
 
 

 
 <* 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 F. S<Mi< ; cal. Tinpritnoiir.
 

 
 CATHOLIC LEGENDS: 
 
 Itctu Collection, 
 
 SELECTED, TRANSLATED, AND ARRANGED 
 
 PROM THE BEST SOURCES. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 V. & J. SADLIER & CO., 31 BARCLAY STREET. 
 
 BOSTON: 128 FEDERAL STREET. 
 MOMTRKAL : COR. OF XOTRK DAMK AND ST. FRANCIS IAVIIR SIS. 
 
 Thr Author irfM-rvci to Uimrlf the rijt'ut of authorising TrmntUtioni of thii Work.
 
 sx 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE itle of Catholic Legends, given to he 
 contents of the present volume, makes 
 a few words necessary in explanation 
 of an expression which with some may 
 be misunderstood. 
 
 The design with which these stories 
 and anecdotes have been collected lias 
 been to furnish a few examples of that peculiar beauty 
 which is so intimately associated with the Catholic 
 Church and every thing that proceeds from her. It 
 is not pretended that the illustrations here given of 
 the various types in which that beauty displays itself 
 are more than their name imports ; they are strictly 
 " legendary," and may or may not be historically true 
 as matters of actual fact. Undoubtedly they are sub- 
 stantially true, so far as being a representation not only 
 of what in its nature may appear, and does appear, con- 
 timially in the history of the mysterious intercourse 
 between the visible and the invisible, but as being 
 founded on distinct and actual facts, all of whose de- 
 tails have not been sufficiently verified by critical in- 
 vestigation to entitle them to be ranked as historical. 
 They are to the eye of the mind what a picture of any 
 
 545063
 
 Till PREFACE. 
 
 long-past actual event is to the eye of the body; con- 
 veying a vivid idea of what in substance occurred, but 
 accompanied with various accessories, as colouring, and 
 light and shade, which spring from the painter's ima- 
 gination, and serve to impress the living reality on the 
 spectator's mind without imposing unwarrantably upon 
 his credulity. As such, they are not only interesting 
 and beautiful, but positively instructive. 
 
 On the minds of the young they are calculated to 
 exercise a most beneficial influence. Provided that due 
 care is taken to impress upon the growing intelligence 
 the true character and weight of these " legends," they 
 will tend to feed the imagination with that nourishment 
 which it ardently desires, and which it is most impor- 
 tant to supply to it, in immediate connection with the 
 realities of the invisible world, and not with purely 
 secular romance and poetiy alone. 
 
 In some cases the narratives have been thrown into 
 a more dramatic shape than that in which they are to 
 be found in their original forms. And if the same plan 
 has not been followed with all, we must claim the pri- 
 vilege of a story-teller, and ask leave to tell our tales 
 in whatever style and fashion the nature of each has 
 seemed to require. 
 
 A very few of the following stories have before ap- 
 peared in an English form, though not dentical with 
 their present shape.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 MM 
 
 I. The Church of St. Sabina .... 1 
 
 II. The Legend of Blessed Sadoc and the Forty -nine 
 
 Martyrs 8 
 
 HI. The Vision of the Scholar 15 
 
 IV. The Legend of Blessed Egidius, or Giles . . 24 
 V. Our Lady of Chartres . . - . . .83 
 VL The Legend of Blessed Bernard and his two No- 
 vices .37 
 
 VII. The Lake of the Apostles 42 
 
 VIII. The Child of the Jew 47 
 
 IX. Our Lady of Galloro 50 
 
 X. The Children of the Justiniani . . . .59 
 XL The Deliverance of Antwerp ... .64 
 XII. Our Lady of Good Counsel, at Genazzano . . 67 
 
 XIII. The Three Knights of St. John . . . .75 
 
 XIV. The Convent of St. Cecily 85 
 
 XV. The Knight of Champfleury . . . .94 
 
 XVI. Zulima, the Moorish Maiden . . . .103 
 
 XVII. Legend of the Abbey of Einsiedeln . . . Ill 
 
 XVIII. The Madonna della Grotta, Naples . . .119 
 
 XIX. The Monks of Lerins 123 
 
 XX. Eusebia of Marseilles 135 
 
 XXI. The Legend of Placidus 138 
 
 XXII. The ^anrtnarv of Our Lndv of the Thorns . . 152
 
 j CONTENTS. 
 
 MM 
 
 XXHI. Catherine of Rome 156 
 
 XXTV. The Miracle of Typasus 160 
 
 XXV. The Demon-Preacher 176 
 
 XXVI. The Legend of the Hermit Nicholas . . .190 
 
 XXVII. The Martyr of Rreux ... . 208 
 
 XXVKL The Legend of St. Csedmon . . . .211 
 
 XXDC The Scholar of the Rosary . ... 222 
 
 XXX. The Legend of St. Hubert .... 228 
 
 XXXL The Shepherdess of Nanterre . 241
 
 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 THE CHURCH OF ST. SABINA. 
 
 H E Catholic traveller, 
 whose devotion leads him 
 to some of those manv 
 
 churches of modern Rome which 
 are in one way or another like volumes of 
 the stories of saints, can hardly fail to visit, 
 among others, the Convent of Santa Sabina on the 
 Aventine Hill, once the residence of St. Dominic, and 
 which from his time to our own has ever continued to 
 be occupied by his children. It is full of him and of 
 his order. There, as you stand outside, you may see 
 green lanes winding- down among the almond-trees 
 to the long road 01 the Via Appia which lies below, 
 where, by the way-side, stands the Convent of San 
 Sisto, which he gave up to the nuns whom he planted 
 there, whilst he himself came with his brethren to re- 
 side at Santa Sabina. One may fancy it the very path 
 worn by the holy patriarch's feet on those daily visits 
 which we are told he paid to his spiritual daughters ; for 
 it seems to have no other purpose than, as it were, to 
 be a green cloister between the two Churches of Santa
 
 2 CATHOLIC I.I:<;K.\DS. 
 
 Sabina and San Sisto. If you look above the door, as you 
 pull the convent-bell, you will see a half-defaced fresco, 
 depicting 1 one in the white habit and black mantle of the 
 Friars-Preachers ; whilst on either side are angels with 
 torches in their hands, who seem lighting' him on his 
 way. It is St. Dominic, who was himself' so escorted 
 one night on his return to his convent ; and whom the 
 angels "left courteously" (as one of his biographers says) 
 at this very door at which you stand. You step into the 
 cloister ; and before entering the church, you may see, 
 in the little quadrangular enclosure, the orange -tree 
 planted by his own hand. Lift the heavy curtain, and 
 you stand within the church itself; scarcely altered in its 
 general features, though six Imndred years have passed 
 since he kept his nightly vigils and disciplined himself 
 to blood within its walls, or took his scanty rest leaning 
 against one of those" pillars on a stone you may see on 
 the right hand engraved with his name, and preserved 
 there for the veneration of the faithful. It is not a 
 rich or highly-ornamented church. No long line of 
 chapels on either side dazzle the eye with their pictures; 
 the nave is bare and unbroken in its severe and majestic 
 solemnity. On the arch above the choir there is a 
 mystic painting of sheep clustered on a gi-assy lawn 
 round a fountain of running water : it preserves some- 
 thing of the character of those traditionary representa- 
 tions of Christ and His Apostles jiou may see in the 
 old golden mosaics of the more ancient basilicas. And 
 there are other paintings, which repeat to you again 
 and again whole chapters of the early romantic chroni- 
 cles of the Friars-Preachers. In one the young Na- 
 poleon is raised to life by the prayer of St. Dominic ; 
 in another, Hyacinth and Ceslaus receive the habit 
 from his hands : that fresco stands over the very spot 
 where the Apostle of Poland did indeed receive it; and 
 it was in the ancient choir that stretches behind the 
 altar, that those two holy brothers, in their short 
 novitiate of four months, learnt saintliness enough at 
 the fet of Dominic to be sent back at the end of that
 
 THE CHURCH OF ST. 8ABINA. 8 
 
 time to plant the new order in their native land. There, 
 now as then, you may see the Friars- Preachers chant- 
 ing their evening office. Their habit has known no 
 reforming change; it is the same as the day when 
 B. Reginald received it from the hands of the Queen 
 of Heaven. There they sit, each one like the pictured 
 heads of their own Angelico ; and if you stay to the 
 end, you will see what recals the old times of which 
 we have heen speaking in a yet more striking way 
 than aught you have seen beside. The compline 
 psalms are ended, and the brethren rise as if to leave 
 the choir. The old church is arranged in the usual 
 basilica style, and the choir-seats are uehind the altar, 
 which divides it from the nave. Separating into two 
 ranks, the younger walking first, they come out on 
 either side the altar, and pass along to the bottom of 
 the nave, singing as they walk. It is the " Salve Pro- 
 cession." Every evening after compline in every convent 
 of the order it is thus sung, and to the same sweet and 
 antique strain ; for the Friars-Preachers have their own 
 music, like their own prayers. They reach the bottom 
 of the nave, and turning towards the altar, move up 
 till they reach the middle : then, at the words " Eia 
 ri'ffo" all kneel, and the prior, walking through the 
 kneeling ranks, sprinkles each one with holy water, 
 and then returns to his place till the anthem is finished ; 
 when they go back in the same order as they came. 
 And as you watch this singular and beautiful procession 
 in the darkened nave of the old church, even if a 
 stranger to the Dominican chronicles, you will be in 
 some way carried back to another age ; for nothing in 
 all that meets your eye has the character of our own 
 day. The shaven heads before you might well be those 
 of St. Dominic's first children : they are all young, and 
 with the look on their countenances which devotion and 
 austerity imprint upon a fervent youthfulness ; for Santa 
 Sabina is now the Dominican Novitiate, and the centre 
 of the strictest reformed observance. As they pass be- 
 fore you, it is like an old painting 1 come to life ; and the
 
 4 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 whole scene is one which any one may see has a his- 
 tory and an association. It is briefly this : when the 
 great patriarch St. Dominic was callea from this world 
 to his eternal reward, he left the order, which had been 
 regularly established only four years previously, pos- 
 sessed of a footing 1 in every country of Christendom. 
 At the Second General Chapter, held at Bologna just 
 before his death, the order reckoned sixty convents in 
 different parts of the world ; and it was found necessary 
 to divide the government into eight large provinces 
 or nations. In short, the Friars-Preachers had taken 
 possession of Christendom. In their first fervour thev 
 carried every thing before them. Men listened with 
 wonder to the preaching of men whose lives were more 
 marvellous than their words ; whether for the austerity 
 and sanctity which they exhibited, or for those extra- 
 ordinary graces which they were known to enjoy ; so 
 that they were said to hold in their convents as familial- 
 intercourse with the blessed spirits as men are accus- 
 tomed to hold one with another. Such was the 
 familiarity that the brethren had with the blessed 
 angels, says Castiglio, in his history of the order, 
 that oftentimes they saw and conversed with them, 
 with that consolation and happiness which those only 
 who taste the like can understand. Thus, of a certain 
 novice at the Convent of Santa Sabina at Home it is 
 written, that being- awake one night, and lying so on 
 his bed in the dormitory, he heard steps passing that 
 way, and looked out to see the cause. Pie saw three 
 figures habited like friars; so that he indeed thought 
 them three of the brethren. One of these walked first- 
 bearing the cross, mother the vessel of holy water, and 
 the third followed crinkling the beds and the whole 
 dormitory with th water, after a manner customary 
 in the order at that time. As he watched them, one 
 of them spoke, and said to the others, " Brothers, we 
 have now chased away all the demons from this dor- 
 mitory ; who is to be sent to the other parts of the 
 houe ?'' And IIP vrlio carried the holv water replied,
 
 THE CHURCH OF ST. SABINA. 
 
 " Our Lord has sent other angels to them ; our business 
 was only with this place." Then the novice perceived 
 that they were angels, and not friars ; and when their 
 work was done, they all three disappeared. 
 
 But the graces which they enjoyed, and which 
 rendered their labours so successful in the conversion 
 of souls, drew down on them the utmost fury of the 
 malignant spirits. If the strange occurrences we find 
 recorded in the early chronicles of the order were re- 
 lated of one convent only, or on the evidence of one or 
 two witnesses, we might be excused for giving them 
 but little attention. But it was far otherwise. At 
 one and the same time, throughout every convent 
 of the order, a storm of temptations and disturbances 
 broke out, of so strange a character, that none could 
 doubt the source from whence it arose. At first these 
 trials, though extraordinary in degree, were not super- 
 natural in their kind; it was only tkat the brethren 
 were tormented, now with temptations to indiscreet 
 austerity, now with disgusts and weariness of their rule, 
 so tha<" many returned to the world. But very soon 
 there were added to these horrible and alarming ap- 
 paritions, specially in the two great Convents of Paris 
 and Bologna ; where day and night the brethren were 
 harassed, and well-nigh driven to despair, by the in- 
 cessant assaults of their infernal enemies. The forms of 
 hideous and unclean animals were seen in the dormitories 
 and cells. Shapes of unspeakable horror met them as 
 they went about, and the cries and voices and blas- 
 phemies of hell broke the silent hours of the night. 
 Nor was it the young and inexperienced alone who 
 testified to the existence of these things; the oldest 
 and most saintly of the lathers were those who suffered 
 most. One of these, a man of unimpeachable life, 
 whilst in prayer in the Conven^ of Bologna, was heard 
 to utter so groat and terrible a cry, that the other 
 fathers ran to his assistance, and found him alive in- 
 deed, but without speech or power of motion. When 
 they spoke to him, he did not answer; a trembling
 
 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 like death shook every limb, and his eyes remained 
 ever fixed in one direction. And in this state he con- 
 tinued the whole of that night. In the morning, having 
 a little recovered, the prior questioned him as to the 
 cause. " Father," he replied, " do not ask me what I 
 saw. I saw the devil ; out in so horrible a manner, 
 that the marvel is, not that I am as you see me now, 
 but rather that I still live : were I to see that sight 
 again on one hand, and the fiery furnace of hell on the 
 other, I would rather leap alive into the fire, than gaze 
 for one moment on a thing so horrible." These dreadful 
 visitations lasted more than three years, till the strength 
 and courage of the brethren were well-nigh exhausted. 
 Long vigils, and fasts, and many prayers, wore out the 
 vigour of their bodily frames, wliile constant terror and 
 anxiety weakened their spirits. They watched day and 
 night before the Most Holy Sacrament in uninterrupted 
 prayer; but still the troubles continued, and even in- 
 creased, till the order seemed threatened with desti-uc- 
 tion ; for none had courage to embrace or persevere in 
 a body which seemed to have become the butt of evil 
 spirits. At length the subject was formally laid before 
 the General Chapter held at Paris in 1224, during the 
 government of B. Jordan of Saxony ; and he ordered the 
 processin during the Salce to be generally practised 
 in every convent of the order, in the manner in which it 
 has been already described, and has ever since been con- 
 tinued to be performed. The effects which followed 
 on the adoption of this devotion were no less wonderful 
 than the sufferings which gave rise to it. Every where 
 the apparitions and other disturbances ceased. It 
 seemed as though Mary had, in answer to her children's 
 cry for help, come in person to chase away the powers 
 of darkness, and to bless their choirs with the sensible 
 manifestations of her own presence and protection. The 
 stories which are related of her appearances in the 
 Dominican churches during the singing of the Salce 
 at this period have many of them a pecuLar beauty. 
 Nor were thpv witnessed bv the brethren alone It
 
 THE CHURCH OF ST. SABINA. 7 
 
 soou became a jx>pular devotion to attend the singing 
 of the Salce in the churches of the Friars- Preachers ; 
 and in the great church of St. James, at Paris, crowds 
 met every evening after compline to witness the pro- 
 cession ; wliich, performed us it was with unaffected 
 earnestness and devotion, had so powerful an effect on 
 the spectators, that their sohs and tears were often heard 
 mingling with the voices of the fathers. And some 
 were rapt in ecstasies, and saw the church crowded 
 with angelic spirits, and Mary in the midst ; and 
 watched her as she received the salutation of the breth- 
 ren, and answered it bowing her head. Once she ap- 
 peared visibly to the eves of many, standing in front of 
 the kneeling ranks, and" looking down upon them as they 
 sang. And when they came to the words " Et spes 
 nostra, salce" she gravely and sweetly bowed her head. 
 And as they sang those other words, " Eia ergo ad- 
 voeata nostra" she turned to the altar, and prostrated 
 herself at her Son's feet, and implored His mercy for 
 her children. And again, as they said " Illos tiios 
 misericordes ontlos ad nos convert e" she answered the 
 prayer by turning her soft and melting glance upon 
 them, smiling with a joyful and benig-n countenance ; so 
 that the hearts of those who saw it were filled with 
 gladness. Then at the last words, " Et Jexum bene- 
 fficfiun fmctum rcnlrts tiii nobis post hoc exilium 
 oxtc-ndc" she took her Divine Child into her arms : and 
 holding Him before them, she seemed to show Him to 
 them as they had prayed ; and so disappeared. At an- 
 other time she came down on the altar, wliich suddenly 
 became brightly illuminated and surrounded by a vast 
 number of celestial spirits, among whom she sat en- 
 throned, with the Holy Infant in her arms. She 
 listened as the anthem was sung, and continued to 
 look down upon the brethren as they knelt turning 
 towards her, until its close. Then she rose ; and taking 
 the hand of the little Jesus, she made with it the holy 
 sign above their heads and disappeared. 
 
 Such are some of the associations connected witii
 
 8 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 the first institution of this singular devotion, rendering 
 it something more than a curious relic of antiquity ; 
 for the interest attaching to it is not merely historical, 
 but supernatural. It is not to be doubted that to our 
 fathers, whose eye of faith was clearer than our own, 
 it was often granted to see in visible shape some of 
 those presences which sanctify the house of God. In 
 the next legend, we shall see this same devotion of the 
 Salve connected with a tale of one of the earliest mar- 
 tyrdoms of the order. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE LEGEND OP BLESSED SADOC AND 
 THE FORTY-NINE MARTYRS. 
 
 IN the year of grace 1260, the whole country of Po- 
 land suffered greatly from the ravages of the barbarous 
 Scythian or Tartar tribes, who then formed the great 
 terror of the Christian countries situated on the north- 
 eastern frontier of Europe. Instigated and assisted by 
 the treacherous Russians, they overran the open coun- 
 try ; setting fire to villages and convents, and putting 
 all the helpless inhabitants to the sword. Unable to 
 resist their violence in the open country, the Polish no- 
 bles, gathering together as many of the fugitive pea- 
 santry as had escaped, threw themselves into the strong 
 town of Sandomir, where they gallantly defended them- 
 selves against the enemy for a considerable time. The 
 Tartars were but little used to habits of regular war- 
 fare ; and were about to give up the siege in despair, 
 when the Russian leaders who were in the camp per- 
 suaded them to continue the attempt, and laid a plan 
 for overcoming the defenders of the town by a fraudu- 
 lent device. Tlioy presented themselves to the governor 
 of the fortress under the character of ambassadors of 
 peace; and offered to negotiate with the barbarians, and
 
 TUB LEGEND OK BLKSSED SADOC. 9 
 
 induce them to evacuate the country on payment of a 
 sum of money. The Poles, who never doubted the 
 sincerity of the Russian envoys, agreed to a suspension 
 of arms ; and it was arranged that their chiefs should 
 pass to the enemy's camp, under the safe-conduct of the 
 Russians, to arrange the articles of peace. This had 
 been the plan arranged beforehand by the treacherous 
 Russians, in ofder to seize the persons of the Polish 
 leaders, and in their absence make themselves masters 
 of the city during the suspension of hostilities. 
 
 There was at this time in the Convent of Friars- 
 Preachers established at Sandomir a very holy prior 
 named Sadoc, one of the first companions of Blessed 
 Paul, when he was sent from Bologna by the great 
 patriarch Saint Dominic to plant the order of preachers 
 in his native country of Hungary. The apostolic la- 
 bours of Blessed Paul had already been crowned with 
 martyrdom ; and ninety other sons of the same glorious 
 order had suffered death together with him at the 
 hands of the barbarous tribes whom they had laboured 
 to bring to the faith. Sadoc had not been with his 
 brethren, but had been sent on a mission to Poland ; 
 where, being appointed prior of the Convent of Sando- 
 mir, he governed the brethren in so admirable a man- 
 ner, that it was commonly said among the people of the 
 town that the Convent of St. Mary Magdalen was in- 
 habited by angels. 
 
 On the night when the Polish chiefs left the city 
 for the Tartar camp, the brethren had assembled in 
 their choir as usual for the recital of matins. Matins 
 were now just -ended ; and all being seated in their 
 places as the custom is, one of the younger novices, 
 standing in the middle of the choir, prepared to read 
 aloud the martyrology for the ensuing day ; that is, the 
 names of the saints who were to be commemorated. 
 He opened the heavy clasped book that lay before him; 
 something seemed to perplex and astonish him, for 
 there was a momont's pause. The pages of the book 
 were rich with th^ gold jind painted letters of maim
 
 10 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 scripts of that day; but it was none of these that 
 caught and riveted his gaze. For an instant he 
 doubted if he saw aright ; for there, in characters not 
 of gold hut of intense and glorious light, appeared the 
 words, " At Sandomir, the Passion or Forty-nine Mar- 
 tyrs." His hesitation was but momentary ; the next 
 instant the passing emotion of surprise was put awav ; 
 and, faithful to the simple instinct of, obedience, he 
 sang in a clear boyish voice the words which seemed 
 to announce to his brethren their own impending fate. 
 The words fell on their astonished ears like a thunder- 
 clap : Sadoc rose from his seat and called the novice to 
 his side. " Is this a jest, my child '!" he said ; " if so, it 
 is but ill-timed. What words are those you have just 
 sung ?" " Father," replied the young man, with much 
 simplicity, " I only sang what I saw in the book ;" and 
 so saying, he placed the oj>en page before the prior. 
 Then the Divine illumination of the Holy Spirit revealed 
 to Sadoc that these things were written for him and 
 his companions ; and turning to them as they sat in 
 wonder what all this might mean, " Fathers, brothers, 
 and dear friends," he said, " the Most High God has 
 sent us blessed tidings to-night. Listen, my children ; 
 ' At Sandomir, the Passion of Forty-nine Martyrs ; ? who 
 should these forty-nine be but ourselves, for we exactly 
 make up that number ? To-morrow, therefore, will see 
 the golden gates of the New Jerusalem open to receive 
 us ; and doubtless it will be the swords of the Tartars 
 that are to carve a short way for us to heaven. 
 blessed death, that shall crown us with the green 
 wreath of the martyrs, and admit us to the embraces ot 
 Eternal Love ! What can we desire more ? God is 
 calling us home from our long exile ; we will go there 
 right joyfully, and welcome the blows that shall make 
 our path thither so quick and easy. But our time is 
 very short ; and we who have so soon to meet the Bride- 
 groom must see that our lamps are bright and burning, 
 and ourselves ready for His coming. Let the night, 
 therefore, be given to prayer, and the purification of
 
 THE LEGEND OF BLESSED SADOC. 11 
 
 our souls in the holy Bath of Penance; and in the 
 morning we will receive the Bread of Heaven, which will 
 give us the strength and courage of true martyrs." 
 The brethren listened to his words with an extraordi- 
 nary joy ; and that night was spent in solemn prepara- 
 tion for death. Each one confessed his sins to the 
 venerable prior, with the tears and contrition of men 
 whose last hour was at hand ; then they remained in 
 silent prayer before the altar, calmly and joyfully await- 
 ing the dawn of that day which they knew was to be 
 their last. 
 
 Bright and beautiful was the morning light that 
 streamed through the tall eastern window, and fell 
 over the kneeling forms of that little white-robed army 
 of martyrs. There was no sound of combat or of 
 danger without; the city lay in profound quiet, and 
 nothing seemed to betoken that the glorious summer 
 day which was breaking over the world was to be one 
 of bloodshed and of crime. There was but one Mass 
 said that morning in the convent church ; and the few 
 citizens who assisted at the Holy Sacrifice marvelled 
 not a little at the unusual sight they witnessed ; for the 
 Mass was celebrated by Sadoc himself, and the entire 
 community received communion together at his hands, 
 a thing which was not customary save at some of the 
 greater festivals of the Church. And then there was 
 nothing more to do but to wait for their executioners. 
 They knew not the hour when they would come ; and 
 though possibly they felt something of a holy impati- 
 ence for their release, the loveliness of religious disci- 
 pline was never more wonderfully manifested than 
 during the long hours of that day in the Convent of the 
 Magdalen. As if nothing unusual were at hand, each 
 one went to his accustomed office and occupation. The 
 bell rang and called them to refectory and to choir; and 
 no sign of unwonted haste or excited gesture could be 
 marked to break their holy and unruffled tranquillity. 
 Only sometimes sighs and words of fervent desire would 
 burst from their hearts. " Ah, will thev never come!"
 
 12 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 said the young novice to whose eyes the blessed tiding! 
 had first been given. "They are long about it; 1 
 counted by this time to have been with Jesus and 
 Mary." "Let us go and bid farewell to the holy 
 images and altars," said another ; " it will be a happy 
 thing to die before them : or perhaps even God may 
 suffer us to give our blood in defence of the Blessed 
 Sacrament." 
 
 But still the day passed cn ; and every thing wore 
 its usual aspect. The convent was situated in a remote 
 part of the city, and surrounded by a garden; so that 
 few of the soimds from the busier streets and more 
 populous quarters reached its quiet cloisters. The 
 friars, too, had been full of their own thoughts; or per- 
 haps they would have heard from time to time the 
 echoed shouts and cries, which showed that a fierce 
 struggle of some kind was going on at no great dis- 
 tance. But, as I have said, they were full of their own 
 thoughts; and their thoughts were now with God. It 
 even seemed to them that the day had a quietness of its 
 own ; for the solemnity of their own feelings seemed to 
 cast the stillness of unwonted prayer over all the world 
 around them. 
 
