round it, swaying and singing as they passed along. +The sounds that rose upon the night air, under the listening stars, +were as the voices of the sea. + +A thought that saddens comes to me as I write these words, after +three short months. Many, many of the men who walked side by side in +that procession have ere now met face to face on European +battlefields. Man is part beast, and part angel. The angel is of +God, the beast of the earth, earthy. And the beast that is in man, +true to its nature, fights its fellows; the angel can but weep over +the fallen and the slain. + + +What a sight that was of sick and suffering humanity before the +statue of Our Lady in the rocks of Massabielle! It seemed as if all +the ills that poor human flesh is heir to were brought together +there. One had not the heart to ask favours for oneself, so piteous +was the spectacle of so much misery unrelieved. For out of the +thousands that yearly seek a cure at Lourdes but few are made whole. +Yet all are renewed in spirit, and strengthened to bear their +ailments with Christian resignation. It is not that they want faith; +it is rather that God does not will to free even those who have faith +from all evil here below. "It is appointed unto man once to die." +Through many tribulations, through the gates of death itself, we must +enter into the Kingdom of God, Kingdom of endless ages, whereon, as +St. Augustine so beautifully expresses it, "sits the untroubled +light, and the peace of God that passeth all understanding." +Meanwhile in patience we shall possess our souls. + + +A year ago one came to Lourdes, a girl from a town in France, sick +beyond all human hope of recovery. She had a complication of +maladies, including consumption in its last stage. Her doctor, an +unbeliever, deemed it madness in her to undertake the long journey. +But go she would. He told her, if she were cured, he himself would +go with her next year to Lourdes. They were both of them there the +Sunday I was there--she to thank Our Lady for the wondrous favour, he +to ponder upon the superhuman power that wrought it, and to find, let +us hope, healing and peace for his soul. + + +In a corner of France, amid the foothills and under the shadow of the +Pyrenees, Lourdes lies sheltered with its holy shrine. Afar it lies +from the madding strife that now ravages and reddens with blood many +a fair field that was white unto harvest. Let us pray Our Lady that +the war may soon be over--that He who chid the wild waves on the sea +of Galilee may now stay the fierce onset of angry passions, and bring +a great calm. + + + + +A FEW MORE STRAY LEAVES AND TRACES. + +The passage from New York to Gibraltar took twelve days. The +"Saxonia" is slow, but sure and steady. There was little +sea-sickness, and less cause for it, but small-pox broke out in the +steerage our first day at sea. The child--for a child it was that +showed the dread symptoms--was at once placed in the isolation +hospital. We all had to be vaccinated, and the "Saxonia" steamed +into the harbour of Funchal, Madeira, flying the yellow-jack. There +was, however, little fear of infection among our fellow-passengers in +the first cabin, as became apparent the night before we made port. +There was a dance on the deck, which we were all invited to join. +Conspicuous on the list of dances that lay before each passenger as +we sat down that evening to the dinner table was "the vaccination +waltz!" Next morning a pathetic little wooden box, roughly +carpentered, was landed at Madeira. It contained the remains of the +little child which had died in port--not of small-pox, which had +turned out after all to be chicken-pox--but of two hard-boiled eggs +administered by a fond mother during convalescence. So at least the +story ran on board ship, though I fancy it was just made up to free +us the more completely from apprehension. + + +Madeira is one of the loveliest islands of the sea. The waters +around it are of the deepest blue, and its sloping fields of the +richest verdure. Funchal, the capital city, is on the shores of a +winding bay. The houses spotlessly white, the roofs red-tiled, form +a pleasing contrast of colour with the green of the fields and the +tropical trees around about them. Madeira belongs to Portugal. The +inhabitants are almost all of them Catholics, and very devout. The +storm of persecution that so lately burst over the mother country has +spared this distant daughter in her sea-girt home. + + +Quitting the boat at Gibraltar, and passing by rail through Spain and +the south of France, I reached Rome before the middle of May. Rome +is greatly changed since I knew it first, and changed, I am free