 Evening came at last, and the bell for compline 
 summoned the brethren to sing the Divine praises in 
 their choir ; the last homage they were to offer to their 
 Creator in this world, before being translated to the 
 celestial choir of the angels. Surely never had the 
 words of that most beautiful service soimded so full of 
 meaning to their hearts, as now when they were fitting 
 themselves for death. First, Sadoc's voice might be 
 heard giving the blessing, as the office began : " May 
 the Almighty God grant us a quiet night and a per- 
 fect end." Then came another tone, which sang the 
 warning words : " Brethren, be sober and watch ; for 
 your adversary the devil as a roaring lion goeth about, 
 seeking whom he may devom ; whom resist ye, strong 
 in faith." Then burst forth from the choir the solemn 
 and magnificent chant, swelling through the arched
 
 THE LEOEXD OF BLESSED SADOC. 13 
 
 aisles with more than usual power in its tones. What 
 wonderful words were those for dying men to utter! 
 " He that dwelleth in the help of the Most High shall 
 abide under the protection of the God of heaven. His 
 truth shall compass thee as a shield ; thou shalt not be 
 afraid for the terror of the night, for the arrow that 
 flieth in the day, or for the assault of the evil one in 
 the noon-day. Forsake us not, Lord, our God. 
 In manus turn, Domine, commendo spiritum meum. 
 Commendo spiritum meum. Gloria JPatri et Filio et 
 Spiritui Sancto. Commendo spiritum meum." 
 
 Already might the Tartar war-cry be heard clear 
 and terrible in the very street beneath, them; already 
 too heavy blows were falling thick and fast on the con- 
 vent-gate : yet still the friars seemed to take no heed. 
 Quietly and in order they formed themselves into rank 
 for the procession, and moved down into the nave, sing- 
 ing the Salve with tones so sweet and joyous, that you 
 might have thought their voices were already mingling 
 with the angel choirs. Then thev knelt, turning to the 
 altar; and Sadoc walked through the rank, and gave 
 the accustomed sprinkling of holy water. It was at 
 this moment that the door of the church burst open, 
 and a band of the Tartars rushed in : their hands and 
 garments were dripping with blood, and their whole 
 appearance savage and revolting. They advanced tu- 
 multuously towards the kneeling friars ; but for a 
 moment the scene before them seemed to strike them 
 with awe, and they paused as if xmder the influence of 
 a su pematural presence. They might well feel it so, as 
 they marked that kneeling row of figures clothed in 
 white garments, whose faces were turned towards the 
 heaven which was about to receive them into its rest, 
 already wearing something of celestial beauty. Not a 
 head was moved, not a voice faltered ; you might hear 
 the words of the anthem sung as clearly and as sweetly 
 as ever: " Et Jesum benedictum fnictum ventris tui, 
 nobis post hoc exilium ostende." They were the last 
 they were to utter ; the barbarians recovered from their
 
 14 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 momentary astonishment, and with a yell of savag* 
 malice rushed on them, and slaughtered them where 
 they knelt. They fell with those words upon their 
 lips, singing as they died. One alone moved from his 
 place, and seemed touched by an emotion of terror. He 
 rose, and turned to fly ; but a wonderful sign was given 
 him which restored his courage. " For," says the old 
 chronicle which records this history, "he perceived 
 that the dismembered and mangled bodies of lus com- 
 panions, whose souls were now singing everlasting alle- 
 luias with the angels, ceased not to utter in accents of 
 superhuman melody the words of the half-finished an- 
 them ; whereupon he also cast away all base and coward 
 fear, and offered himself to the swords of the Tartars. 
 So did these heavenly swans fly up to heaven, singing 
 the praises of their great Mother Mary ; and very well 
 may we believe that her virgin hands did there crown 
 their brows with the immortal laurels of the martyrs." 
 
 In the office granted in their memory by Pope Pius 
 VII., the words which they are recorded to have been 
 singing at the moment of their massacre are introduced 
 into the collect : " Et Jetum, brru'dichtm fructum ven- 
 tris tuij nobis post hoc exilmm osten.de." Pope Alex- 
 ander IV., who filled the Chair of St. Peter at the 
 time of their martyrdom, granted singular privileges to 
 all who in their honour should visit the Church of 
 Sandomir; and their festival is still observed on the 
 scene of the:, death with extraordinary devotion and 
 splendour
 
 THE VISION OF THE SCHOLAR. 1$ 
 
 IIL 
 
 THE VISION OF THE SCHOLAR. 
 
 THE scholars of the University of Padua, which had 
 been famous for thirty years in the year 1220, were 
 wont to amuse themselves, with more wit than discre- 
 tion, at the expense of a little German student, who 
 was at once the plaything 1 of his companions and the 
 victim of his masters; in snort, the common butt of all. 
 He came from the banks of the Danube ; his name was 
 Albert de Groot ; and he was born at Lawingen, a little 
 town of Swabia now fallen into decay, of a noble fa- 
 mily : but he had little of the pride of nobility about 
 him ; and, indeed, how could the poor child be vain, 
 heavy as he was, timid, encrusted with shyness, back- 
 ward, without readiness of speech or any power of self- 
 defence. He appeared so stupid, that his pitiless com- 
 panions called him ' the ass.' The Paduans italianised 
 nis name, and joined to it the designation of his coun- 
 try; from Groto Tedesco they called him Grotesco, 
 Groteschino, and other epithets equally flattering-. In 
 order to complete the satire, this name of Groot signi- 
 fied great; and the youth, though fifteen years old, 
 was of a stature which would have been small for ten. 
 All these circumstances rendered the life of the scholar 
 full of thorns. 
 
 He was more sensible to all this raillery than he 
 appeared ; and more than once he would have listened 
 to the temptations of despair, if he had not had deeply 
 implanted in his heart, by the care of a Christian 
 mother, ardent piety, humble resignation, and a tender 
 and lively devotion to the Blessed Virgin. 
 
 If he felt it hard to be called ' the ass,' yet, when he 
 considered that he had neither readiness, memory, nor 
 intelligence, he said to himself with a saddened heart, 
 that he probably deserved the epithet; and that the 
 career of science wliich he so sincerelv desired to em-
 
 16 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 brace perhaps offered him no chance of success. On 
 one occasion, after following 1 a course of sermons from 
 the Blessed Jordan of Saxony, who had just heen chosen 
 General of the Dominican order, he was so strongly 
 affected, he understood so well the holy orator, that he 
 imagined it to he the will* of God that he should retire 
 from the world and enter this order of Preaching- 
 Friars ; if not to shine amongst the brilliant men who 
 were its glory he dared not aspire to such an honour 
 as that, yet at least to save his own soul. He went, 
 therefore, at sixteen, to petition for the Dominican ha- 
 bit; and the new general, who came from his own 
 country and spoke his own language, having given 
 him a kind welcome, he was received into a convent of 
 the order, there to complete his studies. 
 
 But, alas ! he found in the cloister the same sor- 
 rows he was seeking to avoid. His slow wit could 
 take in nothing, or at least could express nothing ; and 
 though among his young brethren, the novices, he 
 found more charity than in the turbulent students of 
 the university, he saw well enough that he was looked 
 upon as the lowest in the house. His piety and humi- 
 lity long bore him up; his courage did not fail for 
 some time ; he was constantly hoping that one day he 
 should surmount all obstacles, and break the bonds 
 which seemed to hold his mind captive. He took tlio 
 vows, and became a monk ; but still continued a back- 
 ward scholar. 
 
 After two years of patience, he began to be tho- 
 roughly discouraged; he thought he had been mis- 
 taken, that perhaps he had yielded to an impulse of 
 pride, in presenting himself to an order whose mission 
 was to preach to the people, to proclaim to the world 
 the faith of Christ ; and \\ Inch consequently ought to 
 be distinguished for science and genius as well as for 
 virtue. He considered that he should never have either 
 the power of logic or the mastery of eloquence; and 
 he said to himself: "I have vowed my life to God, 
 I know that He is good : when I shall appear before
 
 THE VISION OF THE SCHOLAR. 17 
 
 Him, He will Yiot ask me whether I have spoken well, 
 but whether I have lived well; not whether I have 
 been learned, hut whether I have been innocent; not 
 whether I have left fine writings, but whether I have 
 done holy actions. At the same time, I am the most 
 useless of His servants. But His holy will be blessed, 
 He has no need of my assistance ; I rashly desired to 
 plead the august cause of Holy Church, to propagate 
 the Catholic iaith, to struggle against heresy. I forgot 
 that God can raise whom it pleases Him; that He took 
 to found His imperishable temple twelve ignorant 
 fishermen. Blessed be His holy Will ! I will go, then, 
 from this sweet cloister, where I am only a burden; 
 and retiring apart, like the solitaries of old, will think 
 of nothing but my own salvation. God repulses me 
 from the career of science ; but when I shall be alone 
 with Him, I know He will never repulse me from His 
 adored presence." 
 
 In this burst of feeling the good monk thought he 
 perceived that his intellect was opening a little, and 
 that he was beginning to reason; but he rejected the 
 thought as a temptation, and remained fixed in his re- 
 solution to fly from the convent. 
 
 He was too timid to communicate this project to 
 any one ; he knew well that, like every thing else that 
 came out of his lips, it would only be received with 
 mockery; and this he wished to avoid. The only 
 confidante of his determination was the Blessed Virgin: 
 before her altar lie prayed assiduously and tenderly for 
 nine days, imploring her support, and especiallv be- 
 seeching her to make known to him the will of God, 
 which he was seeking, and to which above all things 
 he desired implicitly to submit. 
 
 On the night fixed for his departure he prayed at 
 more length than usual ; then, after waiting till all the 
 convent was asleep, and placing himself under the guar- 
 dianship of Mary, he went out of Ins cell, gained with- 
 out noise the walls of the garden, fixed a ladder against 
 them, and then, before placing his foot on the first 
 c
 
 18 CATHOLIC LEOEXD8. 
 
 round, knelt down again, and prayed to God not to 
 condemn the step that he was taking, in leaving a house 
 consecrated to Him ; for that he would never cease to 
 belong 1 to Him, and to Him alone. 
 
 As he prepared to rise, lie was suddenly struck by 
 an unexpected sight. Was it a waking dream, or 
 a miraculous favour that was granted him? He he- 
 held (such, at least, is the legend handed down to us 
 by his contemporaries) four majestic ladies advancing 
 towards him : they were surrounded by a mild splen- 
 dour; while their dignity, tempered as it was with grace 
 and sweetness, inspired at once respect and confidence. 
 The two first placed themselves in front of the ladder, 
 as though to prevent him from ascending it. But there 
 needed no constraint; for Albert, prostrate on the 
 ground, felt assured that these radiant forms were not 
 of this world, and remained in silent expectation. 
 
 The third lady, drawing near to him, asked him 
 kindly why he thus despaired ; and how he could re- 
 solve to fly thus shamefully from his convent, and to 
 throw himself without a guide into a world the dangers 
 of which are so great. The scholar answered without 
 rising from the ground, and humbly confessed his ob- 
 stinate incapacity, which resisted all the efforts of his 
 perseverance. 
 
 " It is," answered the lady, " because you seek in 
 the mere human strength of your own weak mind the 
 light which comes only from God. You have in the 
 Queen of the world a protectress who loves you, and 
 knows that you are her faithful servant ; yet you have 
 never prayed to her for the gift of knowledge; as 
 though you were ignorant that all treasures are open 
 to her, and that with her wisdom dwells. Behold her 
 coming towards you in all her sweetness ; pray to her 
 without fear ; our intercession will second you." 
 
 Then the scholar, recognising in the fourth lady the 
 Blessed Virgin, whose smile calms all sorrows, was em- 
 boldened to offer to her the prayer which was nearest 
 to his heart. Hitherto he had only dared to ask the
 
 THE VISION OF TH12 SCHOLAR. 19 
 
 graces which teutl to salvation j but now he considered 
 that if he desired science, it was only for the sake of 
 employing it for the glory of God, and that therefore 
 it was a Christian request. Thus encouraged, and full 
 of hope and confidence, feeling in some sort like a son 
 whom three sisters are supporting in the presence of a 
 cherished mother, he addressed himself to Mary, the 
 Queen of the world, and prayed to her that he might 
 be able to attain to the end of all his ardent desires 
 science. 
 
 " Science is great and various, my son," answered 
 the fourth lady : " do you wish, then, to know every 
 thing ; and do you not remember the history of our first 
 parent, to whom the fallen spirit thus offered science 
 without limit?" 
 
 " Oh, no, Blessed Virgin !" cried Albert, alarmed : 
 " I only ask to know what it pleases God I should 
 know. I desire not the dangerous power of sounding 
 the secrets of Heaven ; I only desire, and that within 
 the limits of faith, philosophy and the science of na- 
 ture." 
 
 " Human science ?' ? answered the lady kindly. " It 
 is vain, and full of perils ; and perhaps, my son, you 
 would have done better to prefer theology, which has 
 the power of unveiling to the mind all that man can 
 discover of the holy mysteries of God. But your 
 prayer shall not be rejected. Only in the philosophy 
 which you so love, beware of the pride which it often 
 causes to spring up in the soul. Long shall you pos- 
 sess the gift; you shall pay for it by the labours which 
 it will cause you, find the harsh judgments which men 
 shall pass upon you: but be faithful, let not your heart 
 be purled up, and I promise you that this science, which 
 has ruined so many souls, shall be withdrawn from you 
 the moment it becomes dangerous to you." 
 
 The vision disappeared ; and Albert, feeling himself 
 quite changed, and comprehending the littleness of his 
 past sorrows, remained for an hour on his kr:ees, bless- 
 ing God, fervently thanking the Blessed Virgin, ques-
 
 20 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 tioning the prudence of his choice, dreading the j>erils 
 of human science, humbling- himself, and asking from 
 God humility, henceforth his anchor and his strength. 
 Then he took away his ladder and retired to his cell, 
 where he tried in vain to sleep. 
 
 The next morning in the schools there was general 
 amazement. Albert was another man ; his former 
 heaviness had given place to the liveliest and most 
 subtle intelligence : nothing stopped him ; he under- 
 stood every thing* : the most abstruse problems unra- 
 velled themselves before him as clear as day ; all that he 
 heard, all that he read, was immediately classified in his 
 memory, and remained there in its proper place. In 
 one year he passed all his young companions, and 
 eclipsed all his masters ; so that all were amazed at the 
 metamorphosis which had taken place, and said that 
 some unknown miracle had changed an ass into a phi- 
 losopher. And they were not mistaken ; but none 
 knew of the vision ; for the humble scholar kept it secret. 
 In a few years he became master in philosophy, and 
 was required to teach it ; which he did in so superior a 
 manner, that he was ever after called the philosopher, 
 as though he alone were worthy of that name. 
 
 And he continued a Christian philosopher; always 
 full of charity, fond of his cell, inaccessible to the se- 
 ductions of the world or of vain-glory ; dividing his 
 beloved solitude between prayer, by which he raised 
 his soul to God, and intense study, which enlarged with 
 giant steps the circle of his knowledge and the scope 
 of his mind. He never left his convent except to hear 
 sermons ; and those of St. Anthony of Padua, who 
 flourished at that time, especially charmed him, and 
 administered food to his spiritual life. He studied the 
 natural sciences, and found in each created object a step 
 whereby to rise towards the Creator ; and as he scarcely 
 departed at all from the particular career which he had 
 marked out for himself, he gave little attention to what 
 is commonly called learning ; though he occasionally 
 visited the building which the Pnduans exhibit as the
 
 THE VISION OF THE SCHOLAR. 21 
 
 house of Livy, and amused himself with deciphering 
 the inscriptions found there. 
 
 At thirty years old, he was so universally instructed 
 in all that belongs to philosophy and the knowledge 
 of natural science that, like Picus of Mirandola in later 
 times, he could reason and discuss on all that could he 
 known (de oinni re scibilt) according- to the state of 
 science at that epoch. The Order of St. Dominic was 
 anxious to produce before the world this wonder formed 
 in its bosom ; and, accordingly, he was sent to Cologne 
 to profess philosophy and theology; which last science 
 he had studied, though with less success. At Cologne, 
 at Hildesheirn, at Fribourg, at Ratisbonne, at Stras- 
 burg, he dazzled all Germany ; and gained admiration 
 even more by his humility and modesty, than by the 
 depth of his doctrine and the immensity of his intellect. 
 He never lived any where except in the convents of his 
 order; always chose the worst cell, and lived like the 
 most obscure of his brethren. 
 
 The Blessed Jordan of Saxony having died in 1236, 
 Albert was appointed Vicar-General of the Order of 
 St. Dominic ; an office which he administered for two 
 years, while that of General was vacant ; and it was 
 manifest that the blessing of God was with him. 
 The Chapter assembled at Bologna in 1238 for the 
 election of a new General conferred on him this dig- 
 nity ; but he deprecated it with so much earnestness 
 that they were obliged to yield to his humble entreaties ; 
 and their choice next falling upon St. Raymond de 
 Pennafort, who was absent, he went to Bnrcelona to 
 hind over to him the seals of the order, and hastened 
 to return to his dear little cell at Cologne. There he 
 resumed his studies and his lessons; and so many re- 
 markable men shone forth among his scholars, that it 
 was thought desirable to send him to Paris. 
 
 The University of Paris, which was said to have 
 been founded by Charlemagne, had been greatly en- 
 larged by Louis the Young, and gni'ted with manv 
 privileges by Philip Augustus. All men of high merit
 
 22 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 aspired to be professors there; and its scholars were 
 counted by thousands, and formed within the city a dis- 
 tinct and ill-disciplined population, which often troubled 
 the public peace. But tne kings of France esteemed 
 the protection of science a sacred duty; and St. Louis, 
 who was reigning 1 at the time of Albert's arrival, liked 
 to see his people well taught ; knowing that ignorance 
 and imperfect instruction are the worst enemies of re- 
 ligion and morals, and therefore necessarily of the 
 happiness of mankind. 
 
 As soon as the little monk of Cologne, whose frail 
 form and modest bearing presented a lively contrast to 
 his vast genius, had been once heard by the Parisians, 
 he became the general topic of discourse in that excit- 
 able city. The wits, on account of his figure, called 
 him Albert the Little ; but the enthusiasts, on account 
 of his merit, called him Albert the Great, unconscious 
 that they were only translating his name. He became 
 so much the fashion, that the largest halls would not 
 contain the number who thronged to hear his lectures ; 
 and he was therefore obliged to give them in a public 
 square, which has ever since retained a trace of his name. 
 It is called the Place Maubert, an abbreviation of Place 
 Maitre Aubert ; Aubert being the French rendering- of 
 the pretty German name of Albert ; in the same way 
 that, from their dislike to pronounce two consonants 
 together, they have changed Alberic into Aubry, and 
 Thiobald into Thibaut. 
 
 Among the pupils of Albert at this time, 1245, was 
 St. Thomas Aquinas, afterwards so illustrious ; and his 
 preceptor already discerned in him that masterly genius 
 which made him one of the brightest lights of the 
 Church. 
 
 Some time after this, Albert returned to Cologne 
 uiid was appointed Provincial of Germany ; an office 
 which he exercised for three years, but which never 
 prevented him from continuing his public lectures. He 
 also received a mission somewhat resembling that of 
 the Sainte Enfance, which has been established by a
 
 THE VISION OF THE SCHOLAR. 23 
 
 venerable prelate in our own days. The Poles, who 
 were still barbarians, had the dreadful custom of killing 
 all their children who were born weakly or deformed ; 
 those also whom they had not adequate means of sup- 
 porting, and all their old people who seemed useless. 
 The Holy See, whose charity extends over the whole 
 earth, charged Albert to go and contend against these 
 savage customs ; which perilous undertaking he accom- 
 plished with great success. The Pope wished to reward 
 him by making him a Bishop, but he could not prevail 
 over his humility : it was not till 1260 that he was 
 compelled by his superiors to accept the Bishopric of 
 Ratisbonne ; the. duties of which office he worthily ful- 
 filled for four years, and then obtained from Urban IV. 
 leave to return to his poor cell at Cologne ; where, as in 
 former times, he would not allow himself to be treated 
 with more distinction than the lowest of his brethren. 
 Here he set himself again to study, to continue his 
 lectures, and to expound the Gospel. But, in spite of 
 his love for retreat, he was obliged by his submission 
 to the head of the Church to take many long journeys ; 
 he had to preach the Crusade throughout Germany, to 
 speak at the Council of Lyons in 1274, and to mix him- 
 self up in all the important affairs of the Holy See. 
 
 Wherever he spoke, he worked wonders; and yet, 
 up to the age of seventy-five, he had never experienced 
 the slightest movement of vanity; when one day, 
 preaching at Cologne, and seeing his immense audience 
 electrified by Ixis discourse, he lifted his head with 
 somewhat more pride than usual, and was, perhaps 
 for the .first time, about to indulge a thought of self- 
 admiration, when she who had so long protected him 
 came to his assistance. He thought he beheld her; he 
 stopped suddenly in the very middle of a learned period, 
 ana came down from the pulpit without bringing it to 
 a close. lie had lost his memory. The spirit of phi- 
 losophy, which was the atmosphere in which he had 
 lived, deserted him at the moment in which it was be- 
 coming dangerous ; and he fell back into the state of
 
 24 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 dulness which he had so much deplored at Padua. He 
 understood the warning 1 , and devoted all his thought:} 
 to preparing 1 himself for a holy death, which took place 
 two years after, the loth of November, 1282. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF BLESSED EGIDIUS, 
 OR GILES. 
 
 DURING the reign of Sancho I., King- of Portugal, 
 there lived at the court of that monarch a counsellor of 
 high rank, named Don Rodriguez de Vagliadites. This 
 nobleman had an only son, named Egidius, who dis- 
 played from his earliest years every sig-n of an extraor- 
 dinary genius. Being- sent to the University of Coimbra, 
 the reputation which he there acquired was of so unusual 
 a character as to attract the notice of the king- ; who, 
 willing- to mark his sense of the son's talents and the 
 father's long- services, loaded him with several rich bene- 
 fices he having- chosen the ecclesiastical state. Un- 
 happily, in making- this choice Egidius had been guided 
 only by interest. Finding- himself whilst still a mere 
 youth his own master, with an enormous revenue at his 
 disposal, and flattered by the proud sense of his own 
 unequalled g-enius and powers of mind, lie used his sa- 
 cred office only as a means of gratifying his thirst for 
 learning ; but neglected all its duties, and gave himself 
 -up to a life of unrestrained indulgence and licentious- 
 ness. Once having- entered on this course, it seemed 
 indeed as if the whole energy of his mind, with all its 
 brilliant and varied attainments, were directed to r.o 
 other end than to procure the degradation of his soul. 
 His profound science was employed to provide for him- 
 self np\v excitements; and stimulated by a restless and 
 unholy curiosity, he determined to commence the study
 
 THE LEGEND OF HLESSED EGIDIUS. 25 
 
 of medicine ; and for this purpose set out for Paris, whose 
 university then enjoyed the highest reputation of any 
 throughout Europe in every department of science. 
 
 On his journey thither he was joined by a young- 
 man, who fell into conversation with him on the road, 
 and in whose company he continued to travel during the 
 whole of that day. He was of a strangely fascinating 
 and winning address ; and almost without being aware 
 of it, Egidius suffered him to read the very secrets of his 
 heart, and revealed to him all the designs and plans which 
 were revolving in his brain. It was, indeed, no other 
 than the great enemy of souls himself, who had taken 
 this disguise in order to complete the ruin of the un- 
 happy Egidius. With many a word of artful eloquence 
 he won his confidence : nothing was concealed ; the 
 excessive and unrestrained passion for human science, 
 which, unsanctified by Divine grace, had united itself 
 to a bold and quenchless thirst for the enjoyments of 
 sense, was all laid bare before the keen eye of the 
 stranger ; and whilst the latter encouraged him in all 
 his designs, he assured him at the same time that in 
 choosing the study of medicine he had not selected the 
 best means of carrying them into effect. " There is a 
 science," he said, "which will bring vou far more quickly 
 to your desired end than any you Lave yet attempted ; 
 it will itself aid you to acquire all sciences. Intellectual 
 power, without bound or limit, and the enjoyment of 
 pleasures which you never pictured to yourself in the 
 wildest moments of your imagination, will it pour out at 
 your feet. Nay more, it will secure you also a fame 
 amongst men, which no mere human science can ever 
 procure ; and whilst you enjoy the cup of pleasure to 
 the full, the world will reckon you as her wisest and most 
 renowned master. This science is magic ; and if you 
 will trust yourself to my guidance, I can introduce you 
 to a university at Toledo whore its profoundest secrets 
 are taught and practised." ]t was not without a secret 
 thrill of horror that Egidius listened to the suggestions
 
 2 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 of the fiend : but he hesitated not to stifle the whis- 
 pering's of conscience ; and, dazzled at the thought of 
 acquiring- an unbounded possession of all after which 
 his heart longed with so passionate an ardour, he gave 
 a ready consent, and they took the road to Toledo. 
 
 Far from every human habitation, on the side of a 
 desolate mountain, yawned the gloomy entrance into 
 two vast subterranean caverns : this was the school of 
 magic of which the fiend had spoken ; and it was here 
 that his disciples pursued their dark and unholy studies 
 As he drew near the spot with his new victim, there 
 came out to meet them several of these unhappy men, 
 accompanied also by demons in human shape, who acted 
 as their masters, and received their new associate with 
 extraordinary joy. He was very soon initiated into the 
 rules and mysteries of this fearful society ; he sub- 
 scribed their laws and statutes, and submitted to the 
 three conditions imposed on him before being suffered 
 to become a member : the first, to renounce obedience 
 to the laws of God ; the second, to abjure the faith 
 and his baptismal vows ; the third, to become hence- 
 forth the pledged bond-slave of Satan. One might well 
 suppose such a contract would have startled the most 
 blind and hardened ; but a long course of sin and 
 resistance to inspirations of Divine grace, had rendered 
 the depths . of evil neither new nor terrible to Egidius, 
 and he signed the paper without hesitation, and with 
 his own blood. 
 
 It is a common saying that the devil gets better 
 served than God. Egidius, the votary of pleasure, who 
 was impatient of a day which did not bring its new 
 excitement and indulgence, consented to spend seven 
 years in these gloomy caverns, severed from the society 
 of all save his unhappy companions, whilst he gave 
 himself up to a painful and weary apprenticeship in the 
 art of magic : " another proof," says his Portuguese 
 chronicler, "that the service of Satan is a harder bond- 
 age than the yoke of Christ. They who serve this lord
 
 THE LEGEND OF BLESSED EOIDIUS. 27 
 
 think no labour too hard to attain xmto the enjoyment 
 of a pleasure, which, when attained, does hut weary and 
 torment." 
 
 Tie left the Caverns of Toledo a master in human, 
 and in more than human knowledge. The secrets of 
 hell, the hidden and mysterious forces of nature, were 
 all his own. Armed with a power which no rival was 
 ever able to withstand, he now appeared in Paris ; and 
 very soon was rewarded for his long labours by a 
 dazzling 1 and universal fame. His cures were little 
 short of miraculous ; his skill in every branch of me- 
 dicine astonished the most learned : but deeper and 
 profounder even than his science was the secret course 
 of unbridled vice to which he gave himself up, and 
 which seemed to penetrate into the very recesses of his 
 degraded being. 
 
 Thus dead to grace and sunk in conniption lay the 
 soul of the gifted Egidius. The brilliancy of human 
 intellect and a rich imagination were there indeed ; but 
 they were like the fair blossoms which hang around a 
 grave, drawing their nourishment from its deadly con- 
 tents, and scarce veiling the hideousness that lies be- 
 neath. Yet this man, the slave of hell and the outcast 
 of the world, was, in the eternal counsels of God, 
 chosen to be a living monument of His grace. Nor 
 was the manner of Iris conversion less marvellous than 
 the change it wrought. 
 
 It was the dead of night, and Egidius sat alone in 
 his chamber, surrounded by his books. Suddenly the 
 door swung on its hinges, and a terrible and gigantic 
 figure, clad in brazen armour and mounted on a black 
 steed, rode into the apartment. In his hand he bore a 
 lance, with which he threatened the astonished master : 
 then, in a voice so harsh and terrible that it would 
 have shaken the heart of any ordinary man, he cried, 
 " Change thy life, unhappy wretch !" repeating thrice 
 the words, " Change thy life." For thn moment n 
 sensation of fear did indeed pass through the soul of 
 Egidius. lie seemed to ?oc hell open to receive him,
 
 28 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 and the hand of God raised to cast liim in. But the 
 feeling- was but for an instant, the next he laughed at 
 his own weakness, at being 1 disturbed at what he resolved 
 to consider nothing- but a troublesome dream. 
 
 Three days passed away, and again, at the same 
 time and in the same room, he sat as before. And, as 
 before, the door burst open, and the strange horseman 
 once more entered ; but this time in a far more terrible 
 manner. He spurred his gigantic horse at full speed 
 right at Egidius; and as the fierce animal raised its 
 brazen hoofs, and seemed about to crush him to the 
 earth, the same voice sounded beneath the closed visor 
 of the helmet, " Change thy life !" and then the raised 
 lance struck on his heart, and he fell senseless to the 
 ground. He awoke from a long and fearful trance, 
 and found himself another man. Like Saul, the first 
 words that rose to his lips were: "Lord, what wilt 
 Thou have me to do?" The pain of his mysterious 
 wound still smarted in his breast : he looked, and found 
 a scar indeed, but perfectly healed and cicatrised ; but 
 the blow had struck deep into his heart. His eyes 
 were opened to behold the light, and its first rays dis- 
 covered to him the darkness that reigned within. Well 
 nigh did he despair of pardon and salvation, when he 
 remembered the renunciation of his Baptism and the 
 contract which made him the slave of Satan ; but the 
 better teaching of childish days returned upon him in 
 that hour of grace, and a thought of the Lord *vho 
 had died for him was strong enough to save him from 
 despair. There was indeed a bloody compart, which 
 sold him body and soul to the powers of hell; but he re- 
 membered another purchase-deed made long before, and 
 now again renewable, sprinkled over, and signed, ami 
 sealed with the. precious Blood of Christ. The morn- 
 ing light found him still plunged in these conflicting 1 
 thoughts : he looked round him, and saw scattered 
 about the room the books of magic which had been his 
 srudv the night before; and seizing them hastily, as a 
 first sacrifice and token of his returnin vassalage to
 
 THE LEGEND OF BLESSED EGIDIUS. 29 
 
 God, he cast them into the flames. He determined to 
 leave the scene of his sins at once and for ever; and, re- 
 turning to Spain, to seek admission into some strict 
 order of religious penance. His journey was a sad and 
 painful one ; tormented with remorse, his nights were 
 spent without sleep, and his days absorbed in melan- 
 choly reflections. Distress of mind so preyed on him 
 that it brought on a low fever ; jet he would not rest 
 in his journey till, entering Spain, he arrived at the city 
 of Valencia, where the new Order of Friars- Preachers 
 were just established, and were engaged in the erection 
 of their convent. Egidius, weary and worn out in body 
 and mind, paused by the building and watched the 
 brethren at their work. With modest and humble yet 
 cheerful looks they passed to and fro, carrying stones 
 and mortar, all busy in raising the walls of their happy 
 retreat. Something in the sight touched his heart; 
 perhaps it contrasted with the unholy labours of his 
 own solitary life. Every tongue was full of the sanc- 
 tity of the new religious, of their rigour, their po- 
 verty, and their heroic work for God. He made a 
 rapid and wise resolution; and presenting himself to 
 the prior, told him the story of his life in the sacred 
 tribunal of confession. The prior treated him with 
 charity and gentleness, and did not doubt to receive 
 him to absolution ; for he saw that his contrition was 
 true and unfeigned. What a weight was lifted from 
 his heart ! the chains that had so long bound him fell 
 off", and he saw the happiness of serving God, and the 
 bondage of a life of sin. One day of these new feelings 
 and desires was enough for the impetuous nature of 
 Egidius. He returned to the convent; and casting 
 himself at the feet of the prior, besought him to suffer 
 him to receive the habit. " Yesterday," he said, ." you 
 saw at your feet the greatest sinner of the world ; I 
 thought to find in you a severe judge ; I found only a 
 loving father, whose tears of pity joined with mine to 
 wash away the stains of my guilt. That spirit of love 
 which you breathed over me yesterday has brought me
 
 30 CATHOLIC LKUKNDS. 
 
 back to-day to crave a new favour. I have sinned 
 enough; admit me to your angelic brotherhood, and 
 teach me how to sanctity the soul so long drowned in 
 the deep waters of iniquity." The prior embraced him, 
 and promised him his request should be granted ; and 
 in a few days Egidius had dismissed his servants and 
 attendants, and, sending word to his father of his change 
 of intention, received the holy habit with sentiments of 
 the deepest fervour and contrition. The Convent of 
 Valencia was then in the early vigour of its foundation. 
 The brethren led a life of incredible mortification and 
 uninterrupted labour: during the day they preached 
 and heard confessions, and assisted in the actual build- 
 ing of their church and convent ; whilst the night was 
 given as much to prayer and watching as to sleep. 
 Their food was as coarse and scanty as that of the an- 
 cient fathers of the desert. 
 
 Prompt obedience, strict silence, charity, peace of 
 soul, and hard work, such were the elements of the 
 new life to which Egidius found himself so wonderfully 
 called. It was a holy paradise ; yet it proved at first 
 a hard straggle to a nature so long accustomed to in- 
 dulgence and habits of luxury as was his . His conver- 
 sion was indeed sincere; but the old man is not so 
 quickly laid aside as to render so severe a change at 
 once sweet and supportable. Those seven years of no- 
 viceship to Satan had, moreover, to be expiated by long 
 and sore travail of spirit in the service of God. J'he 
 remembrance of the past wns a continual agony ; the 
 rigour of the present seemed often more than he could 
 bear. Yet in these struggles of the flesh against the 
 spirit Egidius bore himself well and manfully : with 
 continued labour and hard austerities he quelled the 
 rebellion of the senses, whilst that tongue, so long given 
 to an idle and worldly volubility, was now restrained 
 with so rigorous a law of silence, that P.. Hum- 
 bert, who was afterwards his companion and fellow- 
 student, has left it on record in his memoirs, that he 
 never once heard him speak an idle word. He studied
 
 THE LEOKND UP BLESSED EO1DIUS. 31 
 
 how to mortify himself even in ways which his rule did 
 not touch ; and refused to exercise or pursue his darling 
 stxidy of medicine, save under obedience ; as though he 
 desired to turn his back on every association of his past 
 life. 
 
 Having made his profession in 1221, he was soon 
 after sent to the Convent of Santarem, in his native 
 country of Portugal. There he led a life of the same 
 persevering fervour ; but the peace of his soul was still 
 wanting. One thought ever preyed on his mind the 
 recollection of that horrible compact, signed with his 
 own blood, which bound him to Satan as his slave and 
 bond-servant. Many a night did he lie prostrate before 
 the altar, drowned in bitter tears, and imploring the 
 Divine power to deliver him from his servitude to the 
 powers of evil; then sometimes, feeling that prayer from 
 such as he was could not reach the throne of God, he 
 would have recourse to the sure refuge of sinners the 
 most loving and merciful Mary and call on her to be 
 his advocate, and to free him by the omnipotence of 
 her intercession. There was in the convent church of 
 Santarem a devout image of the Virgin Mother; and 
 to this spot Egidius would fly for refuge from his own 
 tormenting thoughts. It was the silent witness of his 
 long- nights of prayer, of his tears and discipline to 
 blood ; and so for many years did the anguish of his 
 soul remain unabated, whilst he wore out in penance 
 the^scars of his unforgotten sins. The devil, too, en- 
 raged at the loss of his victim, assaulted him with in- 
 cessant temptations to despair. Often he appeared to 
 him in hideous forms, and claimed him as his own ; and 
 the unhappy penitent, so hardly tried, knew no better 
 protection at such times than in the repetition of the 
 blessed ]\'ame of Jesus. Yet never once did his faith or 
 constancy fail. Exhausted with bodily and mental suf- 
 fering, he would drag himself to the foot of the crucifix, 
 and strive to regain strength and courage at tho sight 
 and touch of those pierced feet. Thus seven years were 
 spent in one uninterrupted conflict with the exterior as-
 
 82 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 saults of Satan and interior temptations to despair. The 
 time at last came when the vessel, cleansed and purified 
 . by so long- a fire, was to be filled with the sweet and 
 odoriferous oil of the Holy Spirit. One night he was at 
 his usual post before that image of the Mother of God, 
 whose presence had a power over his soul like the coo", 
 mountain breeze as it passes over the dry and parched 
 desert. Infernal voices called in his ears, and told him 
 his prayers were vain, and there was no hope or mercy 
 for him; yet still he knelt and prayed. " Star of hope*!" 
 he cried, " it is all true. My sins are heavier than they 
 say; yet they cannot weigh down the Blood which was 
 shed for me on the Cross. Ah, sweet fountain of 
 mercy ! take the cause into thine own hands ; for I am 
 tired out with these straggles, and can do no more." 
 And, as he lay prostrate and exhausted, an invisible 
 force scattered the hosts of hell, and a clear and hor- 
 rible voice cried aloud : " There, take witli my bitterest 
 curse thy written bond ; but know this, that never 
 would I have given it up to thee, had I not been com- 
 pelled by the power of her who stands on that altar, 
 and whom }-ou call the Mother of God." 
 
 Egidius raised his weeping eyes, and saw falling 
 through the opening of the roof where the bell-ropes of 
 the church passed, the paper he had signed at Toledo ; 
 whilst through the same opening a stninge and hideous 
 form was escaping with a gesture of baffled malice. The 
 paper fell on the pavement at his feet ; he grasped it 
 once more in his own hands, and felt he was free, and 
 free through the intercession and patronage of Mary. 
 Wherefore, kneeling again before her image, lie entered 
 into a new compact; and bound himself for the rest of 
 his life as slave to that sweet Mother who had broken 
 the bonds of his servitude and restored his soul to 
 peace. From that hour the darkness and temptation 
 he had so long endured vanished. In his after-life he 
 tasted some of the deepest of those spiritual consolations 
 with which God is wont to favour His chosen servants ; 
 and his chronicler, in narrating some of his ecstasies and
 
 OUR LADY OF CHARTRE8. 83 
 
 miracles, and the unearthly rapture into which the very 
 sound of the holy Name of* Jesus was wont to cast him, 
 observes : " A stronger magic, surely, were these things, 
 than aught that ever he learned in the caves of To- 
 ledo." 
 
 He was long Provincial of Spain, and died in the 
 year 1265, being universally considered the greatest 
 man of his order during the time in which he lived. 
 The circumstances of his conversion, as given above, 
 are found in most of the early chronicles ; and though 
 omitted by Touron in his biographical notice of his lite, 
 yet he assigns no other reason for the omission than 
 the " unlikeliness" of the whole history ; an argument 
 which can hardly be admitted as of much weight in 
 treating of the supernatural displays of God's power. 
 
 V. 
 
 OUR LADY OF CHAIITRES. 
 
 THE town of Chartres, or rather the whole country 
 which surrounds it, was before the Christian era the 
 central point of the religion of the Gauls. There was 
 the principal college of their Druids, over which a 
 supreme pontiff ruled as president ; and there also, ac- 
 cording to ancient traditions, more or less supported 
 by authority, the Druids had raised, in a vast grotto 
 enclosed by a circle of ancient oaks, an altar to the 
 Virgin who was one day to bring forth the Saviour 
 of the world. This image, we are told, represented a 
 woman seated on a throne, with her Son on her knees ; 
 and robed in a long tunic down to the feet, with a man- 
 tle in the form of an antique chasuble, and a crown on 
 her head of oak-leaves, and a veil hanging from it over 
 the shoulders. The grotto in which it was placed is 
 the crypt of the present cathedral, in which the earlv 
 Christians celebrated the holy mysteries in time of per- 
 
 D*
 
 34 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 secution ; and the town of Chartres has ever been under 
 the especial protection of the Blessed Virgin, who has 
 shown her favour to it by many miracles. 
 
 In the year 1116, in the reign of Philip I., on the 
 evening 1 of the 31st of October, there was a solemn pro- 
 cession in the subterranean church of Chartres, while 
 hymns of praise were sung 1 to our Lady, the Queen of 
 " All Saints," whose festival was to be celebrated the 
 next day. The pious Bishop presided ; while the crowd, 
 fervent and recollected, sang 1 with a devout heart. The 
 monks and priests all held torches ; at intervals, when 
 the procession rested, the Bishop, with mitre on his head 
 and crosier in his hand, blessed the faithful, surrounded 
 by the young 1 phalanx of choristers bearing tapers. 
 
 Among these children there was one especially re- 
 marked as being the most diligent and recollected, 
 though he was but ten years old. He was the son of 
 a poor widow, who found in him her treasure and her 
 joy. It was said of him that he had divided his heart 
 into three portions, of which he had given one to God, 
 one to the Blessed Virgin, and one to his mother ; and 
 all these three affections were in full exercise. Never 
 was he absent from a religious ceremony ; never were 
 the festivals of the Blessed Virgin celebrated without 
 his being there to assist : he never seemed thoroughly 
 happy except in church ; and when in the narrow streets 
 of this ancient town a chance passer-by asked who he 
 was, he never failed to answer with an innocent pride, 
 " I am a chorister of our Lady of Chartres." 
 
 The mother of tins sweet child, us may be supposed, 
 was very unwilling ever to have him out of her sight ; 
 and therefore she was, like him, assiduous in frequenting 
 the house of God ; and never ceased following him with 
 her eyes, whether he was serving Mass, or carrying the 
 little vessel of holy water, or whether, in attendance on 
 the good Bishop, he formed one of the little band of 
 whom our Lord in an especial manner commanded that 
 they should be suffered to come to Him. 
 
 On the evening of which we are speaking, this good
 
 OUH LADY OF CHAKTRES. 36 
 
 mother was watching 1 her little son, as lie attended on 
 the Bishop ; and was first surprised, and then anxious, 
 when, on the second turn of the procession, she missed 
 him from the ranks of his young companions. The 
 third turn came ; and he had not re-appeared. What 
 could have become of him? When the function was 
 over, the faithful retired ; but the mother, who had 
 been suffering- for more than half an hour, hastened into 
 the sacristy with a hurried though modest step, and 
 in a low voice asked every one she met for tidings of 
 her son. But no one had seen him disappear; and it 
 was only then for the first time that they observed 
 that he and his taper were missing. 
 
 She went back into the crypt with the sacristans, 
 who sympathised in her anxiety; the other choristers 
 followed ; then the priests and monks, and lastly the 
 good Bishop himself. All loved the gracious child, and 
 took an interest in him; and all were anxious to find 
 out what had become of him, whether he was lying ill 
 in some remote comer, or whether he had forgotten 
 himself in prayer over some holy tomb ; for that crypi 
 had received the bones of several martyrs. 
 
 They all sought in vain however ; they explored 
 even r corner, every niche, every turn, but could find 
 nothing ; they called the child again and again, but no 
 answer was made : so they concluded at last that he 
 had either left the church unperceived, or had been 
 carried away, or that he had fallen into a deep pit just 
 behind the old altar of the Druids. There the mother 
 ran, with her torch in her hand ; and she had no sooner 
 thrown the light on the mouth of the pit, than she 
 gave a cry of anguish which drew all the party to her 
 side in "an instant. At the bottom of the pit she 
 thought she had espied a white surplice. The others 
 looked in ; but by the uncertain light of the torches 
 they could see nothing 1 : a mother's eye, however, was 
 to be trusted ; and by the Bishop's desire, the most 
 active of those in attendance let himself cautiously 
 down to the bottom of the well, where he found tht
 
 36 
 
 poor child, drowned, stiff, insensible, and frozen by 
 death. 
 
 All stood round the mother in silent grief, none 
 daring; to attempt to console her ; for she seemed quite 
 stunned, in a way which struck awe into the hearts of 
 all around her. The feeling-, however, which so over- 
 powered her, was not consternation, though it seemed 
 like it ; it was an impossibility of believing- that her son 
 was really taken from her. As soon as the child was 
 brought to the top of the pit, she seized him eagerly in 
 her arms ; and rushing- to the altar of our Lady, she 
 laid him all dripping- as he was at the foot of the holy 
 image, threw herself on her knees, and cried : 
 
 " Behold him, Blessed Virgin ; this clear child whom 
 we have lost. He is no longer mine, Lady of Chartres, 
 he is yours; I have given him to you: I give him. 
 But you know, dear lady, that he loves you; lie was 
 under your protection; and you cannot surely suffer 
 that he should not awake." 
 
 The tears of all present mingled with those of the 
 widow full of faith ; all knelt round, praying and sob- 
 bing. But few dared to hope that a child who had been 
 an hour drowned could possibly revive ; indeed, scarcely 
 any except the good Bishop and the little choristers, 
 whose young hearts dared to participate in the mother's 
 hope. But faith prevailed ; the child of miracle opened 
 his eyes : he was at once surrounded and borne away 
 from the altar, and his voice joined in the rapturous 
 thanksgiving which immediately resounded through 
 those ancient vaults. 
 
 When the first transports of joy were past, the child 
 thus raised from the dead was immediately overwhelmed 
 with questions ; and he explained that, in trying to get 
 to his place, he had been imprudent enough to pass 
 behind the altar ; and not thinking- of the pit, had fallen 
 into it headlong. As all wondered that he had received 
 no injury, and knew at the same time that he lost all 
 consciousness of life during the hour that he had passed 
 in the water, they asked nim if he had seen, heard, or
 
 BLESSED BERNARD AND HIS TWO NOVICES. 37 
 
 Celt any thing 1 . " I felt nothing 1 ," he answered, " ex- 
 ;ept a wonderful sensation of delight ; I saw nothing- 
 jxcept angels moving 1 gently round me ; and I heard 
 nothing except their harmonious voices, which responded 
 in the words of the Church to the Lord Bishop, when 
 he addressed to the faithful the Pcuc vobixcum. They 
 also responded to the Donuniu vobiacum of the priest." 
 Such is the marvellous adventure of the chorister 
 of our Lady of Chartres. The Bishop was so struck 
 with the wonderful circumstance, that, in order to pre- 
 serve the rememhrance of it, he established a custom 
 which has been observed ever since in the cathedral or 
 Chartres ; namely, that when the officiating Bishop 
 chants the Pa% vobiscwn, or a priest the Dominus 
 vobifcum, whether at Mass, or at Vespers, Matins, or 
 any of the canonical hours, the choir is silent, know- 
 ing that the ang'els are chanting the responses, and that 
 God is hearing them. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF BLESSED BERNARD 
 AND HIS TWO NOVICES. 
 
 AT the time that the celebrated Egidius was pro- 
 vincial of Spain, he gave the habit of the order to a 
 young Gascon named Bernard, who was received into 
 the Convent of Santarem, and became so distinguished 
 among that saintly community for the holy simplicity 
 of his life, that Andrea of Rosende, in his Chronicle of 
 Portugal, draws a parallel between him and IKS great 
 namesake the Abbot of Clairvaux, " to whom,*' he 
 says, " he bore no small resemblance, in a certain 
 dove-like innocence and simplicity of manners." The 
 circumstances attending his death, attested by almost
 
 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 all the writers on the history of the order, are of 
 peculiar beauty. 
 
 Bernard filled the office of sacristan in the Con- 
 vent of Santarem, an office, the exercise of which was 
 peculiarly delightful to him, from the many opportu- 
 nities it gave him of indulging 1 his devotion unseen by 
 any one but his Lord, whom lie loved to honour by a 
 reverent care of the altar and every thing- belonging 
 to the Divine mysteries. Besides this employment, 
 his spare time was occupied in the education of two 
 children, the sons of a neighbouring gentleman, who sent 
 them every day to the convent, where they remained 
 until evening, only sleeping at their father's house. 
 These two boys were permitted to wear the novices' 
 habit of the Friars-Preachers, being probably destined for 
 the order, although not as yet received into the com- 
 munity ; and their innocence and goodness of disposition 
 rendered them peculiarly dear to Blessed Bernard. It 
 was his custom, when busy in the sacristy, to allow 
 them to remain in a chapel then dedicated to the Holy 
 Kings on the right of the high altar, where they used 
 to sit on the altar-steps, reading, or writing their 
 exercises; spending their time quietly and happily until 
 their master's return. Here also they were accustomed 
 to spread out the dinners which they brought with them 
 from home, which they took together in the same place as 
 soon as they had finished their daily lessons. On the altar 
 of this chapel, which was seldom used for the purpose of 
 saying Mass, there was an image of the Blessed Vir- 
 gin, holding her Divine Son in her arms ; and the two 
 children came to look on the Holy Infant almost as a 
 companion, and were wont to talk to Him, as He seemed 
 to look down on them from His Mother's arms, with 
 the simple familiarity of their age. One day, as the\ 
 thus sat on the altar-steps, one of them raised his eyes 
 to the image of the little Jesus that was just above 
 him, and said, " Beautiful Child, how is it you never 
 take any dinner as we do, but always remain without 
 moving all day long? Come down and eat some dinner
 
 BLESSED BERNARD AND HIS TWO NOVICES. 39 
 
 with us, we will give it to you with all our hearts." 
 And it pleased God to reward the innocence and simpla 
 faith of the children by a wonderful miracle: for the 
 carved form of the Holy Child v ecarne radiant with 
 life, and coming down from His Mother's arms, He 
 sat with them on the ground before the altar, and took 
 some of their dinner with them. Nor need we wonder 
 at so great a condescension, remembering- how he came 
 uninvited to be a guest with Zaccheus who was a sin- 
 ner, and that the two whom he now consented to treat 
 as His hosts were clothed in that pure robe of baptismal 
 innocence which makes us woTthv to receive Him under 
 our roof. Now this happened more than once, so 
 that the neglected chapel became to these two chil- 
 dren full of the joy of heaven ; and by daily converse 
 with their Divine Lord they grew in such fervent love 
 towards Him, that they wearied for the hour when they 
 might have Him with them; caring- for nothing* else 
 than this sweet and familiar intercourse with the Lord 
 of heaven. And their parents perceived a chang-e in 
 them, and how their only pleasure was in hastening- to 
 the convent, as if it contained a secret source of happi- 
 ness which had not been revealed before. They there- 
 fore questioned them closely; and the children told them 
 every thing- without reserve. But the tale seemed to 
 those who listened nothing- but an idle invention, or 
 perhaps an artifice in order to obtain a larger quantity 
 of food; and they therefore took no notice of what they 
 said beyond reproving- them for their folly. 
 
 But when they repeated the same story to B. Ber- 
 nard, he listened with very different feelings ; for he 
 knew the holy hearts of his two little disciples; and he 
 felt, moreover, that there was nothing unworthy of belief 
 in the fact that He who, being God, became a little 
 child, should condescend to give a mark of favour to 
 those of whom He Himself has said, that u of such 
 is the kingdom of heaven." When, therefore, after 
 many inquiries, he had satisfied himself of the truth of
 
 40 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 their tale, he bade them give glory to God for His 
 goodness; and then considered whether there was no 
 way in which these circumstances might be made to 
 serve yet further to the happiness and sanctification of 
 his pupils. And hearing how they, in their childish 
 way, expressed a wonder that, after thev had so often 
 invited the Child to eat some of their Dinner, He had 
 never brought any food with Him to share with them, 
 he bade them the next time He came ask Him how 
 this was, and whether He would not also ask them 
 some day to dine with Him in His Father's house. The 
 boys were delighted with this idea; and they failed not 
 to do as they were directed the next time that they 
 were alone in the chapel. Then the Child smiled on 
 them graciously, and said, " What you say is very just; 
 within three days I invite you to a banquet in My 
 Father's house :" and with this answer they returned 
 full of joy to their master. He well knew the mean- 
 ing of this invitation : the change that had gradually 
 appeared in his two beloved disciples had not been 
 unmarked by him ; he had seen them, as it were before 
 their time, growing ripe for heaven; and he understood 
 that it was the Divine pleasure, after thus training them 
 for Himself in a marvellous way, that they should be 
 transplanted to the angelic company, before their hearts 
 had once been touched by the knowledge of sin or the 
 contamination of the world. Yet he sighed to think 
 that they should thus be granted to pass to Christ in 
 their happy infancy, whilst he, who had grown old in 
 the spiritual warfare, was to be left behind ; and resolving 
 to make one more trial of the condescension which had 
 been so bounteously lavished on his pupils, he bade them 
 go back again to the chapel, and tell the Divine Child 
 that since they wore the habit of the Order, it was ne- 
 cessary for them to observe the rules ; and that it was 
 never permitted for novices to accept of any invitation, 
 or go to the house of any person, except in their 
 master's company. " Return, then, to your master,"
 
 BLESSED BERNARD AND HIS TWO NOVICES. 41 
 
 said the Holy Child, " and bid him be of the company; 
 and on Thursday morning I will receive you all three 
 together in My Father's house." 
 