to +own, for the better. New streets have been opened, old ones +straightened and widened, and all the streets are fairly well kept. +The city has taken over the magnificent Villa Borghese, and turned it +into a park, to which access is given, out of the very heart of Rome, +from piazza, Barberini, along a broad highway, across the Pincian +Hill. The deep valley beyond is bridged by a lofty embankment. No +city is more favoured than Rome in its parks and fountains. + + +Rome is greatly changed, too, spiritually, and for the better. There +is more of devotion in the churches; more of respect, or at least of +outward respect, for the pilgrim in the streets. In Rome +ecclesiastical things are pretty much as they have always been. +There is a saying familiar to the theologian, _Communia +vilescunt_--common things are held uncommonly cheap. What so common +as the priest in Rome! None so poor as to do him reverence. Even a +bishop on occasion does not fare much better. Apropos of this I have +been told a story, which to quote the well-worn Italian saying, _Se +non é vero, é ben trovato_--if not true, is a clever take-off, and +may serve to point a moral. + + +Last winter there was a grand function in the Sixtine Chapel. The +Holy Father was there, and the place was packed with people. They +kept pressing forward in their eagerness to get near the Pope. At +last the papal guard turned their backs to the multitude, and held +them there. A belated Cardinal tried to force his way through, but +couldn't. Taking one of the guard by the shoulder, he told him who +he was and that he had to get by. "Oh, pardon me, your Eminence," +cried the soldier, greatly taken aback, "I thought you were only a +Bishop!" + + +The public consistory of May the 28th, viewed simply as a pageant, +was well worth waiting for. Cardinals and bishops, in their scarlet +and purple robes, lined the front seats, and the elect Cardinals, in +gorgeous panoply, brought up the rear of a long procession. The +ambassadors to the Holy See and the heads of the old noble families +of Rome, were conspicuous in seats specially reserved for them. But +what struck one as without parallel in so august an assemblage was +this singular circumstance: a peasant from Riese sat in the throne of +Peter, and three other peasants from Riese, two sisters and a niece, +who bore about them all the marks of their peasant ancestry, occupied +the place of honour in a tribune hard by. It was the apotheosis of +democracy. The like had never been seen at the Papal Court, at least +since the swineherd Sixtus, the fifth of that name, refused to +receive, when dressed as a fine lady, the mother whom he afterwards +welcomed when she came back to him in her peasant costume. + + +It is not easy to gain admittance to a papal consistory, and thereby +hangs another tale. From immemorial time the noble Roman families +have a sort of prescriptive right to a large number of admission +tickets, which they use in part themselves, and in part, it is said, +offer for sale in the hotels of Rome. These are eagerly bought up by +tourists and travellers, who are largely Protestant. Hence it comes +to pass that while a bishop often cannot get a ticket for an +attendant priest, hundreds of Protestants and unbelievers hold +prominent places at the consistory. The story is of the time when +Pasquino (whence our English "pasquinade") entertained the Romans +with his clever satirical skits. They took the form of cartoons, and +were placed during the night at the foot of a statue to which all +Rome was wont to take its way to amuse itself of a morning. After +one of the public consistories, this is what greeted the eye of Rome. +Two young men are hurrying to the Vatican. Some curious passer-by +bids them the time of day, and would know why they hasten so. "We +are on our way," they say, "to the Vatican, to the consistory." "But +where is the use of your going; you can't get in." "Oh, that's all +right," rejoin the confident pair, "we turned Protestant yesterday!" + + +On leaving Rome I visited Assisi, fraught with memories of St. +Francis and St. Clare, Loreto, also, with its Holy House, and from +Ancona crossed to Tersatto, near Fiume, where the Angels first set +down the House of the Virgin when they came with it over the sea. I +recrossed the Adriatic to Venice in an Austrian boat. Four of us +slept in one small stateroom, packed like sardines. I could barely +squeeze into my berth, and passed the night in dread lest the big +burly German (known to be such by his gutturals) who occupied the +upper berth should fall through and quite flatten me out. My +sympathies have always been with the under dog, and henceforth