 Bernard's heart bounded with emotion when he 
 heard these words. It was then the first of the Ro- 
 gation Days, and the day which had been appointed 
 was therefore Ascension Day. He made every ar- 
 rangement as for his approaching death, and obtained 
 leave on that day to say the last Mass, his two disciples 
 serving during the celebration, and receiving Communion 
 from his hands. Doubtless it would be hard for us to 
 realise his feelings of devout and joyful expectation dur- 
 ing those moments. And when Mass was ended, he 
 knelt before the same altar with the children, one on 
 either side, and all three commended their souls to 
 God, as though they knew their last hour was come, 
 and the altar-steps were to be their deathbed. And it 
 was even so. An hour after, some of the brethren found 
 them still kneeling thus before the altar, Bernard vested 
 as for Mass, and the two boys in their serving-robes. 
 But they were quite dead : their eyes were closed, and 
 their faces wore a smile of most sweet tranquillity ; and 
 it was evident that there had been no death-struggle, 
 but that their souls had passed to the presence of God 
 whilst in the very act of prayer. They were buried in 
 the Chapel of tne Holy Kings, which had been the 
 scene of so many of our Lord's visits to the two chil- 
 dren ; and a picture was hung 1 up over the spot, repre- 
 senting them seated on the altar-step, with the Divine 
 Child between them. 
 
 This was the only monument to mark the place of 
 their burial; and in course of years the memory of it 
 was lost, and the chapel became dinised and neglected 
 as before. One of tho succeeding priors of the convent, 
 wishing to find some further record of the ancient tra- 
 dition, dug down beneath the spot indicated by the 
 picture; taking- care to have two apostolic notaries and 
 the vicar-general of the diocese present, together with 
 other authorities of distinction and credit. At a little
 
 42 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 distance beneath the surface a carved stone sarcophagus 
 was found, which being opened, the church was imme- 
 diately filled with an odour of surpassing sweetress; 
 and on removing the clothes that lay on the top, the 
 remains of three bodies were discovered, which they 
 could not doubt were those of B. Bernard and his no- 
 vices ; for the bones of the middle skeleton were of 
 the size of a grown man, whilst those on either side 
 were small ana delicate. From the great number of 
 years that had passed, most of them were reduced to 
 mere dust ; but some portions of white cloth showed 
 that they had been buried hi the habit of the order. 
 The memory of this history has been preserved even 
 up to our own times; for from the time of this solemn 
 translation of their bodies, a Mass of the Ascension 
 was celebrated every Thursday, in thanksgiving for the 
 graces granted to them, and a confraternity of the In- 
 fant Jesus established, to whom the custody of the an- 
 cient imnge was intrusted. Their death is supposed by 
 Sosa to have taken place about the year 127?.* 
 
 VIL 
 THE LAKE OF THE APOSTLES. 
 
 THE city of Mons, which owes its origin to the holy 
 St. Vaudru more than to the old Roman camp of 
 Cicero's brother, began to increase in importance in 
 874. Charlemagne, seventy years before, had raised 
 
 * Another story occurs in the Dominican annals, whose par- 
 ticulars arc almost precisely similar to those narrated above; 
 except that there was but one child to whom the vision of our 
 Lord appeared, and that the scene of the story is laid in Ma- 
 jorca. There is, however, ample evidence that it is not a dif- 
 ferent version of the same event, as might be supposed, but that 
 they are two distinct and well-authenticated facts. It has not, 
 however, been thought necessary to insert the second in this 
 place, from the strong similarity it bears to that given above. 
 It occurred at the time of the great plf.gnc in 1348.
 
 THE LAKE OF THE APOSTLES. 43 
 
 it to the dignity of an earldom. The last Count of 
 Mons, Albon II. had left his estates to his only daugh- 
 ter Albraide. She was the happy bride of Regmer, 
 surnamed the Long-heeled, a knig-ht celebrated for his 
 bravery no less than for his manly beauty. " Never, 
 never," say the old chronicles, " haci there lived a more 
 devoted pair than Albraide and Regnier." Beloved by 
 all their subjects, they were occupied in enlarging- and 
 adorning- their city, which in those days did not occupy 
 a third of the ground covered by the present beautiful 
 and flourishing- town, when a sudden invasion of Nor- 
 mans came upon them. 
 
 Many times already since the death of Charlemag-ne 
 the northern barbarians had appeared like a whirlwind 
 on the coasts of France. Baldwin of the Iron-arm had 
 driven them from Flanders ; but now messeng-er after 
 messeng-er announced that their sails appeared riding- 
 over the waves, and bearing- death and misery to 
 France. 
 
 Reg-nier was brave ; like Baldwin of the Iron-arm, 
 lie was of noble blood ; and like him, he called to- 
 g-ether his warriors, and armed himself for battle. Al- 
 braide, weeping- and anxious, hastened to shut herself 
 in a little chapel which she had raised in honour of the 
 Twelve Apostles, and where she spent the remainder of 
 the day in tearful prayers for her country and her 
 knight. 
 
 Meanwhile Regrrier had advanced to Tournai, which 
 he hoped to defend. But he had only been able to 
 collect a handful of men, and the Normans came in 
 leg-ions. The fleet was headed by Rollo, or Rolf, the 
 fiercest and the most dreaded of all the warriors of the 
 north. Weary of his dangerous and adventurous life, 
 he had vowed to take up his permanent abode in the 
 richest country which earth cr.uld offer him; and the 
 conquest of Hainault was one to kindle all his ambition. 
 It was, therefore, with the fury of a baffled demon that 
 Rolf advanced upon Regnier. He fought with des-
 
 44 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 perate courage; he led forth a gigantic army; and the 
 young count was driven back. 
 But Albraide was praying. 
 
 Battle upon battle did Regnier wage ; still day by 
 day repulsed, and day by day returning to the charge 
 with renewed courage. Before long, however, he was 
 forced to acknowledge to himself that it was impos- 
 sible to be victorious in open warfare against Rolf. He 
 retired to the neighbourhood of Conde, and there tried 
 by ambushes and night attacks to harass the enemy. 
 And Albraide still prayed on. 
 One day she knelt before the altar of the Apostles, 
 when the sound of a footstep sent her blood to her 
 heart. She turned. A messenger from her husband's 
 camp stood before her. Glad indeed were the tidings 
 which he brought. Regnier had captured Rollo's 
 twelve principal generals. A holiday was proclaimed 
 through all the castle ; all hearts, from that of the coun- 
 tess to her lowest serf, beat high with joy. And after 
 reciting together with all her household a fervent Te, 
 Deum,, Albraide retired to rest and to hopeful dreams. 
 Alas ! on the next morning a woful change had 
 fallen upon the castle; all sounds of joy and triumph 
 had given way to tears and bitter lamentations. A mes- 
 senger had arrived with early dawn, bringing the news 
 that the young Count of Mons, the hero and the glory 
 of his people, was taken captive. 
 
 Long and most bitterly did his .young bride, weep. 
 But when the first bitterness was past, she consoled her- 
 self with the idea, that it would be easy to ransom her 
 husband by setting at liberty the twelve Norman gene- 
 rals. But, by and by, she henrd to her dismay that 
 Rollo would not consent to such an exchange; that, 
 knowing well how dearly loved the young count was, 
 he would only surrender such a prize when his country 
 should be given up. And lastly, a messenger arrived 
 with the news that Rollo threatened to cut oif the head 
 of his prisoner at once.
 
 THE LAKE OF THE APOSTLES. 45 
 
 Then the young countess seemed to lose her pre- 
 sence of mind and her courage. In the restlessness of 
 her agony she flew out of the palace and out of the 
 town, only imploring- to be left alone. No one at- 
 tempted to follow her. There are moments in war 
 when only selfish feai-s can make themselves heard; 
 and the people of Mons already imagined the savage 
 Northmen in their desecrated homes. 
 
 Despair in her heart, and madness in her brain, the 
 wretched Albraide rushed into the open country, and in 
 the direction of a deep lake which lay not far from the 
 city. And now its cold quiet waters lay before her; 
 and her good angel must have trembled for her. Be- 
 wildered, miserable, tempted almost beyond her strength, 
 she was already on the brink, and ,one moment more 
 would have hurried her into eternity. But suddenly, 
 upon the borders of the lake rose up before her a vene- 
 rable man in flowing antique robes, and leaning on a 
 pilgrim's staff. She turned away to avoid him ; ano- 
 ther, like him in appearance, again stood before her. 
 Further on, a third appeared, holding rays in his hand ; 
 a fourth, leaning on a Greek cross: twelve ancient men, 
 marked by different emblems, a scythe, a sword, a 
 palm, and a chalice, surrounded the lake, as if to 
 guard it. 
 
 The countess hurried round it again and again, 
 without remarking that the old men were slowly fol- 
 lowing her ; till, at the point where she had first seen 
 the pilgrim with his staff, they all surrounded her, and 
 with one solemn voice addressed her : 
 
 " Albraide, God in His mercy saves you from a 
 fearful sin : a thought is in your heart which you have 
 never offered up to Him ; but we have not forgotten you, 
 poor suffering child ! Send back the twelve generals. 
 Return to Mons : do all which the barbarian demands, 
 and you will see your Hegnier again." 
 
 A light streamed over the black waters as the vision 
 disappeared : and in its radiance knelt Albraide, weep- 
 ing bitterly, indeed, but now with soft nnd healthful
 
 4(5 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 tears. She could not doubt but her preservers from sin 
 and death were no others than the twelve apostles. 
 
 She quickly regained her palace, and summoned the 
 twelve prisoners before her. 
 
 " You are free," she said ; "return to your leader; 
 and may he deal by Regnier as I have dealt by you." 
 
 The twelve generals looked one upon the other in 
 surprise. Free from their chains, they returned to their 
 camp, blessing- and praising the generous countess. 
 
 The people of Mons, however, had already sent to 
 negotiate with Rollo for the liberation of their prince. 
 The barbarian had demanded as ransom, not only the 
 liberty of his twelve generals, but also all the gold and 
 silver in Ilainault ; and that Albraide should swear by 
 her God, that neither jewels or costly ornaments of any 
 kind remained in her castles nor in her churches, lie 
 also demanded a contribution in kind for the mainten- 
 ance of his troops. Twenty-four hours were given to 
 the people of Mons ; and if by that time the ransom 
 was not paid, they might expect, said Hollo, to receive 
 the head of their count. 
 
 Rollo had not recovered from his surprise at the re- 
 turn of his generals, when the first waggon containing 
 the gold and silver arrived. The spoils of every palace, 
 church, or castle, followed from hour to hour ; and last 
 of all arrived the jewels of the young countess. 
 
 Surprised and touched through all his rugged na- 
 ture, Rollo summoned Regnier to his presence, fell 
 upon his neck, presented him with a horse, and insisted 
 on himself accompanying him home to his wife, to whom 
 he restored all her treasures. 
 
 " Due Regnier," he said, " between you and me 
 there must be perpetual peace and an eternal friend- 
 ship." 
 
 Pressing his hand, he swore to respect for his sake 
 Ilainault and lirabant, set sail for the open sea, and 
 hastened off to conquer that part of France which bus 
 fcince been named Normandy. 
 
 In memory of the countess's vision, the lake where
 
 THE CHILI) OF THE JEW. 47 
 
 she had seen the twelve venerable men has ever sine* 
 been named 
 
 Tlie Lake of the Apostles. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE CHILD OF THE JEW. 
 
 IN the year 527, there was at Bourses a school much 
 frequented both by rich and poor, and even by the chil- 
 dren both of Christians and Jews, without any distinc- 
 tion either of rank or of religion. 
 
 Now it happened that a Jewish artisan had a little 
 son of twelve years old, who daily went with other 
 children to this school. He was a favourite with his 
 companions, despite his despised religion ; and after 
 school he was in the habit of lingering in the cool 
 evening- hours to enjoy a game of play with them in the 
 streets. Often he saw them enter the church, and 
 kneel before a much revered statue of our Lady : there 
 they would offer flowers, or, with the ready and playful 
 devotion which characterises the Catholic child, they 
 would run to our Blessed Lady as to a mother, and beg 
 her blessing- on their work or play, or render their simple 
 acts of thanksgiving- for a well-learnt lesson or a success- 
 ful g-arne. The little Jew did as they did ; and often 
 prayed as fervently as any of them to her whom he did 
 not yet know, but whom he had so often heard spoken 
 of as the Mother of God. At the Feast of Easter, 
 which was celebrated with great pomp and joy, many 
 children approached the holy altar to partake of the 
 Bread of Life. They were easilv to be recognised from 
 the rest, as they entered the church in their spotless 
 garments, with heads bowed down, and quiet and joy 
 beaming on each innocent and earnest face. The little 
 Jew felt a thrill of envy envy such as a saint might 
 have felt, and nsked himself with tears in his eyes
 
 48 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 why ho should not join them? Surely the Son of 
 that beautiful Lady whom he loved so much, that 
 sweet Lady to whom he had so often offered flowers, 
 would not shut him out from this happy troop. And 
 he joined himself to them. The priest did not know 
 him, and he received the Holy Eucharist among- the 
 rest. It was innocently done ; and perhaps few thanks- 
 givings were more fervent or more deeply felt than 
 that of the ignorant little Jew. The Mass ended, 
 and after a visit to his well-known and dearly-loved 
 statue, the little one returned home. The child's fre- 
 quent absences of late had passed unobserved by his 
 father, a busy, silent man, who took little heed of his 
 son's doings ; but on this occasion he had been away an 
 unusually long- time, and his father broke silence at 
 last, to ask where he had been. The child told him at 
 once how dearly he loved Our Lady's statue; how often 
 he had visited it ; and how that day he had at last re- 
 ceived the Christian's food, the Bread of Angels, as he 
 had been taught to call it. His father was one of those 
 men who combine utter carelessness in the practice of 
 all that regards their own creed, with a bitter and per- 
 secuting 1 hatred of any other. That his son should have 
 neglected any religion, that he should have grown up an 
 unbeliever or a bad man, would have troubled him little ; 
 but that ho should have become a Christian, this was an 
 offence which awakened every evil feeling' of his dark 
 and gloomy nature ; that his child should ever have set 
 foot in the place of worship of those detested Christians, 
 was a blot on his name never to be washed out. He 
 flew Tipon the helpless boy with the fury of a demon, 
 seized him, and hurled him with a volley of curses into 
 the blazing- furnace which he was then tending-, throw- 
 ing two enormous faggots after him to make his fate 
 sure. It was over in a moment; and soon after the 
 boy's mother entered. She had seen her child returning, 
 and followed him as quickly as she could; and now she 
 wns much astonished at not seeing him here. 
 
 " Where is the child ?" she asked ; but her husband
 
 THE CHILD OP THE JEW. 49 
 
 made no answer ; and the poor woman, now beginning 
 to feel a vague terror, ran into every corner of her own 
 house and those of her neighbours, calling 1 on her boy, 
 at first with anxiety, then with wild terror. At last she 
 fancied that, in answer to her frenzied cries, she heard 
 his voice ; she called again, and again the voice replied. 
 The neighbours who had gathered round her stood 
 aghast with terror, the voice seemed to come from the 
 furnace ; and the horror and astonishment were at their 
 height, when the boy's father, who had maintained a 
 sullen demeanour during the whole time, was seen, 
 with an expression of rage, to seize a fagot, which he 
 attempted to fling into the furnace. Some of the 
 neighbours held him back, others hastened to extinguish 
 tne blazing charcoal and wood ; and at last, to the be- 
 wilderment and astonishment of all, the boy was drawn 
 out uninjured. Not a thread of his dress, not a hair of 
 his head, was singed ; and his little cheeks were as cool 
 and rosy as if he came from a bath, rather than a fur- 
 nace heated to its greatest extent. When the first 
 burst of horror, joy, and gratitude, with their mingled 
 smiles and siffhs, was over, the child gave his own simple 
 history. " It was the kind lady of the church," he 
 said, " who had received him in her arms, and protected 
 him from the flames in the folds of her white mantle." 
 The fate of the wretched father is unknown ; but the 
 mother and her child became Christians. 
 
 Such was the history of the little Jew : may we 
 take example by his simple faith ; and may Mary, the 
 Mother of Mercy, wrap us in the spotless folds of her 
 mantle from a more cruel enemy and a yet moie fiery 
 furnace,
 
 50 r.ATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 OUR LADY OF GALLORO. 
 
 OF all the retreats scattered tip and down along the 
 sides of the Alban and Sabine Hills, in which the Romans 
 and their guests seek shelter from the summer heats, 
 there is none more peaceful and more pleasant than the 
 little village of L'Ariccia. Prettily situated on the 
 summit of one of those knolls, or minor eminences, 
 which form the outskirts of the Alban range where 
 first it begins to rise out of the Campagna, it still re- 
 tains those ancient characteristics by which it is known 
 to the classical student. As your carriage toils slowly 
 up the steep ascent by which the village is entered from 
 the side of Rome, it is beset by troops of beg'gars, 
 imploring^ the same assistance, and using (in many 
 instances) the very same outward gesture as their fore- 
 fathers did in the days of Juvenal ;* when you have 
 reached the top, and penetrated nearly to the end of 
 the one long narrow street of which the village consists, 
 you come to a very unpretending but, very comfortable 
 little hotel, which might serve as the genuine repre- 
 sentative of that " hospitium modicum" wherein Ho- 
 race t took his first night's rest in his celebrated journey 
 from Rome to Brindisi ; and if you go on but a few 
 paces further, and pass under the archway at the other 
 extremity of the village, you find yourself at once in 
 that thick dark wood, that " NcmusAririnum" through 
 which many an ancient worshipper of Jupiter Latialis 
 must often have passed on his way to or from the 
 solemn assemblies that were wont to be held on the 
 summit of Monte Cavi. It is not, however, with the 
 classical associations of this little village that we ore 
 now concerned, but with a shrine in its immediate neigh- 
 
 * Sat iv. 1 1 7-8. f 1 Sat. v. 2.
 
 OUR LADY OP OALLORO. 61 
 
 bourhood dedicated to the Holy Mother of God, to 
 which the inhabitants have a very special devotion, 
 and which is continually visited by all strangers who 
 happen to have taken up their abode for the summer 
 months in any of the adjacent villages. 
 
 It was in the early spring- of the year 1621, that a boy, 
 named Santi Bevilacqua, a native of Tuscany, but then 
 living- with his uncle (a carpenter) at L' Ariccia, was out 
 in this wood on some boyish quest after wild fruits or 
 flowers ; and in the course of his rambles, he chanced 
 to spy what seemed to him to be a piece of high wall 
 or broken rock, thickly surrounded with brambles and 
 all sorts of underwood. Impelled by an idle curiosity, 
 or by some other motive of which we have no account, 
 he peered more closely into this dense mass of wild 
 tang'led vegetation, until he fancied that he saw against 
 the face of the rock something- shining- and coloured. 
 Having- removed, as well as he was able, all the impedi- 
 ments in his way, he discovered, to his g-reat delight, 
 that there was a picture there of our Blessed Lady 
 holding- the Divine Infant in her arms, for which, with 
 the true instinct of a Catholic child, he immediately 
 conceived a very lively devotion; and falling- on his 
 knees, spent a considerable time in prayer and medita- 
 tion before it. For some time the boy took a great, 
 pride in keeping- his discovery a profound secret from 
 all his companions; and every day, as he left school, 
 he used to steal away as secretly as he could, and pay 
 a solitary visit to his dear Madonna. He had no other 
 means of finding- his way to the spot than by faithfully 
 following- the course he had chanced to pursue on the 
 day of the original discovery; yet this, he was well 
 aware, was needlessly long- and circuitous. He set 
 about, therefore, to make a more direct path for himself; 
 but as this proved to be a task beyond his strength, he 
 was obliged to call to his assistance some of his older 
 schoolfellows. These went to work with admirable 
 diligence, and manag-ed to force a passage through a 
 great deal of brushwood, until they had nearlv arrived
 
 62 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 at the object of their desires. But here the wood grew 
 thicker and more stout, and no force which this band of 
 juvenile workmen could command would make any 
 impression upon it. Day after day they renewed their 
 attempts, but always failed. At last one of them sug- 
 gested a brilliant idea, which, with the characteristic 
 thoughtlessness of their age, they immediately pro- 
 ceeded to carry into execution. It was no other than 
 to set fire to the obnoxious impediments ; and, wonder- 
 ful to relate, they succeeded in their purpose without 
 doing- any mischief to other parts of the wood. When 
 once this feat had been accomplished, the picture of our 
 Lady in the wood became a favourite resort of all the 
 children who were aware of its existence ; they made 
 daily pilgrimages to it, offering their little nosegays of 
 wild flowers or any thing else they could get, by way 
 of ornament ; and although some of the good villagers 
 of L'Ariccia did not quite approve of such a troop of 
 children continually passing to and fro in what they 
 conceived to be very dang-erous proximity to their vine- 
 yards and gardens, yet the pious practice could not be 
 checked, but only grew more and more general. 
 
 It was in the designs of Divine Providence, how- 
 ever, that this picture should receive a still greater 
 celebrity, and become an object of devotion to a more 
 extensive circle ; and the child Santi was selected to be 
 the occasion of this, as he had also been of its first dis- 
 covery. One day, being somewhat weary on his return 
 from the wood, he lay down in his uncle's shop, leaning 
 his head against a heap of boards which were ranged 
 along the wall. During his sleep, all these planks 
 fell, and of course the child was buried Tinder them. 
 The carpenter, hearing the noise, ran to the spot to see 
 what was the matter ; other neighbours also were soon 
 gathered together to the scene of the accident. A*-, 
 first they lamented over the child ns dead; but on 
 hearing his voice calling from beneath the timber, they 
 lost no time in removing it, and, to their great amaze- 
 ment, thov found the bov not onlv alivo, but absolutelv
 
 OUR LADY OF QALLORO. 63 
 
 unhurt. Nothing- was now to be heard but cries on all 
 sides of " Miracolo! miracolo! MadrediDio! Maria 
 santissima!" and other such exclamations; and the boy 
 was called upon to give an account of his extraordinary 
 escape. This was soon done ; for all that he could say 
 about it was, that as soon as he felt the planks were 
 moving, he instantly invoked the Madonna of Valle- 
 riccia, and that he had never ceased to do so ever since. 
 This led of course to a rehearsal of the whole story ab 
 ovo, of the way in which the picture had first been 
 brought to light, and how the juvenile pilgrims had 
 been constantly honouring it ever since ; whereupon 
 the older inhabitants of the village called to mind, 
 that in their younger days they had often heard talk 
 of this picture; they could not, indeed, give any ac- 
 curate account of who it was that had painted it, nor 
 how old it was; but it was generally supposed that it 
 was the work of one of the Basilian monks of Grotta 
 Ferrata, who had once owned some property in that 
 neighbourhood, and whose zeal for religious painting 
 was so notorious ; any how, they could remember when 
 there had been a great devotion to this Madonna ; even 
 as late as the year 1594, the Princess Artemisia Savelli 
 (whose family then occupied the palace and lands in 
 L'Ariccia now belonging to the Chigi family) had attri- 
 buted her own unexpected recovery from some danger- 
 ous malady to a vow which she made with reference to 
 this very picture ; and she had afterwards been very 
 anxious to build a little chapel for it, only unfortunately 
 there was some dispute between the prince and the 
 ecclesiastical authorities of the village as to the right of 
 property in this portion of the wood ; hence the whole 
 scheme had fallen to the ground, and the public devo- 
 tion received a check, which ended, as we have seen, in 
 the total neglect of the picture, and indeed absolute 
 forgetfulness of its existence. Now, however, news of 
 the miracle being every where noised abroad, people 
 naturally flocked together to go and visit the place; 
 and since it only needs for a Catholic to show special
 
 64 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 devotion to our Blessed Lady in order to receive special 
 benefits from her intercession, it follows, as a matter of 
 course, that other wonderful cnres and other favours, 
 both temporal and spiritual, were soon received at th* 
 same spot. What has been before now said of troubles 
 and SOITOWS, and what is indeed a common proverb in 
 the mouth of every body, even in matters of this world, 
 may be still more truly said of any outpouring 1 ol 
 wonderful gifts and graces at the hand of Mary : they 
 do not come singly. i( That one hailstone falls is a 
 proof, not that no more will come, but that others are 
 coming surely ; when we feel the first, we say, ' it 
 begins to hail,' we do not argue that it is over, but 
 that it is to come." Just so is it with these miracles 
 wrought by the intercession of Mary ; where we hear 
 of one, immediately we look for another ; it continues, 
 because it has begun ; its beginning- marks its presence; 
 and it goes on for months or years, or even for whole 
 generations, according- to the good pleasure of Almighty 
 God. 
 
 The f/razia, then, that had been received by the 
 boy Bevilacqua, was followed by innumerable others 
 of various kinds, bestowed upon persons who came to 
 offer up their prayers, and to call upon our Blessed 
 Lady for help, in the presence of this ancient picture, 
 until at length one of the priests of L'Ariccia, by name 
 Polidori, a native of Frascati, determined on erecting 
 an altar there, and enclosing it in a little oratory. He 
 also built a cottage adjoining, as a residence for some one 
 to take care of the sanctuary ; and in addition to this 
 person, Santi also went and lived there, to serve the 
 masses, and perform all the other offices of a sacristan. 
 The chapel was opened on the 3d of May, 1G23, the 
 whole population of the neighbourhood assisting at a 
 grand procession; and it was soon so much frequented, 
 that fourteen or fifteen masses were said there nearly 
 every day. Offerings too of various kinds were given 
 in such abundance, that it was proposed to erect a 
 church of greater pretensions, capable of accommodating-
 
 OUR LADY OF OALLOHO. 66 
 
 the continually increasing 1 number of pilgrims. The 
 Cardinal Bishop of Albano and Prince Savelli having 
 consented to this proposal, and upwards of 8000/. having 
 been contributed for the purpose, the foundation-stone 
 was laid on the loth of August, 1624, on a little plat- 
 form of land which almost overhangs the site or the 
 more humble oratory and the place where the picture 
 was first discovered. It was several years before the 
 building was completed, more especially since it was 
 determined to erect a convent also, adjoining the new 
 church ; and the funds which had been collected proved 
 inadequate to this extension of the original plan. At 
 length, however, the whole work was accomplished, and 
 on the 15th of May, 1633, the church was solemnly dedi- 
 cated to our Blessed Lady, under the title of her Im- 
 maculate Conception, and at the same time religious of the 
 congregation of Vallarnbrosa took possession of the new 
 monastery. Early on the following day (which in that 
 year was Whit-Monday) upwards ot thirty thousand per- 
 sons might be seen flocking together from all the neigh- 
 bouring villages, and even from Rome itself, anxious to 
 assist at the ceremony of removing the picture from its 
 original position in the wood to the place that was now 
 prepared for it over the high altar in the church. Canon 
 Polidori's little oratory had merely enclosed the rock 
 on whose surface the image of our Lady was paintod, 
 he had not attempted to detach the painting from the 
 rock itself; and indeed this would have been impossi- 
 ble, the coat of plaster on which it stood being too thin 
 and delicate to bear removal. But now they had sawn 
 off that portion of the rock which thev wished to pre- 
 serve ; and this fragment being placed on a wooden 
 frame, highly ornamented with flowers and lights, and 
 otherwise prepared for the purpose, they proceeded to 
 carry up the hill, and to deposit it in its new resting- 
 place. This was done by bodies of ten men at a time, 
 continually relieving one another, and moving onwards 
 amid the solemn prayers, and hymns and psalms of 
 thanksgiving of the assembled multitudes. Many mira-
 
 66 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 cles, it is said, were wrought both during its progress 
 and after it was placed in the church, where it was 
 exposed to the veneration of the faithful on a platform 
 near the high altar until the end of the month ; and 
 similar blessings have been renewed from time to time 
 ever since, of which the inhabitants of L' Ariccia retain 
 a most grateful remembrance. 
 
 The plague in 1G56 and the cholera in 1837 had 
 spread far and wide through central Italy and the 
 States of the Church ; it had even readied as far as the 
 little town of Albano, scarcely half a mile distant from 
 the village of which we are speaking; but the faithful 
 inhabitants flocked together to pay their vows at the 
 shrine of Galloro ; old men and chilaren, young men and 
 maidens, princes, priests, and beggars, all might then 
 be seen wending their way through the shady wood to 
 the little chapel, which was crowded from morning till 
 night; the petitioners told their beads as they went 
 along, or they recited psalms, or they sang hymns and 
 litanies, and many of them walked barefooted : in a 
 word, they were pilgrims and humble clients of Mary; 
 and Mary received their prayers, the plague was stayed, 
 and not a single inhabitant of the village fell a victim 
 on either occasion. 
 
 Equally remarkable was the deliverance of this 
 village, not indeed from all molestation and alarm, yet 
 from all plunder and violence on the part of the re- 
 publican troops of France at the close of the last cen- 
 tury. The sanctuary itself had been sacrilegiously 
 stripped of all that was costly and valuable in tne way 
 of precious stones or metals ; the religious had been 
 driven from their home, and the monastery, with all its 
 furniture, was sold ; the church, therefore, was neces- 
 sarily closed, and all public devotion to the picture 
 suspended. Yet, day after day, many a peasant might 
 be seen kneeling 011 the bare ground without the door, 
 invoking the assistance and protection of their ancient 
 patron; and by and by the picture itself was removed to 
 L' Ariccia, and even the altar which had stood below it;
 
 OUR LADY OF OALLORO. 67 
 
 x 
 
 and after this translation, the inhabitants both felt and 
 found themselves safe from the lawless depredations of 
 their enemies. 
 
 A combination of circumstances, such as the world 
 calls clianfC) but in which religion never fails to recog- 
 nise the finger of God, served to protect them from all 
 those further injuries by which their less favoured 
 neighbours were so grievously oppressed. Their grate- 
 ful devotion for this mercy rendered them extremely 
 unwilling to restore the picture to Galloro, when the 
 Vallambrosian monks returned to take possession of the 
 monastery; indeed, the religious were obliged to call 
 for the interference of the Pope, before they could 
 recover it. Ten years afterwards saw Napoleon master 
 of Rome, and all the religious communities dispersed. 
 Galloro, however, was not this time altogether aban- 
 doned. Although the Vallambrosians were obliged to 
 withdraw, they left two American priests ex-Jesuits, 
 who had been staying with them for some time since 
 the dissolution of their own society to serve the church 
 during- their absence; and when, on the restoration of 
 Pope Pius VII. to his throne, and of the various religious 
 orders to their homes, the Vallambrosians, in conse- 
 quence of an insufficiency of numbers, were no longer 
 in a condition to resume their residence here, the Holy 
 Father, who had just then re-established the Society of 
 Jesus, appointed these fathers in their stead, and they 
 have retained it ever since. 
 
 Only three or four Jesuits are in constant residence 
 here; its healthy situation, however, and the quiet 
 retirement of the place, cause it to be constantly visited 
 by fathers from other parts who have been overworked, 
 and stand in need of rest ; hence the functions in the 
 church are frequent and good, and the devotion to the 
 sanctuary is probably as great at the present day as it 
 has ever been, excepting perhaps on certain special 
 occasions immediately after some notorious miracle. 
 At one time, for a period of two months or more, we 
 enjoyed the opportunity of visiting it ourselves almost
 
 68 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 daily, and can testify to the number and devotion 
 of tliose who worship there. We have already said 
 that the church stands on the side of a hill, without 
 any habitations nearer to it than the villages of 
 L'Ariccia on the one side, and of Genzano on the 
 other (the former being- a little more than half a mile 
 off perhaps, the latter at more than double that 
 distance); yet the number of communions that were 
 made there in a single year (1846) were upwards of 
 7060, being an average of nearly twenty pilgrims 
 a-day.* There can be no doubt but that the Romans 
 and foreigners who make their summer retreat in the 
 neighbourhood contribute something to this number; 
 we observe, however, that in the very depth of winter 
 the average number of communions is not less than 500 
 a-month : thus, in December 512, in January 404, in 
 February 633, &c. These details may enable the reader 
 in some degree to realise to himself the habit which 
 prevails among' the people, of having recourse to this 
 shrine on all occasions of special devotion during the 
 time of any public or private trial ; in a word, when 
 they wish to be more earnest in their prayers, and to 
 draw nearer, as it were, to the throne of grace and the 
 fount of mercy. 
 
 * The number of Easter communicants in L'Ariccia is about 
 900; that in Genzano we do not accurately know; it is pro- 
 bably throe times as much.
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE JU8TINIANI. 59 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE JUSTINIANI. 
 
 IN glancing- over the pages of any history, it is curious 
 to remark now capriciously the associations of historical 
 interest seem to change focalities. At one time some 
 particular country is chosen out, and into its limits are 
 crowded all the life and greatness of the period ; and if 
 we look at it at another time, perhaps in the very next 
 age, we find it forgotten ; the light that rested over it 
 for a moment has passed on, and is illuminating some 
 other spot, leaving it again, in its turn, to fall into its 
 former insignificance. All the classic regions of anti- 
 quity may be said to be illustrations of this remark, 
 and none more so than the Isles of Greece ; their inte- 
 rest in the map of Europe at the present day is limited 
 to their names. Yet not to speak only of times of dis- 
 tant antiquity, scarcely more than three hundred years 
 ago these islands played a distinguished part in the 
 long struggle maintained by Christian Europe against 
 the power of the infidels. In the present weakened 
 and contemptible state of the Turkish empire, it is diffi- 
 cult for us to realise a time, and that not so very long 
 ago, when the very name of the Turks was a word of 
 terror to Christendom. Yet during the whole of the 
 sixteenth century (until, under the patronage of Mary 
 the Help of Christians, their naval power was utterly 
 destroyed at Lepanto) we find Europe lying almost at 
 their mercy. Among the many tales which may be 
 found of touching interest in connection with their 
 cruel incursions on the shores of the Mediterranean and 
 Levant, the following is told concerning the illustrious 
 family of the Justiniani. 
 
 The original stock of this noble house was settled 
 at Venice ; out a branch had long been fixed in the isle 
 of Scio, of which island they were indeed the lords,
 
 60 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 though in the beginning- of the sixteenth century they 
 had become tributary to the Turks. A noble devoted- 
 ness in resistance to the infidel, and in the protection of 
 Christendom, was hereditary among- them. In every 
 account of the armament sent by Venice ag-ainst the 
 forces of the Turks, j&e may be almost sure to find a 
 prince of the Justiniani family at their head, or dving 
 gallantly in the strug-g-le. There was also another 
 Hereditary feeling- among- them, and this was their 
 attachment to the Order of St. Dominic. They have 
 given no less than nine bishops to the Order, one ol 
 whom (Vincent Justiniani) was Master General during 
 the pontificate of St. Pius V. 
 
 At the time of the circumstances 3ve are about to 
 relate, Timothy Justiniani, a member of the same illus- 
 trious order, was bishop of his native island of Scio, and 
 his cousin Antony, also a Dominican, archbishop of the 
 neighbouring- island of Naxia. It was the year 1566 ; 
 the Council of Trent was just over, and the Bishop of 
 Scio, who had assisted at its deliberations, had returned 
 to his diocese. There had been a short lull in the fierce 
 desultory warfare which had been carried on for many 
 years with the Turks. The inhabitants paid their tri- 
 bute to the infidels regularly and exactly, and a treaty 
 had been solemnly granted them, by which peace and 
 quiet seemed to be assured to them in return for this 
 pledge of their submission. And indeed there seemed 
 the less chance of this treaty being broken, for the 
 Turkish general, Mustapha, had just been repulsed 
 from Malta with shame and loss by the gallant Grand 
 Master La Valetta, and had been forced to carry back 
 the shattered remains of his forces, without having 
 gained the slightest advantage over the Christians. 
 
 The Scian islanders, therefore, laid aside the fear of 
 a descent of the infidels, which was the perpetual bug-- 
 bear, if we may so say, of those days, and prepared to 
 celebrate the festival of Easter with unusual joy and 
 solemnity. Every thing this year contributed to make 
 this peculiarly a holiday of rejoicing. The return of
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE JUSTINIANI. 61 
 
 their bishop after his long labours at the Council, and 
 the termination of the Council itself, settling 1 and con- 
 firming- as it had done the faith of the Church, and 
 fixing- the adamant barriers of its definitions against 
 the distractions and heresies of the time, gave a special 
 gladness to the feelings with which all nocked to the 
 churches on the 14th of April (on wlu'ch day the Pas- 
 chal festival fell that year). It was the moment cho- 
 sen by the Turks to come upon them with a powerful 
 fleet, which landing its forces before the Scians were 
 aware of its approach, took them utterly by surprise; 
 so that the entire island fell into their hands almost 
 without resistance. The Bishop was in the cathedral 
 engaged in the celebration ot the Holy Mysteries, 
 when a large body of the infidels entered the church. 
 In their hatred to the Christian faith, they made every 
 kind of profanation and sacrileg-e one of the express 
 objects of their depredatory attacks. Justiniani, there- 
 fore, well knew what would follow ; and turning from 
 the altar to meet his enemies, he used every entreaty, 
 and offered the riches of the entire island, if only he 
 might be suffered to preserve the holy sanctuaries un- 
 profaned. Their answer was a rush towards the altar, 
 headed by their chief, Pasha Piali. This man, rudely 
 pushing aside the Bishop, laid his hands on the cibo- 
 rium, and cried contemptuously, " Is this the God of 
 the Christians ?" " It is Himself," replied the Bishop ; 
 " I will never deny Him j" and perhaps he hoped this 
 answer might strike some awe into the minds of the 
 Turks. But Piali with a sneer cast the vessel to the 
 ground, and would have trampled on its contents, if the 
 Bishop had not thrown himself in the way. " Strike 
 me to death, if you will," he exclaimed ; " the Sacred 
 Mysteries shall never be trampled under your feet;" 
 and so saying, resisting with extraordinary coolness and 
 courage the attempts of all those who stood round to 
 prevent him, he on his knees carefully and reverently 
 gathered together every one of the Sacred Hosts, .even 
 to the smallest particle.
 
 CATHOLIC LEOENDS. 
 
 Whether, indeed, his courage and devotion inspired 
 them with some respect, we cannot say ; but the infidels 
 spared his life. Every church, however, throughout the 
 island was destroyed, save that of the Dominican con- 
 vent, which was turned into a mosque. The next care 
 of the Turks was, if possible, to destroy the family 
 whose enmity they had so much cause to dread. 
 Every member of the Justiniani family was carefully 
 sought for, and taken captive. Some were carried to 
 the Crimea, others to Constantinople, and different 
 parts of the empire. Their property was seized, and 
 the few who escaped captivity took refug-e in Italy in a 
 state of absolute destitution. A few of them sent into 
 banishment recovered their liberty, being- ransomed 
 through the interest of the Pope and the French king ; 
 but they never recovered their former power and dis- 
 tinction. Not one of these, however, but bore himself 
 in this fall and ruin of his house with the spirit of a 
 hero ; and the Christian gallantry which they held as a 
 birthright was nowhere more nobly displayed than in 
 some young children, whose fate was peculiarly melan- 
 choly. With a refinement of cruelty, the Turks had 
 chosen the youngest children of the family to the num- 
 ber of about twenty, and separating them from their 
 parents, carried them to Constantinople, where they 
 were placed among the pages of the court of Solyman 
 II. They doubtless hopea that at their tender age 
 (for tKey were not above ten years old) it would be 
 easy to make them forget the teaching of their fathers, 
 and bring them up in the Mussulman religion ; and they 
 were well aware no agony and no humiliation could 
 be greater to the princes of the hated Justiniani, than 
 to know that their sons were living renegades to their 
 faith. If this was their hope, they had little calculated 
 the temper of those with whom they had to do. Nei- 
 ther the luxury of an eastern court nor the threats of 
 cruel punishment could tempt one of these children to 
 disgrace his faith as a Christian, or prove unworthy of 
 the name of a Justiniani. Like Daniel and his com-
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE JUSTIMANI. 63 
 
 panions in the court of Nebuchodonozor, they stood 
 equally firm against threats aifd allurements. The 
 Turks for a while contented themselves with endea- 
 vouring 1 to tempt them from their allegiance with the 
 flattering seductions of the senses ; but finding- all their 
 efforts in vain, they savagely condemned them to be 
 whipped to death. This torture was inflicted with un- 
 usual barbarity, for the infidels were piqued to see 
 themselves defied and baffled by a little company of 
 children. Not one gave way ; in the midst of un- 
 speakable torments they all showed the same con- 
 stancy, and encouraged o:ie another to suffer yet more 
 for Jesus Christ. As one of these little martyrs was 
 dying under the lash, a Turk who stood by approached, 
 and bade him only lift his finger as a sign that he re- 
 nounced Christianity, and he should be released. The 
 noble child, unable to speak, confessed his faith by 
 signs; for raising the hand to which the Turk pointed 
 as he spoke, he clenched the fingers together so 
 tig'htly, that no force was able to open them, and they 
 remained firmly locked together even after his death. 
 The Pasha himself came to the spot, and addressing 
 another, who had as yet survived the punishment, said 
 he should be thrown from the top of a high tower if 
 he still refused to embrace the faith of Mahomet. " I 
 am not worthy to be a martyr for Jesus Christ, like 
 my brothers," replied the boy ; " but all I desire in this 
 world is to die for Him." On this he was shut up in 
 prison, with the idea of wearying out his constancy. 
 He knelt down on the floor, and addressing himself to 
 God in words of childish simplicity and confidence, 
 prayed for constancy and courage to die in the faith. 
 After spending three whole days in this manner, he 
 died of his wounds and exhaustion. 
 
 St. Pius V. is said to have been touched with an ex- 
 traordinary emotion of grief on hearing of these circum- 
 stances. As a Dominican, the Justiniani were like his 
 religious brethren ; and he gave the only testimony that 
 lay^in his power to do honour to these heroic childreu
 
 64 CATHOLIC LEOEND9. 
 
 In the Consistory held at St. Mark's in the September 
 of the same year, he narrated the story of their mar- 
 tyrdom. Nor was their melancholy late without its 
 influence in the events which followed. The trencher- 
 ous attack on Scio, with the revengeful ruin of this 
 illustrious house, and, ahove all, the cruelty practised 
 on their children, were felt to call for a severe chastise- 
 ment; and when, five years afterwards, the Christian 
 fleet lay opposite to the overwhelming armament of 
 the infidels in the Gulf of Lepanto, many a heart was 
 nerved to heroism by a thought of the devoted courage 
 of the martvred children of the Justiniani. 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE DELIVERANCE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 IN the year 1622, the Prince of Orange, Maurice of 
 Nassau, determined on besieging Antwerp, reckoning on 
 the secret intelligence which lie maintained with the 
 heretics inside the town, and relying also on the number 
 of his soldiers and engines of war. With this design 
 he embarked, together with twelve thousand men, eight 
 thousand of whom were musketeers ; and passing by 
 Dordrecht, took from thence twenty-four cannon and 
 other pieces of artillery. Thirty-six long ships had 
 been built on purpose for this expedition ; and in these 
 he placed two hundred and seventy horses and several 
 instruments of war, such as had never before been 
 known in the Dutch armies. As the fleet left Dor- 
 drecht, the wind was in their favour : Maurice had 
 just held a review of his army, and at the sight of this 
 formidable force, with the certainty moreover of meet- 
 ing with none but a very feeble resistance, he cried out 
 that he was sure of success j that he had nothing to
 
 THE DELIVERANCE OF ANTWERP. 66 
 
 fear from the power of man, and that God alone could 
 hinder him. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the city thus threatened, there dwelt 
 a certain holy nun nam^u. Auue of St. Bartholomew, a 
 Teresian Carmelite from Spain, who had been trained 
 under St. Teresa herself in the convent of St. Joseph 
 of Avila, and had made such progress in the way of 
 perfection, that her holy superior said of her, " I nave 
 the name of a saint, but Anne does the works of one." 
 It was in her arms that the saint died ; and soon after- 
 wards she was called into France, and chosen superior 
 of the convent of Pontoise, and afterwards of that of 
 Paris; and in 1611, at the request of the Archduke 
 Albert, she founded the convent of Carmelites in the 
 city of Antwerp ; and it was by her assistance that the 
 first convent of English Teresian nuns was founded a 
 few years later (on the 1st May, 1619) in the very 
 same city. On the very night when Maurice and his 
 army embarked, as we have seen, at Dordrecht, this 
 holy nun suddenly awoke, and called up her religious 
 for prayer with such extreme earnestness, that all 
 thought she had received intimation of some treason, 
 which she was imploring the assistance of God to 
 defeat. She declared, however, that it was not so ; 
 that she only knew that God was calling her inwardly 
 to pray, and to cause them to pray also. At two 
 o'clock in the morning, her fervour redoubled; with 
 her hands raised to heaven, she cried again and again 
 for mercy, and that with such effort, that her frame 
 seemed to be sinking with fatigue. In the Morning, 
 she told one of the nuns that she was as "weary as though 
 her whole body had been bruised : " There must oe 
 some great treason on foot," she said; "for I feel as if 
 I had been fighting all night. I Lave been forced to 
 pray when I wished to rest, being quite exhausted ; and 
 when my arms, which I was holding stretched out to- 
 wards God, dropped for very lassitude, I heard a voice 
 within me, Pray on, pray on. If I had been fighting 
 
 F
 
 66 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 against a whole army, I could not have felt more utterly 
 worn out." 
 
 Two hours after this, the effect of her prayer was 
 known. Tidings then reached Antwerp, that at the 
 very moment when Anne had begun to pray, the wind 
 had changed ; and that by the time the prince had 
 reached a town called Gresboo, a dreadful tempest had 
 arisen : it had hailed with such violence as to cut to 
 pieces or otherwise spoil the cordage of his vessels ; and 
 he himself, with a few gentlemen, had thrown them- 
 selves into a boat, and with difficulty escaped to Wil- 
 lemstad. 
 
 On another occasion, a few years later, when a 
 night-attack was unexpectedly made on the citadel of 
 Antwerp, Anne was again awakened by a cry, which 
 she found on inquiry had proceeded from no one in the 
 house, and which she therefore regarded as a summons 
 to prayer, feeling certain that the city must be in some 
 danger. Her apprehensions were fully verified ; for it 
 soon became known that the enemy had attempted the 
 citadel, but had suddenly withdrawn, leaving many of 
 their gains and other instruments of war behind them. 
 
 So high an opinion of the efficacy of Anne's prayers 
 was held among her contemporaries, that the Infanta 
 Isabel of Spain declared to Inigo Borgia, the governor 
 of the citadel of Antwerp, that she had no fears for the 
 safety of that fortress, nor of the town of Antwerp, so 
 long as it should contain within its walls the Mother 
 Anne of St. Bartholomew, " who," she said, tl inspired 
 her with more confidence than a numerous army."
 
 OUR LADY OF GOOD COUNSEL AT OENAZZAXO. 67 
 
 XII. 
 
 OUR LADY OF GOOD COUNSEL AT 
 GENAZZANO. 
 
 IN the little town of Genazzano, a town pleasantly 
 situated on the side of a range of hills skirting- one of 
 the high roads from Home to Naples, there lived, not 
 quite four hundred years ago, a very devout old woman, 
 named Petruccia de Jeneo. She was a native of the 
 place, and a member of the Third Order of St. Augus- 
 tine, living in the world. She had had a little property 
 of her own, but at the time of our narrative it was all 
 spent, and spent too in a somewhat singular way. She 
 had a great devotion to the principal church of the 
 place, which was dedicated to our Lady under the title 
 of Mother of Good Counsel. It was but a small and 
 poor building, and Petruccia determined to rebuild it 
 on a scale of great magnificence. Her means were 
 quite unequal to the task. Nevertheless, such as they 
 wei'e, she devoted them entirely to the work. She went 
 and sold all that she had, and the undertaking was 
 begun. Her friends and neighbours laughed her to 
 scorn, as one who had begim to build without " having 
 first set down and reckoned the charges that were 
 necessary, whether she had wherewithal to finish it." 
 Her relations not without some suspicion of a selh'sh 
 regard to their own interests as the motive of their in- 
 terference rebuked her sharply for her improvidence, 
 in thus voluntarily depriving herself of those means of 
 support with which God had ble sed her, in the time of 
 her greatest necessity. She was old and infirm, they 
 said ; and who would undertake the burden of her sup- 
 port, since her impoverishment had been the result of a 
 foolish indulgence of her own fancy ? Her answer to 
 these objections was always the same : " The work will 
 oe finished, and that right soon, because it is not my
 
 68 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 work, but God's ; our Blessed Lady and St. Augustine 
 will do it before I die ;" and she continually repeated, 
 with an air of exulting- confidence, what seemed like the 
 raving's of madness to those who heard her : "Oh, what 
 a gran signora, what a noble lady, will soon come and 
 take possession of this place !" 
 
 Meanwhile the work proceeded, and the walls had 
 already risen to some height above the ground, close to 
 the old church which they were intended to enclose. 
 But by and by the builders ceased ; Petruccia's funds 
 were all spent, and there were no means of procuring* 
 any more. For the good woman had publicly declared 
 that she had begun the undertaking-, and was encour- 
 aged to persevere with it, mainly in reliance upon some 
 secret inspiration, vision, or revelation (it does not 
 clearly appear which), that she believed herself to have 
 received from God ; whereas the Church, in order to 
 g-uard ag-ainst abuses which had sometimes arisen from 
 g-iving- heed to pretended supernatural messages of 
 this kind, had issued a "law forbidding- such things to 
 be attended to, unless they were corroborated by some 
 other external and independent testimony ; the mere 
 assertion of a dream, a vision, or a revelation, was on 
 no account to be obeyed.* Petruccia's work, therefore, 
 was not only suspended for want of means, it was also 
 canonic-ally prohibited ; that is to say, her own sub- 
 stance had been entirely exhausted, and an appeal to 
 the assistance of others could not be sanctioned by the 
 ecclesiastical authorities. Matters were in this state in 
 the spring of 1407, when the following miraculous 
 event at once justified and completed the whole under- 
 taking. 
 
 From time immemorial, the feast of St. Mark the 
 Evangelist had been celebrated in Genazzano as a very 
 special holiday. Tradition records that this was the 
 consequence of some decree of the holy Pontiff of that 
 
 * Qure per somnia ct inanes revelationcs quorumlibet hoim- 
 num ubieumque constituuntur altaria, omnino reprobentur. 
 Cone. Afric. A.J>. 424 : I)e Consecr. Dist. 1. Can. 26.
 
 OUR LADY OF GOOD COUNSEL AT GENAZZANO. 00 
 
 name, who lived in the middle of the fourth century 
 and who hoped thereby to abolish certain impure and 
 superstitious practices by which the heathen had been 
 wont to pollute that day. Any how the fact is certain, 
 that the 25th of April was always the principal day of 
 the great fair or market of the year in that town. 
 Accordingly it was being celebrated in the usual 
 manner in the year already mentioned ; the town 
 was full of strangers; crowds of persons had passed 
 and repassed the old church, and the imperfect walls 
 of the new. Some had jeered and mocked, say- 
 ing, "This woman had begun to build, and was not 
 able to finish ;" but others were sorry to see so good a 
 work unfinished. Evening was now fast approaching, 
 the gayest, brightest hour of the fair, when, business 
 being ended, the pleasure of the day began : all were 
 devoting themselves to amusement, each in his own 
 way, when suddenly some who stood on the public 
 piazza, or square, in front of the church, saw some- 
 thing like a thin cloud floating in the air, and then set- 
 tling on one of the walls of the unfinished building. 
 Here the cloud seemed to divide and disappear, and 
 there remained upon the wall a picture of our Blessed 
 Lady and the Holy Child Jesus, which had not been 
 there before, a picture which was new to all the by- 
 standers, and which they could not in any way account 
 for. At the same moment the bells of the church and 
 of all the other churches in the town began to sound, 
 yet no human hand could be seen to touch them. 
 People ran from their houses to a.sk the cause of this 
 general commotion ; and indistinct rumours spread ra- 
 pidly among them, that something wonderful had hap- 
 pened in the Piazza della Madonna. Those who were 
 nearest to the spot arrived just in time to see the aged 
 Petruccia come out, like the rest, from the church to 
 inquire what hud happened. As soon as she saw the 
 picture she threw herself on her knees, and saluted it, 
 with outstretched arms; then rising and turning round 
 to the people, she told them, with a voice half-choked
 
 70 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 by the violence of her emotions of joy and gratitude, 
 that this was the gran signora whom she had so long 
 expected ; that she was now come to take possession of 
 the church that oug-ht to have been ready for her, and 
 that the bells were being rung in this miraculous way 
 only to do her honour. At this intelligence the people 
 fell upon their knees, and began to pour forth their 
 
 Erayers before this marvellous painting, which they 
 new not how otherwise to designate than as the Ma- 
 donna del Paradiso, or our Lady from Heaven. 
 