will +be more than ever--for I was the under sardine! + + +We came to Venice in the early morning when the newly risen sun had +turned everything into gold. There she sat a queen upon the waters. +Small wonder that one Joseph Sarto should have pined, and pines +still, in his prison-palace of the Vatican, for this old home of his +on the sea, which it is his inclement destiny never more to set eyes +on. Venice is a city without streets. Instead there are canals and +corridors--canals where glide the swan-like gondolas, and corridors +between the houses, so narrow that people living on opposite sides +may shake hands across. + + +While I sat writing the last paragraph the life of Pope Pius the +Tenth was slowly ebbing away. He was passing to the better world, +where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. He +had fought the good fight, he had kept the faith. He had laboured +while yet it was day, knowing that the night cometh when no one can +labour more. His was a truly simple and apostolic life. He had a +single eye to the glory of God and the good of his fellow-man. If +ever there was one who could say that he sought not the office, but +that the office sought him, he was the Pope whose loss we mourn. He +has done an enduring work for God and the Church, and has left an +inspiring example of a life untainted with worldliness and fragrant +with faith and good works. _Eternal rest grant to him, O Lord, and +let light perpetual shine upon him!_ + + +I spent a night in Domodossola just beyond the beautiful Lago +Maggiore, in the Italian Alps. Here the Rosminian Fathers have a +college for boys, largely attended. A unique feature of the museum +is a room filled with labelled specimens of the different kinds of +stone taken from the great Simplon tunnel--an almost endless variety. +Beyond the Simplon, on the Swiss side, the train, which is driven by +electricity, passes along the side of a precipitous mountain. An +Alpine river winds its way two thousand feet below. From the window +of the train I caught a glimpse of a flying aeroplane, about midway +down. Far beyond on the other side the eye rested on great fields of +untrodden snow. The valleys of Switzerland are for the most part so +narrow that it is easy to get a good view of the wonderful mountain +scenery. + + +At Berne I had just time to pay a visit to my old acquaintances--I +dare not say friends--the bears. There are as many as seven of them +now in the underground enclosure across the Aar river, the cubbies +that I saw on my first visit having grown into bears. I bought one +or two specimens of the beast in wood, and saw many more that would +have made interesting additions to my former repertoire--bears +painting, bears playing cards, bears playing the piano, bears working +in wood, bears smoking long German pipes, bears nursing sick bears, +and bears rejoicing in the birth of cubbies! + + +From Berne I passed to Strassburg, from Strassburg along the banks of +the Rhine to Cologne, and from Cologne to Aix-la-Chapelle, known to +me from schooldays as a place where peace treaties were signed. +Peace then brooded on the land, a land of plenty, smiling with +promise of a rich harvest. But on every hand were soldiers, and the +whole nation appeared to be cast in a military mould. Whatever the +outcome of the terrible war into which Europe is plunged to-day, the +future historian will record and lay due stress on this significant +fact, that Germany led the world in war-like preparation, and that +other nations did but strive to keep pace with her. + +The return voyage, on the Empress of Britain, was almost without +incident. One day of storm we had, in mid-ocean, when our big ship +was tossed about and great seas broke over her. A day or two later, +on the banks of Newfoundland, an iceberg was sighted almost directly +ahead. It looked ghostlike as it loomed up out of the haze, and the +air for miles around was chill as winter. I left the ship at +Rimouski, about sunrise of a July morning, close to the spot where +her sister ship went down a few weeks before with almost every soul +on board. At Rimouski I took an eastbound train to my old home, +feeling, as I never felt before, the force of Sir Walter's undying +lines: + + Breathes there a man with soul so dead + Who never to himself hath said, + This is my own, my native land! + Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, + As home his footsteps he hath turned + From wandering on a foreign strand. + + + + +[Transcriber's note: The material in French without accents is as +printed, as are any odd and unusual spellings.] + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79240 *** |