 Meanwhile, the inhabitants of the adjacent villages, 
 alarmed by the unusual sound of the bells, accompa- 
 nied (as is still the custom in many parts of Italy on 
 all festive occasions) by the discharge of numerous 
 firearms, imagined that some disturbance must have 
 broken, out in the city no unlikely circumstance in 
 those days of violence and began to feel great anxiety 
 for those of their relations and friends who were absent 
 at the fair. Some, indeed, had already returned, but 
 these were as much at a loss as the rest ; for when 
 they came away they had seen no symptoms of a riot, 
 neither had they heard of any extraordinary cause of 
 rejoicing. Others, again, had left the city, and were in 
 the act of returning' homewards, when their steps were 
 arrested by these unaccountable sounds; and of these 
 some, whose discretion was stronger than their curio- 
 sity, only hurried home the faster, whilst others turned 
 back to investigate the cause. These, however, tarried 
 so long- to gaze at the wondrous sight, to hear its his- 
 tory, and to see the marvellous effects that followed, 
 that the public anxiety of the neighbourhood still re- 
 mained unrelieved. At length, at a very late hour of 
 the night, some few stragglers returned, and told so 
 strange a talc, that long before daybreak on the fol- 
 lowing morning, multitudes of the country people might 
 be seen taking advantage of the day of rest (it was the 
 fourth Sunday after Easter), and hurrying towards the 
 town to hear and see for themselves. And not only 
 the hale and the active, but even the aged and infirm,
 
 OUR LADY OF GOOD COUNSEL AT OENAZZANO. 71 
 
 the blind, the lame, the maimed, and many others, 
 came or were brought to this new pool of Bethsaida ; 
 for it was part of the intelligence which reached them, 
 that persons were being miraculously healed of their 
 infirmities in the presence of this strange picture. And 
 the faith of many of these simple-hearted pilgrims re- 
 ceived the reward they looked for: the blind received 
 their sight; the ears of the deaf were opened, and the 
 tongue of the dumb was loosed; the lame walked; 
 nay, in one or two instances, the very dead were re- 
 stored to life again ; and during the next two or three 
 months we have authentic evidence of nearly 200 
 miracles that were wrought on this favoured spot. 
 
 But whence had this picture really come ? and 
 how had it been brought ? The people of Genazzano 
 thought that it had come straight from heaven, and 
 had been brought by angels, as tradition says that the 
 picture of Sta. Maria in Portico was once brought to 
 St. Galla in Rome. So they called it, as we have 
 seen, the Madonna del Paradiso ; and were not a little 
 annoyed when, a few days after its first appearance, 
 two strangers arrived from Rome, and said that they 
 knew the picture well, and could tell all about its his- 
 tory. One of these strangers was a Sclavonian, the 
 other an Albanian ; and the story which they told was 
 this : 
 
 They had been resident together in Scutari, a city 
 of Albania, now called Iscodar, situated on the eastern 
 coast of the Adriatic, and distant about fi ve-and-twenty 
 miles from the sea. On a little hill outside this city, 
 not half a mile beyond the gates, there was a church 
 in which this Madonna, painted upon the wall, was 
 much venerated as the Madonna del Buon Officio. 
 It was a picture to which there had always been a 
 very great devotion, they said ; but latterly, in the dis- 
 turbed miserable condition of the country, the inhabi- 
 tants had been more than usuallv frequent in their 
 visits to it, e itroating the Madonna's interference to 
 defend thorn from their dnnperrtus enemies, the Turks.
 
 72 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 who, they had reason to apprehend, were meditating- a 
 fresh invasion, and who, as a matter of fact, did, not 
 many years afterwards, lay waste the whole country, 
 and destroy many cities with fire and sword. Num- 
 bers of the citizens had already fled from the impend- 
 ing; calamity, and taken refug-e (as contemporary histo- 
 rians tell us) some in Venice, others in different cities 
 of Romagna. Among-st the rest, our two strang-ers at 
 length determined to expatriate themselves like their 
 neighbours ; but before doing so, they went out to bid 
 a last farewell to their favourite shrine, and to pray the 
 Mother of God, that, as she with her Divine Son had 
 once been forced to flee from the face of one of the 
 king-s of the earth, who was plotting- mischief against 
 them, so she would mercifully vouchsafe to accompany, 
 to g-uicle, and protect these her humble clients in their 
 no less compulsory flight. They said that, whilst they 
 were yet praying*, the picture disappeared from their 
 sight, and in its stead a white cloud seemed to detach 
 itself from the wall, to float throug-h the air, and to 
 pass out through the doors of the church. Attracted 
 by an impulse which they could not account for, yet 
 were unable to resist, they rose from their knees and 
 followed ; presently, they found themselves caught up 
 in some mysterious manner along 1 with it, and carried 
 forward in its company. The manner of their transit 
 they could not explain ; they only knew that, as the 
 angel of the Lord once set Habacuc in Babylon over 
 the lions' den where Daniel was imprisoned, " in the 
 force of his Spirit," and then presently set him again 
 in his own place in Judeaj* and as, when Philip and 
 the eunuch were come up out of the water, " the Spirit 
 of the Lord took away Philip, and the eunuch saw him 
 no more : And he went on his way rejoicing-, but, 
 Philip was found at Azotus ;"-f so they too had been 
 miraculously transported through the air by some invi- 
 sible hand from one place to another ; iirst to the sea- 
 
 * * Dan. xiv. 35-38. f Acts viii. 39
 
 OUR LADY OF GOOD COUNSEL AT GENAZZANO. 73 
 
 coast ; then across the Adriatic, whose waves had borne 
 them tip, as the sea of Galilee had borne St. Peter, 
 when Jesus bade him come to Him upon the waters ; 
 then, that, as evening- drew on, that which had seemed 
 a pillar of a cloud by day became as it were a pillar of 
 fire ; and that, finally, when they had been brought to 
 the gates of Rome, it entirely disappeared. 
 
 Entered into the Eternal City, the travellers had 
 sought diligently for traces of their lost guide ; they 
 went from one church to another, inquiring for the pic- 
 ture which they had watched so long, and then so sud- 
 denly lost sight of; but all their inquiries were in vain. 
 At length, at the end of two or three days, they heard 
 of a picture having appeared in a strange wa\ at 
 Genazzano, and that its appearance was followed by 
 many miracles. Immediately they set out to visit it ; 
 and as soon as they had arrived, they recognised and 
 proclaimed its identity. 
 
 The people of Genazzano lent no willing ear to this 
 strange history ; it detracted somewhat from the hea- 
 venly origin which they would fain have assigned to 
 their newly-gotten treasure ; and it gave them some 
 uneasiness too as to the ultimate security of their pos- 
 session of it ; for, should this story be authenticated, 
 the picture might one day be reclaimed and carried 
 away. In the course of a few days, however, as the 
 story got noised abroad, other Albanians, who were 
 scattered up and down in different parts of Italy, came 
 to see it; and these too confirmed its identity. And 
 many years afterwards, when people who took an inte- 
 rest in the matter, had the opportunity of going to 
 Scutari and examining for themselves, they testified 
 upon oatli that they had found a blank space in the 
 plaster of the walls of the church described ; that its 
 size and form corresponded exactly to that of the pic- 
 ture ; and that the colouring and style of art exhibited 
 in the picture were precisely the same with that which 
 characterised nil the other parts of the church. Kpr ir 
 must be remembered, that this was no painting exe-
 
 74 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 cuted upon board or canvas, and thus capable of easy 
 removal, and leaving- no trace behind it; it was a mere 
 fresco upon a very thin coating- of plaster, which no 
 human skill could have detached from the wall in a 
 single piece, still less have transported from one place 
 to another without injury. 
 
 Of course it was impossible that so marvellous a 
 story, circulated in the immediate neighbourhood of 
 the Holy See for Genazzano is not more than thirty 
 miles from Rome should fail to attract the attention 
 of that ever-watchful, jealous tribunal. The translation 
 of the picture is said to have taken place late on the 
 evening- of the 25th of April ; and before the middle of 
 July, Pope Paul II. sent two bishops to examine, upon 
 the very spot, into all the circumstances of the case. 
 Cardinal Cortin, the Bishop of Palestrina, in whose dio- 
 cese Genazzano is situated, was absent at this time at 
 Avignon ; the Pope therefore appointed a friend of his 
 in his stead, Monsig-nor Gaucer, Bishop of Gap in Dau- 
 phiny and with him he associated Monsig-nor Nicolo 
 de Cruci, Bishop of Lesina, one of the islands in the 
 Adriatic, near the coast of Dalmatia, whose familiarity 
 as well with the language of the strangers as with the 
 localities from which they professed to have come, 
 could not fail to be of the utmost service in the investi- 
 gation. The result of their inquiries was most satis- 
 factory, and placed the truth of the narrative we have 
 given beyond all 'reasonable doubt ; Petruccia's unfi- 
 nished building- was immediately resumed ; and a hand- 
 some church, tog-ether with a lurg'e monastery attached 
 to it, were completed in less than three years ; the two 
 strangers settled in the town, determined never more 
 to abandon their heavenly guide, and the descendants 
 of one of them (the Albanian De Giorgis) still remain 
 there ; and the Sanctuary of our Lady of Good Counsel 
 was henceforth established for ever.
 
 THE THREE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 76 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE THREE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 FULK of Anjou, the fourth Christian king; of Jerusalem, 
 held the weighty sceptre of Godfrey of Bouillon with a 
 trembling- and uncertain hand ; but he took care to for- 
 tify Beersheba, the ancient frontier of his kingdom, and 
 to commit the guardianship of it to the bravest of the 
 soldiers of the cross, those devoted men whom an in- 
 spiration of charity had created Hospitallers of the Holy 
 Citv, and who had become in 1104 armed monks, ready 
 to hght in defence of the Holy Sepulchre, and the pious 
 pilgrims who frequented it. Consistently with their 
 twofold character of religious and soldiers, they bore 
 the cross on the hilt of their swords, and concealed the 
 hair shirt under the cuirass, and were called the Knights 
 of St. John of Jerusalem. 
 
 At four leagues from Beersheba was the first fortress 
 of the Mussulman, Ascalon, that ancient city of the 
 Philistines ; which at that time was occupied Tby a nu- 
 merous army, between which and the Christian host 
 were daily skirmishes, surprises, and ambuscades. 
 
 In the year 1131, among- the crusaders who were 
 guarding- Beersheba, there were three knights of great 
 renown, brothers, of the house of Eppe, who, at the 
 summons of the Holy See, had left their smiling- domains 
 to fly to the assistance of the Christians in the East, 
 and had won themselves, by mighty deeds of valour, 
 the distinction which warriors most prize, that, namely, 
 of being always placed in the hottest of the battle, and 
 chosen out for every service which involves peculiar 
 danger. 
 
 One day, the advanced sentinels of the Christian 
 g-arrison suddenly gave the alarm in Beersheba; for 
 numerous armed battalions had been seen to issue from 
 Ascalon, and were marching onward with a rapid sfep.
 
 76 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 The three knights were commanded to go forward with 
 their standards to meet the enemy, and to force them 
 to give battle, and thus to prevent their besieging the 
 town. The encounter was sharp; for the Saracens 
 attacked fiercely, and the Franks (as they were called 
 in Asia) showed then, as ever, that they had not yet 
 learned to turn or to draw hack hefore the scymitar. 
 After they had received, as immovable as rocks, the 
 onslaught of the enemy, and driven back the assailing 
 multitudes, they rushed on their lines thus thrown into 
 disorder, and made great carnage; and then pressed 
 after them as they fled, to complete the victory. In 
 this pursuit they had to cross a ravine, in which was 
 placed an ambuscade of the enemy; and thy found 
 themselves, unawares, completely surrounded, a fresh 
 band of Saracens having' emerged from their hiding- 
 place, and caught them in the rear. They made a 
 vigorous defence, but their numbers were too unequal 
 for success to be possible, and the whole little band of 
 Christians were cut to pieces, except the three knights, 
 who, wounded, but fighting- to the last, and worn out 
 with their efforts, were taken prisoners, disarmed, and 
 bound with cords and dragged into Ascalon. The 
 soldiers, enraged at having bought their captives so 
 dearly, ill-treated them in every possible way, and they 
 would never have reached Ascalon alive but that one of 
 the Saracen chiefs remembered the ransom which might 
 be exacted for knights of such eminent valour. 
 
 But there was no thought of ransom; not one of the 
 little Christian band had returned to Beersheba to bear 
 the news of the battle, and all there believed that the 
 three good knights of Eppe were dead. As new skir- 
 mishings were taking place every day, it was thought 
 that the prisoners were not in safe custody at Ascalon ; 
 and an officer who was going to Cairo in search of 
 reinforcements, thought to pay his court to the sultan 
 by offering them to him: and, in fact, the sultan was 
 well pleased to receive the three heroes ; for he admired 
 their lofty stature, beauty of countenance, and uncom-
 
 THE THREE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 77 
 
 mon strength, and more especially all that was told 
 him of their feats of valour. Accordingly, he received 
 them with great courtesy, and announced to them im- 
 mediately by his drag-oman, that it would only depend 
 on themselves to receive ample compensation for all 
 they had lost. 
 
 The knights understood well what this meant; but 
 this first day they only replied by a silent obeisance. 
 They were allowed a week of repose, during- which time 
 they were guarded, but treated with great respect; and 
 then the sultan declared to them that he was ready to 
 admit them among his chief favourites, and to give them 
 the command of his armies, if only they would renounce 
 the Christian faith and become Mahometans. The 
 three knights recoiled in horror from the proposal, 
 making the sign of the cross. They were neither skil- 
 ful disputants nor theologians, but they were full of 
 faith arid honour: they answered that, as Christians and 
 knights, their hearts as well as their arms were conse- 
 crated to Jesus Christ ; and that whether victorious or 
 vanquished, whether in triumph or in martyrdom, they 
 hoped never to be found wanting to God, and never to 
 swerve from the path of honour. 
 
 This reply astonished the sultan ; and he commanded 
 the prisoners to be led back to the place of their con- 
 finement, resolving to leave no means untried of over- 
 coming' their resolution; and accordingly, for several 
 days, he tried offers, promises, and entreaties ; but all 
 in vain : the three brothers were immovable. 
 
 After this he confined them more closely, and sent 
 the most learned doctors in Cairo to confer with them, 
 who exhausted their eloquence and their arguments in 
 extolling a religion of sensualism and death ; but they 
 made no impression on the steadfast faith of the knights; 
 and, more furious than the sultan himself, because their 
 pride was humbled, they- persuaded him that severity 
 alone could break those iron hearts. Accordingly, the 
 three brothers were condemned to closer imprisonment, 
 worse food, and more galling fetters; and from day to
 
 78 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 day their captivity became more and more painful. 
 Some handfuls of barley were their only food; they were 
 chained down to their dungeon floor and sham ef. illy 
 treated: and this slow martyrdom lasted more than 
 two years; during which time their str ngth could 
 scarcely have endured, but for those immense consola- 
 tions, such as the world cannot conceive, which Almighty 
 God bestows on the hearts of those who are His own, 
 and which He lavished on these three knights; so that 
 when their enemies believed them to be cast down, 
 crushed and overwhelmed, they were really, from the 
 depths of their dark prison, singing hymns of thanks- 
 giving; and whenever they were brought before the 
 sultan, they appeared with a serene countenance, and a 
 free and joyous heart. 
 
 The Saracen was altogether perplexed : the wonder- 
 ful perseverance of these children of Christ, appeared to 
 him an inconceivable pitch of heroism : ami the more 
 they resisted him, the more eager he became to gain 
 over to himself hearts whose fidelity had been thus mani- 
 fested to him. He did not know that against all his 
 efforts, against Satan and all his snares, these holy 
 knights were aided by prayer, that all-powerful weapon 
 from the armoury or faith. They prayed incessantly ; 
 they asked from God that which lie never refuses, the 
 grace to remain His children ; and they asked it in that 
 name before which Hell trembles, imploring the inter- 
 cession of our common Mother, who never abandons 
 those who have recourse to her. Thus, protected by our 
 Lady, signed with the Cross of our Lord Jesus Clirist, 
 captives for His cause, and living under the eye of God, 
 they suffered in patience, until at last the sultan re- 
 solved on making a final effort against them. 
 
 He had one daughter, named Ismeria ; she was 
 young, eminently beautiful, and celebrated far and near 
 as a miracle of genius and wisdom. To her he had 
 often spoken of these Christian knights, and complnined 
 of their resistance. " My father," said the princess one 
 day in answer, '' v i ..r doctors must be unskilful, or
 
 THE THREE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 7P 
 
 their interpreters must misrepresent their arguments; 
 I think if you would suffer me to try, that J might be 
 able to persuade them ;" for in truth the fair Ismeria 
 was curious to see men of such a character. " Well, 
 my daughter," said the sultan to her one evening, 
 "to-morrow you shall go to the prison of these Chris- 
 tian knights, and speak with them. You shall try 
 whether you can succeed where our doctors have failed j 
 and if, either by learning or good fortune, either by your 
 wisdom or J^if charms, you prevail on them to follow 
 the standard of the prophet, it will indeed be an illus- 
 trious conquest. Neither do I shrink from the chance 
 of one of them becoming enamoured of you ; for I should 
 be too happy to have such a son-in-law." 
 
 The next day, the beautiful princess, with a splendid 
 retinue, visited the prison of the knights. She Knew a 
 little of the language of the Franks, which she had 
 learnt from a European slave. Too skilful to betray at 
 once the mission on which her father had sent her, she 
 mentioned as the motive of her unexpected appearance 
 her ardent desire to behold warriors of sucli renown, 
 and, if possible, to save them ; for, since no ransom had 
 been offered for them, and they persisted in adhering to 
 their own faith, the people were clamouring for their 
 death. 
 
 They replied, that the messengers whom they had 
 charged to bear to France the tidings of their captivity 
 had probably never reached their destination, and there- 
 fore their family doubtless believed them to be dead ; 
 that they had therefore no means of paying their ran- 
 som, unless one of them might be permitted to return 
 to Europe. This, of course, was by no means the 
 sultan's intention. They added, that as to denying 
 the faith, they trusted that the mercy of God would 
 avert from them any such dreadful calamity. They also 
 thanked the princess for the pity she expressed towards 
 them, and told her what pleasure they felt in hearing 
 her speak their own language. 
 
 Ismeria, touched with compassion for these noble
 
 80 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 knights, then began in good faith to endeavour to bring 
 them to the religion of her father, and explained to them 
 the doctrines of the Mahometan religion. She spoke 
 with such entire sincerity, that the knights could not 
 help feeling interested in the poor young girl, brought up 
 in these fatal errors ; and after having ascertained from 
 her that none of her attendants understood the language 
 of the Franks, they asked her permission to explain to 
 her, in their turn, their faith and their hope. 
 
 The princess not only consented, but, without in the 
 least foreseeing what the result would be, showed a 
 lively curiosity to become really acquainted with Chris- 
 tianity, and to hear its doctrines set forth by those who 
 really believed in it. The eldest of the knights then 
 explained to her all that the Church had taught him of 
 the creation of man, of his fall, and its fatal consequences; 
 of the promised Redeemer ; of the Incarnation, Passion, 
 and Death of our Saviour; of the reconciliation of man 
 with God, and the restoration of woman by the blessed 
 intervention of Mary in the great mystery of redemp- 
 tion. He explained the Holy Trinity, three persons 
 in one God; he spoke of everlasting blessedness in 
 heaven. The clearness and precision of his words as- 
 tonished his brothers ; for he, like them, was neither a 
 cleric nor a preacher. They, in their simplicity, had 
 forgotten our Lord's saying : " When ye are called to 
 bear witness of Me, take no thought beforehand what 
 ye shall speak : I will give you words and wisdom which 
 your adversaries shall not be able to gainsay." 
 
 The princess was struck ; and, in the agitation of 
 her mind, promised to return the next day. She de- 
 lighted her father by telling him that she intended to 
 continue her conferences, for that she expected they 
 would produce some result. That same night she had 
 a vision, in which she thought she saw the Blessed 
 Virgin leaning over her ; and this drew her heart alto- 
 gether to the Christian faith. The conversation on the 
 second day was entirely on Mary, the Mother of grace, 
 of whom the knights poured forth such sweet praises,
 
 THE THREE KNIGHTS OP ST. JOHN. 81 
 
 and related such consoling- wonders, that the princess, 
 longing- to honour the Mother of God as she is honoured 
 by Christians, besought them to make her an image of 
 our Lady. The three brethren were no more artists 
 than they were doctors of the faith ; but fearing 1 to refuse 
 to attempt any thing 1 which might be the will of God, 
 they promised, to attempt the pious work, if they could 
 be furnished with wood and tools for carving-. 
 
 These were soon procured ; and one of the brethren, 
 having- said the Hail Mary, set to work to rough-hew 
 the wood, and the others helped him as best they could, 
 all praying to God to guide their hands, and imploring 
 Mary to bless their efforts. For several days they 
 laboured, dreaming of nothing, whether awake or asleep, 
 but their pious enterprise. One morning, when they 
 awoke, what was their surprise to see before them the 
 statue, which they had barely shaped out, completely 
 finished, and radiant with the most exquisite beauty ! 
 
 The good knights impatiently awaited the arrival 
 of the princess. At the sight of this wonderful image, 
 she fell on her knees in ecstasy, and was the more 
 amazed because the statue before her precisely resem- 
 bled the heavenly vision which had hung over her in 
 sleep. She bowed down and tenderly kissed its feet; 
 and the captives gave it the name of our Lad}' of Glad- 
 ness, in consequence of the joy and happiness it had 
 brought into their prison. 
 
 During the night which followed this happy day, 
 the princess had a second vision. The holy Virgin 
 again appeared to her in the same form as before, and 
 commanded her to set the captives free, to fly to France 
 with them; offering to be her support, and promising 
 her that, after a pure and holy life, she should receive 
 in heaven a crown of imperishable glory and everlasting 
 blessedness. She hesitated no longer; at dawn of day 
 she flew to the prison of the Christian knights, and de- 
 dared that she would break their chains, if only they 
 would take her with them to a land where she might 
 profess the faith; confessing to them, moreover, that in 
 o
 
 82 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 taking this step she was executing a command given 
 her by our Lady. The Lords of Eppe, overwhelmed 
 with wondei' and joy, threw themselves on their knees, 
 giving 1 thanks to God and the Holy Virgin, and swear- 
 ing to the princess that they would conduct her safely 
 to France at the peril of their lives, and die rather than 
 desert her. 
 
 Their departure was resolve! upon for the night fol- 
 lowing. Ismerica, as soon as she had dismissed her 
 ladies, loaded herself with all her most precious jewels, 
 and readied unobserved the prison of the knights, where 
 she found the guards sleeping. She opened the doors, 
 unfastened the chains, and under the escort of the three 
 brethren, who carried the holy image, our Lady of Glad- 
 ness, their most precious treasure and their surest hope 
 she reached the gates of the town, which also, by miracle 
 or by a happy chance, were open. When the littJe 
 company had reached the banks of the Nile, they could 
 no longer doubt that they were under the special guid- 
 ance of Mary ; for in the pale starlight, they discerned 
 a bark coming- towards them impelled by a single rower, 
 who offered to convey them across; and when they 
 were safely arrived on the opposite bank, looking back 
 on the stream, they could see no longer either boat or 
 rower, and could only thank Divine Providence. 
 
 The travellers, thus fenced about with miraculous 
 protection, marched on till break of day; then fatigue, 
 and the dread either of pin-suit or of some other misad- 
 venture, induced them to enter a wood of palm trees, to 
 take a little rest. Ismerica, overcome by weariness, in 
 spite of her anxieties, and of the recollection of her 
 father, whom she dearly loved, soon sank to sleep by 
 the side of the holy image. The knights intended to 
 watch over her in turns, but in vain; they all three 
 yielded to fatigue, and fell asleep. 
 
 On their awakening, says the old legend, they were 
 amazed to see that the branches which drooped over 
 their heads were not of palms, but of the trees of 
 northern Europe; while in the distance they beheld
 
 THE THREE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 88 
 
 towers and a steeple, such as were never seen in Egypt, 
 and the breeze which fanned their temples was such as 
 they had never felt in Africa. They looked around them 
 bewildered, and thought they were still dreaming-, for 
 often had the captives dreamed of their native land ; 
 but the princess completed their astonishment by the 
 surprise which she expressed at this new and fresh na- 
 ture, which she had never seen before, at the sky 
 shadowed with clouds such as that of Egypt knew not. 
 The image which they had brought witli them was still 
 at their side ; but at their feet uubbled up a fountain 
 which they had not remarked before they slept, and 
 which they thought they recognised as one well known 
 to them. 
 
 In the midst of all this astonishment, a shepherd 
 passed by them guiding his flock, dressed in the costume 
 of Europe. The knight called him, and he came up to 
 them ; they found that he could speak their language, 
 and his features even seemed to them familiar : they 
 asked him in what country they were 
 
 " In the country of Laon," replied the shepherd, 
 "in the marches of Champagne. This wood," he con- 
 tinued, " and this fountain are part of the domain of the 
 three Lords of Eppe, who went to the Holy Land under 
 the banner of our Lord." 
 
 Here the shepherd made the sign of the cross, and 
 continued his story. 
 
 " We have been informed, that three years past these 
 noble knights were taken up to God. But," he added, 
 " you, gentlemen, by the cross you bear upon your vest- 
 ments, must be yourselves returning from the Crusades. 
 Perhaps you can bring us certain tidings of our poor 
 lords; and though this lady who is with you is a foreigner, 
 I see by certain signs that you are good and worthy 
 Christians." 
 
 The shepherd had just perceived the graceful image 
 of our Lady of Gladness, before which he immediately 
 fell on his knees; and the knights, who had let him talk 
 on, because, from emotion, they had lost the power of
 
 84 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 speech, followed his example; and, shedding the sweetest 
 tears of gratitude and joy, poured forth their thanks- 
 givings to our Lady, who had thus become to them 
 more and more truly at every step our Lady of Glad- 
 ness. Their untrimmed beards, and the long period of 
 sutfering they had past, had so changed them, that they 
 were not easily recognised at the first moment; but as 
 soon as they had declared their names, the shepherd 
 rushed forth to proclaim through the whole country 
 round the joy of so unexpected a return. All the vil- 
 lagers flocked round them; and the knights and the 
 lady were conducted to the Castle of Marchais, which 
 was one of their demesnes. Their mother, who was still 
 living, almost expired with joy at again beholding her 
 sons, whose deaths she had mourned so long. She 
 loaded with caresses the Egyptian princess, who had 
 been the instrument of their liberation ; and undertook 
 herself to prepare her for Holy Baptism. On the spot 
 in the wood where they had found themselves on that 
 marvellous day, they resolved to build a church, and to 
 place therein the miraculous image. Ismerica conse- 
 crated to this work of thanksgiving the larger portion 
 of the jewels she had brought witli her. Thus was 
 founded the Church of our Lady of Gladness ; and to 
 satisfy the eagerness of the crowds who thronged toge- 
 ther to honour the miraculous image, it was placed for 
 the time on a little throne, in a rustic chapel hastily 
 raised by the side of the fountain, until the church should 
 be consecrated. The Bishop of Laon, Barthelemi do 
 Vir, a venerable prelate, baptised the Egyptian princess, 
 the elder of the three knights standing as her godfather; 
 and her piety continued so fervent, that a short time 
 after she consecrated herself entirely to God among 
 the Holy Virgins. The church of our Lady of (J lad- 
 ness (Lu'.w} was in due season completed; the tcmn 
 of Licsse grew up around it, snid it became u cele- 
 brated sanctuary and place of pilgrimage, where inuu- 
 merable acts of beneficence have signalised from age to 
 age the compassionate goodness of the Blessed Virgin.
 
 THE CONVENT OF ST. CECILY. 85 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE CONVENT OF ST. CECILY. 
 
 ONE day, towards the close of the sixteenth century, 
 when the iconoclasts or image-breakers were all-power- 
 ful in the Netherlands, there met four brothers in the 
 town of Aix-la-Chapelle. Three of them were students 
 from Wittemberg, and the fourth held the situation of 
 preacher in Antwerp ; and they had come to Aix-la- 
 Chapelle to take possession of a property that had been 
 left them by an uncle lately deceased. Not having 1 
 any acquaintances in the place, they took up their 
 quarters at an hotel. Here they lived very pleasantly 
 for a few days, the preacher entertaining 1 them with an 
 account of all the wonderful changes that had recently 
 been made in the country from which he came in 
 matters of religion. 
 
 Now it happened that the Feast of Corpus Christi was 
 at hand ; and the four brothers, inflamed by fanaticism, 
 youth, and the evil example of so many others in other 
 parts of the country, determined to give Aix-la-Chapelle 
 also a sample of their dexterity in the art of image- 
 breaking. The preacher, who had more than once 
 headed such enterprises, collected on the evening before 
 the feast a number of young men, sons of merchants 
 and students devoted to the new doctrine, who spent 
 the night carousing in the tavern ; and at break of 
 day, having provided themselves with crowbars and 
 other instruments of destruction, they proceeded to the 
 Convent of St. Cecily, which was outside the gates of 
 the town, and which they had chosen as the scene of 
 their reckless operations. A signal was agreed xipon, 
 at which the assault should be begun upon the stained- 
 glass windows, rich with stories from the sacred Scrip- 
 tures ; and assured of finding many adherents amongst 
 the crowd, they determined to proceed with the work
 
 86 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 of destruction till there was not left one stone upon 
 another. 
 
 The abbess, who even before dawn had received in- 
 formation of the danger which threatened the convent, 
 sent to the imperial officer then commanding in the 
 town, requesting 1 a guard for its protection. But he 
 was one of those who secretly favoured the new school ; 
 and he refused the guard, on the plea that they were 
 ghosts which had frightened her, and that there was 
 not even a shadow of danger for her convent. Mean- 
 while the hour appointed for the commencement of the 
 ceremonies was approaching, and the nuns prepared for 
 Mass with much prayer, and under a painful apprehen- 
 sion of all that might probably happen. They could 
 count upon no defender save an old steward of the 
 convent, now past seventy, who planted himself at the 
 entrance of the church, with a few young boys whom 
 he had armed for the occasion. 
 
 To add to the troubles and anxieties of the nuns on 
 this memorable morning', it so happened that the leader 
 and mistress of the choir, Sister Antonia, had been 
 attacked by a violent nervous fever a few days before ; 
 so that, besides their alarm at the four sacrilegious 
 brothers, who might already be seen wrapped up in 
 their large mantles, waiting behind the pillars of the 
 church, the convent was in the greatest embarrassment 
 as to the due performance of the music appropriate to 
 so high a festival. The abbess on the previous evening 
 had ordered a mass, the production of an old Italian 
 master whose name is unknown, which was remarkable 
 for the peculiar tone of sanctity and grandeur which 
 breathed through its composition, and now anxiously 
 sent to make new inquiries for Sister Antonia ; but the 
 nun, who went to see her, brought back word that their 
 dear sister was in a state of absolute insensibility, so 
 that it was useless to expect that she could by any 
 possibility conduct the performance. 
 
 Meanwhile some alarming scenes had already taken 
 place in the church, now filled with more than a hundred
 
 THE CONVENT OF ST. CECILY. 87 
 
 men of all ranks and ages, armed with axes and crowbars, 
 and a variety of other similar instruments j they had 
 spoken in the most unseemly manner to the persons sta- 
 tioned at the porches of the church, and made use of lan- 
 guage the most insolent and shameless towards the nuns, 
 who now and then giided through the aisles on some pious 
 errand. Matters indeed had gone so far, that the old 
 steward hastened to the sacristy, and there on his knees 
 implored the abbess to postpone the festival, and to take 
 refuge in the town under the protection of the com- 
 mandant. But the abbess continued inflexible in her 
 resolution, that this festival, ordained for the honour 
 and glory of God, should at all hazards be celebrated ; 
 she reminded the steward of his duty to protect with 
 life and limb the High Mass and solemn procession about 
 to be held in the church; and as the bell was then 
 tolling, ordered the nuns, who surrounded her in fear 
 and trembling, to select any music, however inferior, 
 so they might commence without delay. 
 
 The nuns were taking their places ; the parts of a 
 mass which they had frequently sung before had just 
 been distributed, when suddenly Sister Antonia, in 
 sound and perfect health, though somewhat pale, ap- 
 peared slowly ascending the stairs, carrying under her 
 arm the mass of that old Italian master, for the per- 
 formance of which the abbess had expressed so great 
 an anxiety. " No matter, sisters, no matter !" was 
 her reply to the inquiries of the astonished nuns as 
 to the secret of her wonderful recovery ; arid giving 
 to each their several parts, she seated herself at the 
 organ. No sooner hau she commenced, than the pious 
 sisters felt in their breasts a most heavenly and mi- 
 raculous feeling of consolation ; the very anxiety which 
 they felt only helped to waft their souls, as on wings, 
 still higher and higher. The mass was performed with 
 the utmost dignity arid grandeur. Not a breath was 
 heard in the aisles or nave throughout the entire ser- 
 vice ; during the " Kyrie" especially, and yet more at 
 the " Gloria," it seemed as though the whole congT<>-
 
 88 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 gation had been stricken dead; even the dust on the 
 pavement remained unstirred by the wind, as if in 
 defiance of the four sacrilegious brothers and their 
 
 followers. 
 
 *** 
 
 Six years afterwards, when this event had been long 
 forgotten, the mother of these four young- men arrived 
 from the Hague, and instituted inquiries, with the aid 
 of the magistrates, as to what road they had taken on 
 leaving Aix-la-Chapelle; for that they had never since 
 been heard of. The last accounts received of them in 
 the Netherlands came, she said, in a letter written by 
 the preacher to his friend, a schoolmaster in Antwerp, 
 on the eve of the Festival of Corpus Christi, six years 
 before ; and in it he had given a detailed description of 
 an enterprise they had projected against the Convent of 
 St. Cecily, but of which she would not now communi- 
 cate any further particulars. 
 
 After many vain efforts to discover the objects of 
 her search, the magistrates recollected that many years 
 before, about the period she mentioned, four young 
 men, whose country and parentage were unknown, had 
 been confined in the lunatic asylum recently founded 
 by the emperor. But as they were suffering from reli- 
 gious derangement, and, as the magistrate seemed to 
 imply from obscure report, of such a character as to 
 lead to the impression that they were Catholics, the 
 description so little answered the well-known dispo- 
 sition of her sons, that the unhappy woman paid little 
 or no heed to the information. At length, however, 
 being struck by many of the particulars given, she went 
 one day, accompanied by an officer of the court, to the 
 asylum, and begged to be permitted to see the four 
 unfortunate lunatics. 
 
 They were seated, in long black mantles, at a table, 
 on which stood a crucifix. They appeared to be pray- 
 ing before it in silence, their folded hands resting on 
 the table. The unfortunate mother, recognising her 
 sons, sank powerless on a chair. To her inquiries as to
 
 THE CONVENT OF 8T. CECILY. 89 
 
 the nature of their insanity, the governor replied that 
 they were simply engaged in the adoration of the Re- 
 deemer, imagining- that they had a clearer conception 
 than others of His divinity as the true Son of the one 
 living God. He said that they had now led this 
 ascetic life for more than six years ; that they slept 
 little, ate little, never opened their lips, and never rose 
 from their seats save at midnight, and then only for the 
 purpose of intoning- the Gloria in excehis, which they 
 did with a voice loud enough to shatter the very windows 
 of the house. He concluded by assuring her, that not- 
 withstanding 1 all this, these patients enjoyed perfect 
 health, and even a certain degree of -cheerfulness, though 
 of a somewhat grave and solemn character; that when- 
 ever any one pronounced them deranged, they compas- 
 sionately shrugged their shoulders, and more than once 
 exclaimed, that if the good town of Aix-la-Chapelle 
 were only to know as much as they did, every one of 
 its inhabitants would leave his business, kneel down 
 round the crucifix, and employ his time in singing the 
 Gloria in ejccehis, like themselves. 
 
 The wretched woman, no longer able to endure the 
 painful sight, at length allowed herself to be conducted 
 home ; and on the following morning 1 , hoping to gain 
 some information as to the cause wliich had produced this 
 extraordinary effect, she sought the house of Herr Veit 
 Gotthelf, a wealthy cloth-merchant of the town, who 
 had been mentioned in the letter written by the preacher 
 as one who took an active part in the project for the 
 destruction of the Convent of St. Cecily. Veit Gotthelf 
 received the stranger with much cou: tesy ; but on learn- 
 ing her business, ho bolted the door, and after request- 
 ing her to be seated, he cautiously began his narrative 
 in the following words : 
 
 " My good ladv, provided you promise not to im- 
 plicate me, who some six years since was in habits of 
 close intimacy with your sons, in any judicial investi- 
 gations which may hereafter arise out of this affair, I 
 will deal frankly with you, and tell you all I know
 
 90 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 without reserve. It is quite true that we harboured the 
 intention spoken of in the letter you refer to ; and by 
 what means this project, planned and arranged with au- 
 mil-able precision and sagacity, came to be frustrated in 
 the execution, I have never been able to discover ; heaven 
 itself seems to have taken the convent of these good 
 women under its holy protection. All I know is, that, 
 as a preliminary to more decided measures, your sons 
 had already indulged in many wanton pranks, disturb- 
 ing the divine service ; and that upwards of three hun- 
 dred miscreants, armed with crowbars and torches, only 
 awaited the signal of the preacher to raze the church to 
 the ground. But instead of this, at the first sound of 
 the music, your sons simultaneously took off their hats 
 with an air of reverence that struck us all with surprise ; 
 then, by degrees, they buried their faces in their hands, 
 as though in some strange access of deep and speechless 
 emotion ; and after awhile the preacher, turning round 
 suddenly, called on us all, in a loud and terrible voice, 
 to do as they had done, and to uncover our heads. In 
 vain did some of the party touch his arm, and beg of 
 him in a whisper to give the preconcerted signal. In- 
 stead of answering, the preacher crossed his hands on 
 his breast, dropped on his knees, and, together with his 
 three brothers, bowing his head with fervour to the 
 very ground, recited in an under-tone those very prayei-s 
 at which the moment before he had been openly scof- 
 fing. Utterly perplexed at such a spectacle, the crowd 
 of fanatics, deprived of their leader, remained standing 1 , 
 undecided and inactive, until the conclusion of the 
 wonderful musical composition that had just been per- 
 formed by the choir; then, as several of those who had 
 committed the disturbances were seized and taken off 
 by a guard, the miserable gang had no alternative but 
 to retire from the church and" disperse. That evening, 
 after many fruitless inquiries at the hotel for your sons, 
 who had not yet returned, I went back with a few 
 friends in a great state of alarm to the convent, with 
 the view of obtaining further information from the
 
 THE CONVENT OF ST. CECILY. 91 
 
 door-keeprs, who had been actively engaged in assist- 
 ing the imperial guard. But how can I describe my 
 horror, madam, on beholding these men transformed, as 
 it were, into stone, lying prostrate, with folded hands, 
 before the altar, and kissing the ground with most en- 
 thusiastic fervour ! It was in vain that the convent 
 steward pulled their cloaks and shook them by the arm, 
 begging of them to leave the church, which was already 
 quite dark. They heeded neither threat nor entreaty, 
 but half rose up as if in a dream, until the steward, 
 with some of his servants, laid hold of them, and led 
 them out of the church. Then only did they consent 
 to follow us to the town ; though nov without heavy 
 sighs, and constantly looking round, as if their hearts 
 were breaking at this parting from the church. We 
 repeatedly asked them what had happened, thus tho- 
 roughly to change their whole being ; but they made 
 no other reply than by pressing our hands, looking at 
 us kindh, then gazing on the ground, and wiping from 
 time to time the tears from their eyes, with an expres- 
 sion, the remembrance of which still to this very day 
 deeply affects me. Arrived at their lodgings, they 
 very ingeniously made a cross of birch-rods ; and set- 
 ting it upon a little mound of wax, placed it on the 
 large table in the centre of the room, between two 
 lights ; and then, as if their senses were closed to every 
 thing else in the world, they seated themselves at the 
 table, and commenced v-'ith folded hands their acts of 
 silent adoration; whilst v^eir friends, who came crowd- 
 ing to see them in increasing numbers, stood round in 
 separate group?, wringing 1 their hands in unutterable 
 anguish at witnessing .such strange and ghostlike beha- 
 viour. They refused to partake of the dinner which 
 they had ordered for the entertainment of their accom- 
 plices, nor would they at a later hour retire to the beds 
 that had been prepared for them in the adjoining- cham- 
 ber. By and by, at the hour of midnight, your four 
 sons, after listening for a moment to the dull striking of 
 the clock, rose abruptly with one accord from their
 
 92 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 seats, and began to intone the Gloria in excelsis with 
 a voice as terrible as the howling; of wolves and leopards 
 in the icy winter season. I assure you, the very pillars 
 of the house shook again, and the windows gave forth 
 a sound as though handfuls of sand had been thrown 
 against them. We rushed out without cloaks or hats 
 through the neighbouring streets, which soon became 
 filled with crowds of people, roused suddenly from their 
 slumbers. The mob, breaking through the house-door, 
 reached up stairs to the hall in search of the cause of 
 all this clamour; yet your sons still continued their 
 dreadful chant, without paying the least attention to 
 the anger of the landlord, or the exclamations of the 
 surrounding multitude. At length, when the clock 
 struck one, they suddenly stopped, wiped from their fore- 
 heads the perspiration which was falling in large drops 
 on the table, and spreading out their cloaks, laid them 
 down on the hard floor to take an hour's repose. With 
 the first crowing of the cock, they rose again, resumed 
 their seats round the table, with the crucifix in the 
 midst, and recommenced their melancholy mode of 
 existence, which exhaustion alone had forced them for 
 a moment to interrupt. They would take no advice or 
 assistance from the landlord ; they only begged him to 
 deny them to such of their friends as might come as 
 usual to visit them in the morning, asked for some 
 bread and water, and a little straw for their bed at 
 night ; in short, they conducted themselves in such a 
 manner, that the landlord felt bound to notify the case 
 to the magistrates, and beg them to assist him in get- 
 ting rid of his lodgers, who were doubtless possessed by 
 some evil spirit. They were subjected to medical in- 
 spection; arid being declared deranged, were lodged in 
 the lunatic asylum, where you have seen them." 
 
 Three days afterwards, the poor mother set out with 
 a female friend to the convent, for the melancholy pur- 
 pose of viewing with her own eyes the spot where God 
 had so smitten her sons to the earth, as if with invisible 
 lightning. The lady abbess having heard of her ar-
 
 THE CONVENT OF ST. CECILY. 93 
 
 rival, requested she might be sent for to her owr oom, 
 where they entered into very earnest conversat *n on 
 the subject of the melancholy history in which they 
 were both so deeply interested. On a desk, by th 2 side 
 of the abbess, lay a piece of music, the scores of a 
 mass ; and the lady timidly asked if this were the same 
 composition which had been performed on that f arful 
 day. On receiving an answer hi the affirmative., she 
 rose in a state of great excitement, and examined the 
 unknown and magical signs, which seemed to her like 
 the mysterious work of some fearful spirit ; and on 
 finding-- the page opened at the Gloria in excelsis, 
 was on the point of sinking to the ground. It seemed 
 to her as though the same mysterious power which had 
 crushed the intellects of her children was now rushing 
 with equal force on her own devoted head ; she feared 
 that she was about to lose her own senses also from the 
 mere sight; and after having hastily pressed her lips 
 to the page, with an intense feeling of humility and re- 
 signation to the Divine Will, she resumed her seat. 
 "It was God, my dear lady," said the abbess, "who 
 protected our convent on that extraordinary day against 
 the contemplated violence of your children, now so 
 heavily afflicted. No one has the least idea who it 
 was that in the confusion and distress of that dreadful 
 hour, when the image-breakers were on the point of 
 rushing in upon us, sat calmly and quietly at the organ, 
 and directed the execution of that composition you see 
 lying before you. It is certain that Sister Antonia, 
 who was the only member of our community capable of 
 doing it, lay on her sick-bed during the whole period 
 of its performance, devoid of all consciousness, and 
 depriven * of the use of all her limbs. The sister 
 who had been selected to attend her did not once quit 
 her bedside the whole of that forenoon during- the cele- 
 bration of the Festival of Corpus Christi ; and, in fact, 
 Sister Antonia never recovered from the state of insen- 
 sibility in which she was on the morning of that day, 
 but died that very same evening. The Archbishop of
 
 94 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 Troves does not hesitate to say that he believes it to have 
 been St. Cecilia herself who wrought this fearful yet 
 glorious miracle ; and I have just received a brief from 
 
 His Holiness the Pope expressing the same opinion." 
 
 * * 
 
 The lady returned to the Hague, and was received 
 the following year into the bosorn of the Catholic 
 Church. Her sons passed in a g'ood old age to a calm 
 and peaceful death, after intoning once more, according 
 to their custom, the Gloria in ejccdsis. 
 
 XV. 
 THE KNIGHT OF CHAMPFLEURY. 
 
 IN the twelfth century there lived at Chainpfleury, in 
 the province of Champag-ne, a knight, whose expendi 
 ture was more lavish than his fortune could well admit 
 of. He was too much devoted to pleasure, and spent 
 all his wealth in festivities, so that at last he fell into 
 deep distress ; and his friends, who were so devoted to 
 him while they shared his banquets, ceased to know 
 him when he became poor. 
 
 He had married a young- lady, whose sweetness, 
 modesty, and simple grace rendered him the happiest 
 of husbands. But the dowry of the gentle Mario had 
 been wasted like all the rest; and there now only 
 remained to this impoverished couple a half-ruined 
 manor-house, in which they lived in total solitude. 
 But the young wife, always resigned and submissive, 
 never breathed a single word of complaint, cpuestion, 
 or reproach. 
 
 One dav. as if to complete the distress of the Lord 
 of Champneury, it was announced to him that the 
 Count of Champagne, his suzerain, was coming to pass 
 a few days on his estate, and would halt at his house 
 for dinner. The knight, who loved vanity and magni-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF CHAMPFLEURY. 95 
 
 ficence, fell into the darkest melancholy; he left his 
 house, and sought a lonely place, where he might weep 
 in secret. 
 
 After wandering about for an hour, he stopped in 
 the middle of a desert plain, and threw himself down 
 on the dry grass, in a space where four ways met, en- 
 closed by seven withered chestnut-trees. As he was 
 giving vent to his vehement grief, and seeking in vain 
 in his mind for any device whereby he might be enabled 
 to receive the proposed visits in a fitting manner, with- 
 out perceiving that the day was drawing to a close (it 
 was in the month of May), he suddenly heard the rapid 
 steps of a horseman approaching him. He hastened to 
 dry his tears, rose up, and found himself in the pre- 
 sence of a man of lofty and imposing stature, but 
 gloomy aspect, mounted on an Arab horse as black 
 as ebony. He looked at him attentively, and was sure 
 that he had never seen him before. The unknown dis- 
 mounted. 
 
 " You are in great trouble, Sire de Champfleury," 
 said he with an appearance of interest : " do not be 
 offended if I beg to know the cause of it ; perhaps, how- 
 ever, I know it already. If then you will consent to do 
 me homage, I can relieve you, and replace you in a 
 brilliant position, restoring to you greater riches than 
 those you have lost." 
 
 Tbe astonished knight, before he replied, examined 
 the stranger anew. He was simply clad in black; 
 and there was no coat of arms, either on his mantle, 
 or on the trappings of his horse, to indicate a mighty 
 sovereign ; neither had he squires nor attendants of any 
 kind. At last the Sire of Champfleury spoke. 
 
 " My suzerain," he said, " is the Count of Cham- 
 pagne. Whatever I can do to serve you that will not 
 falsify the oath of fidelity which I have sworn to him, 
 I will gladly perform, when I am convinced that your 
 promises are serious. But first of all I must know who 
 you are." 
 
 " When we have made our agreement," answered
 
 96 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 the black knight, " you shall know me. f he homage 
 which I require does not in any way interfere with 
 that which you owe to the Count of Champagne, 
 your suzerain, who in two days' time intends, with a 
 brilliant suite, to stop for dinner at your manor-house." 
 
 These last words cruelly recalled to the knight his 
 desperate situation. 
 
 " Whoever you may be," he said at last, after a 
 moment of silence, " and if it ruin me utterly, only 
 saving my honour, I give myself up to you, for I was 
 at the point of death ; but," he added, in a tone of 
 agony, " I must first know who you arc." 
 
 " Well, then," answered the black knight slowly, 
 " be not terrified : though my name may perhaps sound 
 strange to your Christian ear, and your prejudices will rise 
 up against me, I am he, who, once an imprudent rebel, 
 am now a reprobate chief, do jou not understand me 
 now ? You see in me the object of the ierror of your 
 brethren, that fallen angel who dared to strive in 
 heaven." 
 
 " Satan !" exclaimed the Sire of Champfleury, re- 
 coiling- with terror; and he raised his hand instinctively 
 to make the sign of the Cross. 
 
 The stranger hastily seized his arm. 
 
 " Stop," said he, with an agitated voice, " what 
 you were about to do is painful to me. I come to save 
 you ; but for me you are on the very threshold of dis- 
 grace ; but I can restore to you riches and honours." 
 
 " I doubt it not," answered the knight bitterly ; 
 " but I will have none of your gifts." 
 
 " As you please," said the other ; " in two days 
 then, when the Count of Champagne arrives 
 
 The knight started ; then, as if fascinated by a 
 glance from the black stranger, he resumed in a tone 
 of apparent tranquillity, " But in what consists the 
 homage to which you desire to subject me ?" 
 
 " In very easy matters," replied the fiend, who 
 paused for a moment, as if to recollect himself, and then 
 continued,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF CHAMPFLEURY. 9? 
 
 " I shall only require three things. The first may 
 seem strange to you ; but, you see, I must have some 
 guarantee ; the rest will be more easy. You must sell 
 me the eternal salvation of your wife, and bring her to 
 me on this day next year." 
 
 The knight, though he expected some revolting pro- 
 posal, was indignant at this j and his heart beat fast 
 with anger. But he was under an influence which made 
 itself felt more and more powerfully every moment. 
 By degrees his indignation calmed itself down; he 
 thought that the rebel angel might have demanded 
 something yet worse; that he had a year before him 
 wherein to modify the abominable bargain ; and so he 
 only muttered in a hesitating voice, that it was not in 
 his power to execute the condition proposed. 
 
 " Only bring* her here," said the black knight, 
 " that is all I ask ; on this day next year bring your 
 wife here alone with you, without having warned her 
 of our contract. The rest is my affair." 
 
 The Knight of Champfleurv accepted this first con- 
 dition; and signed with his blood, on a triangle of 
 blank parchment, the promise to fulfil it. 
 
 The eyes of the prince of hell then glared in triumph; 
 and he proposed his second condition, which was, that 
 the knight should deny his God. At this fearful word 
 he recoiled in horror, and burst forth into a torrent of 
 reproaches, to which the stranger answered nothing 1 ; 
 and too soon the knight's resistance had exhausted 
 itself, and he consented to this second crime, secretly 
 whispering to himself that lie had a year before him 
 wherein to repent. Without daring, therefore, to raise 
 his eyes towards heaven, and shuddering all the time 
 at his own baseness, he repeated the blasphemies which 
 the evil spirit dictated to him, and formally renounced 
 his portion in paradise. 
 
 Thus lie was entirely in the grasp of Satan, and 
 while cold dews of horror stood on his brow, he asked 
 what was the third condition of his compact ; and the 
 fiend, protesting that after that he would ask nothing
 
 98 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 further, declared to him that he must renounce the 
 Blessed Virgin. 
 
 The Sire de Champfleury started back at the word, 
 and recovered some remains of energy ; for, though he 
 well knew that in denying his God he had committed 
 a crime still blacker, yet this third act was to him as 
 the last drop which made the cup of horror overflow. 
 
 " Renounce the Blessed Virgin!" he cried, " after 
 two crimes which destroy my soul, shall I further re- 
 nounce the Mother of God, the patroness and protec- 
 tress of my own Marie?" 
 
 The fiend started at the name. 
 
 " If I renounce her," thought the knight, " what 
 support, what resource shall I have left to make it pos- 
 sible for me ever to be reconciled to God ? No, he 
 continued, speaking aloud, " I will never submit to this 
 last degradation ; you have led me too far : you have 
 ruined me ; let us have done, and do thou leave me." 
 
 He was so determined, that the demon, seeing that 
 he might lose all if he pressed him too closely on this 
 point, contented himself with what he had already 
 gained. Then he told the knight of a secret corner in 
 his house where he would find immense sums of gold 
 and fceaps of jewels ; after which he mounted his horse 
 and disappeared. 
 
 The knight, greatly agitated, returned home. He 
 found the promised treasures in the precise spot where 
 he had been directed to seek for them ; and gathering 
 them up, without confiding to any one the treaty by 
 which he had made them his own, prepared for the ex- 
 pected visit. 
 
 He received the Count of Champagne with such 
 magnificence, that those who believed him to have been 
 impoverished knew not what to think ; and they were 
 still more amazed when, on one of the barons in the 
 Count's suite reminding him that St. Bernard was at 
 that time preaching the second crusade, and inviting 
 him to follow under the banner of his king, Louis the 
 Young, he replied that particular engagements would
 
 THE KNIGHT OF CHAMPFLEURY. 99 
 
 keep him at home during the whole of that year ; but 
 that he begged to offer to the count his suzerain 200 
 marks of gold, to furnish the equipment of his troop. 
 The count accepted this liberal sum with gratitude ; and 
 the whole court complimented the Sire de Champfleury, 
 who soon after this enlarged his possessions, rebuilt his 
 castle in the most sumptuous manner, and distinguished 
 himself more than ever by his magnificence and the 
 splendour of his entertainments. 
 
 With all this, it was remarked that he had lost all 
 his former gaiety; and that his brow was constantly 
 clouded with care. The joy of his newly acquired wealth, 
 the perpetual round of festivity in which he indulged, 
 the occupations which he multiplied to himself in the 
 hope of distraction, all could not suffice to deaden the 
 anguish which pierced his very soul, when he remembered 
 the fearful promise which he had given, and signed with 
 his own blood ; his heart was slowly wasting away 
 within him ; his nights were sleepless ; his happiness 
 only a splendid pageant with no reality. He could no 
 longer feel any of those impulses which lead to prayer ; 
 on the contrary, if ever he entered a church, he was 
 seized with a trembling horror which drove him from 
 it; so that he never dared assist at any of the sacred 
 offices. He had reckoned on making use of this year 
 to reconcile himself with Giod ; but a bar of iron seemed 
 to be fixed in his heart between remorse and repentance. 
 His wife gave him a little son just four months before 
 the anniversary of the fatal compact. 
 
 The knight, whose pride revolted at the idea of 
 confessing from what source his riches came, had never 
 revealed to any one his dreadful secret. It was only at 
 the moment of fulfilling his engagement that he re- 
 gretted he had not consulted some learned religious ; 
 but it was now too lute. One single hope remained to 
 him, his young wife, so pure and pious, could it be 
 that heaven would abandon her in her need ? 
 
 When the fatal dny was come, he called her to him,
 
 100 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 and said : " We have a journey to take to-day. Get 
 readv, for we must mount on horseback immediately." 
 
 The young 1 lady placed her little son in the arms of 
 her servant, said her prayers, and followed her husband. 
 " Shall we soon return ?" she asked. 
 " Oh ! \ve are not going far," answered the knight 
 vaguely, and hastened their departure. 
 
 After the pair had journeyed on for about a quarter 
 of an hour, they came to a little chapel consecrated to 
 the Blessed Virgin; and the lady of Champfleury, whose 
 tender devotion to her gentle patroness the knight well 
 knew, begged his permission to stop for a few seconds hi 
 this oratory ; for she never passed a place dedicated to 
 the Blessed Virgin without pausing there to offer up a 
 short prayer. Accordingly, he gave her his hand to 
 dismount, and remained himself at the door while she 
 went in, holding the two horses. The lady remained 
 but a short time in prayer; and, as soon as she re-ap- 
 peared, the knight replaced her in her saddle, and rode 
 on by her side, shuddering inwardly more and more, 
 the nearer they approached their journey's end. 
 
 Never had his young wife, of whom, now that he 
 was perhaps about to lose her, he felt bitterly that he 
 was no longer worthy, never had his sweet Marie 
 been so dear to him. Her beaut v, full of modesty, the 
 serenity of her countenance, her smile sweeter than ever, 
 claimed from him at once respect and tenderness. But 
 he could only sigh : he felt himself a slave to the com- 
 pact lie had signed ; and lie stood in too great dread of 
 him to whom lie had bound himself, to dare dream for :i 
 moment of drawing back from the fulfilment of his 
 pledge ; although it seemed to him that to snatch away 
 his young and virtuous partner would be to tear from 
 him his heart. Hot tears from time to time rolled down 
 his cheeks, and his breast heaved with sighs when he 
 beheld the seven withered chestnut trees, under which 
 his interview with the black knight had taken place. 
 Involuntarily IIP drew nearer to Marie, and would havo
 
 THE KNIGHT OF CHAMPFLEUKY. 101 
 
 taken her hand, but dared not ; he could only murmur, 
 " My dear Marie !" 
 
 " You weep," she answered, " you tremble ; have 
 you any sorrow?" 
 
 " Oh ! let us move on," he cried; " I may not delay." 
 A feeling which he could not account for had arisen 
 within him towards his companion, a deep sentiment 
 of veneration, such as we pay to the saints in heaven, 
 absorbed every other. He dared no longer even look 
 towards her, but spurred on his horse in despair. 
 
 As soon as they had reached the spot where the 
 compact had been signed, the black horseman came 
 galloping' up, followed this time by numerous squires, 
 all clad like him in black. But he had no sooner raised 
 his eyes towards the lady whom the Lord of Champ- 
 fleury had brought him, than he grew pale, shuddered, 
 fixed" his eyes on the ground, and seemed afraid to ad- 
 vance a single step. 
 
 " Disloyal man," said he at last, addressing the 
 knight, " is this your oath ?" 
 
 " What !" replied the\ Lord of Champfleurv, " am 
 I not here punctual to the iiour fixed ? I have brought 
 you more than my life ; but I am under your spells. 
 
 " The compact is signed with your blood, base and 
 dishonourable man," interrupted the demon, " and you 
 have enjoyed all the fruits of it. Were you not to have 
 brought your wife to this place ? instead of which you 
 are come with my inveterate enemy." 
 
 The knight, in no way comprehending what these 
 words meant, turned towards his companion. An au- 
 reole of light surrounded the lady's brow ; and the 
 black horseman, as this aureole gradually grew larger, 
 dared no more to iiplift his voice. 
 
 The truth was this : the lady of Champfleurv had 
 gone, as we have seen, into the chapel of the Blessed 
 Virgin, and had placed herself lovingly on her knees 
 before the revered image of the Queen of Mercy ; but 
 she had fallen into a miraculous slumber after her first 
 Ave, and the Mother of God had taken her form, her-
 
 101! CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 self to accompany the miserable knight to the fearful 
 place of meeting. 
 
 The Lord of Champfleury, stupefied with astonish- 
 ment, felt his mind ana spirit overwhelmed, and threw 
 himself down from his horse to fall at the feet of his 
 beloved Marie, and ask her pardon; for he still believed 
 that it was she whom he had brought, and the aureole 
 which encircled her brow appeared to him only as the 
 consoling sign of the protection of the Blessed Virgin. 
 But at last the lady spoke ; and with that voice, full 
 of a celestial harmony, and calming all the tumults of 
 earth, she said to the demon, 
 
 " Evil spirit, didst thou dare to claim as thy prey 
 a woman who trusts in me ? Will thy miserable pride 
 be never quelled ? I come not to chastise thee, nor to 
 aggravate thy pains ; but I come to lift up this weak 
 sinner from his apostasy, and to withdraw from thy 
 hands the guilty promise which thou didst constrain 
 him to sign." 
 
 The spirit of darkness bowed his head, slowly yielded 
 the parchment, and withdrew in mournful silence. 
 
 The knight, overwhelmed, threw himself on the 
 ground and burst into tears : the Blessed Virgin touched 
 him, and in that moment he found again what he had 
 lost for a whole year, the blessing of being able to 
 pray ; and confessed with sobs of anguish, and beating 
 his breast, the enormity of his fall. 
 
 " Rise, my son," said the Blessed Virgin, " and 
 know that forgiveness is more easy to God than sin to 
 you ; but remember your transgression, and renounce 
 pride and presumption for ever." 
 
 These were all the reproaches she addressed to him; 
 and then she led him back to his wife, who was not 
 yet awake. When she arose at last from this miraculous 
 sleep, she saw her husband kneeling beside her. The 
 Blessed Virgin had gone back into heaven, and there 
 only remained her holy image, calm and placid, in its 
 little rustic tabernacle. The knight retui-ned to his 
 house with his beloved wife, and confessed to her his
 
 ZULIMA, THE MOORISH MAIDEN. 103 
 
 enormous sin, and the unexpected help which had 
 dragged him back from the abyss. 
 
 From 'that day the Lord of Champfieury was no 
 more celebrated as a proud and brilliant knight, but as 
 a model of piety and charity. 
 
 XVI. 
 ZULIMA, THE MOORISH MAIDEN. 
 
 THE tents of Ferdinand and Isabella spread far and 
 wide before the walls of Grenada; inclosed within 
 which, and hoping in vain for succour, the cowardly 
 Boabdil, whom his people named in derision the little 
 king, found no consolation for his calamities but in 
 the cruelties which he practised more and more fero- 
 ciously from day to day. But while discouragement 
 and despair gradually took possession of the troops and 
 people of Grenada, the hope of triumph and zeal for 
 battle animated the warriors of Spain. They made as 
 yet no general assault, but contented themselves with 
 firing on the ramparts, and forcing back further and 
 further the outworks of the besieged. These little skir- 
 mishes were more like joyous tournaments than bloody 
 battles; and even the death of the Christian heroes who 
 fell in them served but to raise the courage of their 
 brethren ; for their obsequies were celebrated with all 
 the splendour the Church could throw around them, as 
 of martyrs for the faith. 
 
 In the midst of the camp, Isabella had caused to be 
 erected a wooden building, crowned with towers, on the 
 loftiest of which floated the sacred banner of the cross. 
 The interior was so arranged as to serve for a cloister 
 and a church, where Benedictine nuns sang their holy 
 office daily ; and every morning the queen, accompanied 
 by her attendant ladies and a company of knights, came
 
 104 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 there to hear Mass said by her confessor, at which a 
 choir of nuns assisted. 
 
 One morning 1 Isabella distinguished a voice among 
 them, the beautiful quality of which made it heard 
 through all the others ; and the manner in which it 
 pronounced the words was so singular, that she could 
 not doubt but that it was joining for the first time in 
 the holy service. The queen looked around her, and 
 perceiving that her attendants participated in her as- 
 tonishment, began to suspect some strange adventure, 
 when her eyes fell on her brave General Agiiilar, who 
 was placed not far from her, and who, kneeling on his 
 chair, his hands joined, and his eyes glistening with 
 earnestness, was gazing fixedly at the grating- of the 
 choir. When Mass was ended, Isabella went to the 
 apartment of Donna Maria, the Superior, and asked 
 who this strange singer was. 
 
 <l You may remember, queen," said Donna Maria, 
 in answer, " that, a month ago, Don Aguilar had 
 formed the project of attacking one of the enemy's out- 
 works, which supports a magnificent terrace, used by 
 the Moors as a public promenade. That night the 
 songs of the pagans resounded in our camp like the 
 voices of syrens ; and the brave Aguilar chose it inten- 
 tionally, on purpose to destroy the haunt of the un- 
 believers. Already the outwork was carried, and the 
 women taken prisoners and borne away, when an unex- 
 pected reinforcement obliged the conqueror to retire to 
 the camp; where, however, the enemy dared not pin-sue 
 him, so that the prisoners remained in the hands of our 
 people. Among them was one woman whose despair 
 excited the attention of Don Aguilar. Tic drew near 
 to her; she was veiled, and, as if her griff could find 
 no other expression but in song, she took the lute, 
 which was hung round her neck by a ribbon of gold, 
 and after having struck a few chords, she began to 
 pour forth, in the form of a ballad, a pathetic lament 
 nn the forcible separation of two lovers. Aguilar, 
 deeply moved by her sorrow, resolved to send her back
 
 ZULIMA, THE MOORISH MAIDEN'. 105 
 
 into Grenada; and in gratitude she threw herself at 
 his feet, and raised her veil. ' Art thou not Zulima, 
 the pearl of all the singing-maidens of Grenada?' cried 
 Aguilar ; and it was in fact Zulima, whom he had seen 
 once hefore when he was on a mission at the court of 
 King- Boabdil ; l I will give thee thy liberty/ he con- 
 tinued. But at that moment the reverend Father 
 Agostino Sanchez, who had come to the Spanish camp, 
 the crucifix in his hand, and was standing- near, inter- 
 rupted him, suggesting 1 that it was no kindness to the 
 captive to send her hack into a camp of misbelievers ; 
 and that perhaps, if she remained among- Christians, 
 the grace of God might enlighten her, and bring her 
 back into the fold of the faithful. In consequence of 
 this representation, Aguilar determined that she should 
 remain a month among us, and that if at the end of 
 that time she should not be awakened to the faith, she 
 should then return to Grenada. It was thus, Queen," 
 continued the Superior, " that Zulima came among- us 
 in this our cloister. At first she gave herself up to un- 
 measured crief, and filled the cloister with songs, now 
 wild and fearful, now soft and plaintive; her ringing 
 voice was heard every where. One night, as we were 
 all gathered together in the choir of the church, sing- 
 ing our holy office by the light of the waxen tapers, 
 I discerned Zulima standing by the open door of the 
 choir, gazing at us with a grave and meditative aspect; 
 and when we left the chapel, walking two and two, I 
 saw Zulima kneeling near an image of our Blessed 
 Lady. The following day she sang no Moorish songs; 
 but passed it in silence and reflection : and soon we 
 heard her trying on her lute the chants which we had 
 sung in church ; and afterwords endeavouring, in a low 
 voice, to sing- them herself, and even to imitate the 
 sacred words, which sounded strangely in her mouth. 
 
 " I felt that the grace of God was. manifesting 
 itself in this song, and therefore I sent Sister Emanuela, 
 our choir-mistress, to the Moorish maiden, that she 
 might keep alive the sacred spark which seemed to be
 
 106 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 kindled within her ; and in truth, in the midst of the 
 holy psalms which they sang together, her heart 
 awakened to faith. Zulima has not yet been received 
 into the bosom of the Church by the Sacrament of 
 Baptism ; but it has been permitted her to join us in 
 praising the Lord, and in raising her wonderful voice 
 for the glory of our holy religion." 
 
 The queen rejoiced greatly in the conversion of 
 Zulima, who some days after was baptised, and re- 
 ceived the name of Julia, the queen herself, and the 
 Marquis of Cadiz, Henry of Gusman, standing as her 
 sponsors. After her baptism, however, a singular change 
 seemed to come over her : she would sometimes trouble 
 the service of the church by strangle sounds, while the 
 low murmurs of her lute were like the meanings of a 
 distant storm. She herself became more and more 
 restless, and even sometimes interrupted the Latin 
 hymns with Moorish words. The choir-mistress, Ema- 
 nuela, admonished her to resist this temptation ; but 
 Julia, far from following her council, would often, to 
 the great scandal of the sisters, sing Moorish songs at 
 the very time when the chants of the Church were 
 echoing through the cloisters, touching at the same 
 time on her instrument, a light flute-like accompani- 
 ment, which formed a singular contrast to the solemn 
 chords of the religious music. 
 
 One day, when the queen, accompanied by the chief 
 captains of her army, went as usual to hear Mass at the 
 chapel of the Benedictine nuns, a beggar covered with 
 rags was standing at the principal gate, who, when the 
 guards wished to drag him away, rushed from side to 
 side like a madman, and even struck against the queen. 
 Aguilar, irritated bv this, was about to strike him with 
 his sword, when the beggar, drawing a lute from under 
 his mantle, drew from it such wild notes as startled all 
 around. The guards at last succeeded in leading him 
 away, and it was told the queen that he was a Moorish 
 prisoner who had lost his wits, and who was allowed to 
 run up and down the camp to amuse the soldiers by hi?
 
 ZULIMA, THE MOORISH MAIDEN. 107 
 
 mgs. The queen entered the church, and the Mass 
 began. The sisters of the choir intoned the Sanctus; 
 but at the moment when Julia began with a powerful 
 voice Pie ni sunt cceli et terra yloriA tud, the notes of a 
 lute rung through the church, and the voung convert, 
 closing her books, prepared to leave the choir. The 
 Superior strove in vain to detain her. "Do you not 
 hear," she said wildly, "the master's splendid chords? 
 I must go to sing with him." But Donna Emanuela, 
 holding her by the arm, said in a solemn voice : " Sin- 
 ner, who thus forsakest the service of thy Lord, and 
 whose heart is full of worldly thoughts, fly from this 
 place ; but know that thy voice shall fail thee, and the 
 tones which the Lord has lent thee to praise Him shall 
 be hushed for ever." Julia turned her head in silence, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 At the hour of matins, when the nuns were just as- 
 sembling in the church, a thick cloud of smoke rose to 
 its root; and very soon the crackling flames burst 
 through its wooden walls, and communicated to the 
 cloister, so that it was with great difficulty that the 
 lives of the nuns were saved. The trumpet was imme- 
 diately sounded through the camp, to rouse the soldiers 
 from their sleep ; and Aguilar was seen to rush among 
 them, scorched, and in wild disorder. He had sought 
 in vain to save Julia from the midst of the flames : she 
 had disappeared. In a short time the whole of Isa- 
 bella's camp was a heap of ruins; and the Moors, taking 
 advantage of the tumult, made an attack on the Chris- 
 tian army. But the Spaniards displayed on this occasion 
 a valour even more brilliant than usual; and when the 
 enemy was driven back within their entrenchments, the 
 Queen Isabella, assembling her chiefs, gave orders to 
 build a town on the spot which her camp had occupied, 
 thereby announcing to the Moors that the siege would 
 never be raised. 
 
 During the building of this town, the Moors were 
 continually harassing the Spaniards, and many bloody 
 onflicts took place, in which the valour of Aguilar \vaa
 
 108 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 particidarly distinguished. Returning one day from a 
 skirmish, he left his snuadron near a wood of myrtles, 
 and continued his solitary way absorbed in thought. 
 The image of Julia was continually before his eyes ; 
 even during the combat he had seemed several times to 
 hear her voice, and in this moment, lie fancied that in 
 the far distance he could distinguish singular sounds, a 
 mixture as it were of Moorish modulations with eccle- 
 siastical chants. While straining his ear to catch these 
 distant sounds, the clang of armour echoed near him : 
 he turned, and saw a Moorish horseman mounted on a 
 light Arab horse gallop rapidly by, while at the same 
 time a javelin whizzed past his ear. He rushed after 
 his assailant; but a second javelin pierced the chest of 
 his horse, who reared with pain and rage, and threw 
 his rider into the dust. He rose quickly ; but the Moor 
 was already upon him, standing in his stirrups, and* 
 with his scymitar raised. In the twinkling of an eye, 
 however, Aguilar was on his feet ; and, straining his op- 
 ponent in his arms, threw him violently on the ground, 
 and kneeling on his breast, pointed his poignard at his 
 throat. Ho was on the point of stabbing him, when he 
 heard the Moor with a sigh pronounce the name of Zu- 
 lima. 
 
 " What name is that," exclaimed Aguilar, " that 
 thou darest to pronounce in my presence ?" 
 
 " Strike, strike!" said the Moor; "strike him who 
 has vowed thy death! Learn, Christian, that Ilichem 
 is the last of the race of Alhamar, and that it was he 
 who snatched Zulima from thee. I am the beggar 
 who burnt thy church on purpose to carry off the soul 
 of my thoughts. Strike, then, and end my life, since 
 I have not been able to take thine." 
 
 " Zulima still lives !" exclaimed Aguilar. 
 
 " She lives," answered the Moor, with a bitter 
 laugh; "but your idol has smitten her with a magic 
 curse, and our fairest flower has withered in your hands : 
 *ier melodious voice has ceased to sound, and her life 
 is ready to forsake her with her gift of song. Strike
 
 ZULIMA, THE MOORISH MAIDEN. 109 
 
 then, Christian, for you have already bereft me of more 
 than life." 
 
 Agnilar rose slowly. " Hichem," he said, " Zulima 
 was my prisoner by the laws of war : enlightened by 
 Divine grace, she has forsaken the religion of Maho- 
 met : do not then name the soul of thy thoughts, her 
 who is become my lady, or prepare to meet me in fair 
 combat. Resume thy arms." 
 
 Hichem hastily resumed his buckler and scymitar ; 
 but, instead of rushing 1 upon Aguilar, he set spurs to his 
 horse, and disappeared with the swiftness of lightning. 
 
 After a time the Moors, continually repulsed in 
 their sallies, and worn by famine, found themselves 
 forced to capitulate, and to open their gates to Ferdi- 
 nand and Isabella, who made their triumphal entry into 
 Grenada. The grand mosque was blest by the priests, 
 and converted into a cathedral, when there was sung 
 a solemn Te Deum in thanksgiving to the God of 
 armies. The rage and fury of the Moors being well 
 known, bands of soldiers were placed in all the neigh- 
 bouring streets to protect the procession ; and Aguilar, 
 who commanded one of these bands, was advancing to- 
 wards the cathedral, when he felt himself wounded in 
 the left shoulder by an arrow. At the same moment, 
 a troop of Moore rushed out of a narrow street, and at- 
 tacked the Christians with inconceivable fury. Hichem 
 was at their head ; and Aguilar, immediately recognis- 
 ing him, joined in fight with him hand to hand, and 
 did not leave him till he had plunged his sword deep in 
 his heart. After this, the Spaniards pursued the Moors 
 into a large stone house, whose gates opened to admit 
 them, arid then reclosed on them immediately ; an 
 instant after, a cloud of arrows from the windows of 
 this house wounded many of Aguilar' s soldiers, and he 
 commanded that torches should be brought and the 
 house set on fire. This order was executed, and al- 
 ready the flames were mounting even to the roof, when 
 a wonderful voice made itself heard from the midst of
 
 110 CATHOLIC LEOEND8. 
 
 the burning building, chanting, Sanctut, sanctum 
 sanctus Dominus Dens Sabaath. 
 
 " Julia, Julia !" cried Aguilar, in despair ; and 
 immediately the doors were flung open, and Julia, 
 dressed as a Benedictine nun, came forth, still singing 
 Sanctum, sanctiis, sanctiis; while behind her marched 
 a long file of Moors, their heads cast down, and their 
 hands crossed on their breast. The Spaniards drew 
 back involuntarily; and Julia, followed by the Moors, 
 advanced through their ranks to the cathedral, on 
 entering which she intoned, Benedictus qui venit in 
 nomine Domini. 
 
 The people fell on their knees ; and Julia, her eyes 
 turned towards heaven, walked with a firm step up to 
 the high altar, where Ferdinand and Isabella were 
 engaged in assisting at the holy function; and as soon 
 as the last strophe, Dona nobis pacem, was conclud- 
 ed, 'fell lifeless into the arms of the queen. All the 
 Moors who had followed her received that same day 
 the holy Sacrament of Baptism.
 
 THE ABBEY OF EINSIEDELN. Ill 
 
 XVII. 
 
 LEGEND OF THE ABBEY OF EINSIEDELN 
 
 (INTRODUCTION.) 
 
 v 
 
 IT is now some years ago since I made a tour on foot 
 through Switzerland. Having 1 visited Chamouny and 
 the upper district of Berne, I came at length to the 
 lesser cantons. There the deepened solitude of the val- 
 leys, the more gently sloping- Alps stripped of their 
 horrors of precipice and avalanche, and the wood-girdled 
 villages, guiltless of inns and tourists, brought refresh- 
 ment to me on my way. I stopped some days at 
 Lucerne ; and then anxious to exhaust every thing re- 
 markable in these parts, I began to think of going 
 towards the Grisons, for the sake of the new scenery 
 promised by their mountains, when an excursion of an 
 altogether different nature turned me for a time aside. 
 
 In my walks to the Righi, to Schwytz, and to the 
 funereal vale of Goldau, I had frequently met troops 
 of poor folks, their bundles on their backs, as if they 
 had come from a distance, asking neither alms nor 
 employment, but with a calm indifference to people and 
 things, going on their way in companies, telling their 
 beads or repeating litanies, kneeling before the way- 
 side crosses which guard the Catholic cantons, greeting 
 travellers as they went with a friendly bow or a pious 
 word, and invariably answering when I asked them 
 whither they were bound, " For Einsiedeln." 
 
 On referring to my guide-book I found Einsiedeln 
 was a large Abbey of Benedictines, celebrated for its 
 church and as a place of pilgrimage. Nothing more 
 was necessary to excite my interest warmly, I immedi- 
 ately took the road thither, and after crossing one or 
 two mountains, and passing a large town made up ol 
 inns and completely behung with signs, I found myself 
 before the convnt of our Lady of Hermits.
 
 112 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 Situated at the extremity of a long valley, and 
 shadowed by mountains covered with firs, the buildings 
 of the monastery, which nearly a century ago were re- 
 built after a conflagration, present au imposing mass, 
 with a regular and majestic facade ; between two wings, 
 inhabited by the monks, rises the church with its two 
 towers, each bearing a double cross, and separated by a 
 large open square from the village, which is dependent 
 on the convent for its origin and prosperity. In the 
 centre of this square is the fountain ot Saint Meinrad, 
 crowned by a beautiful image of the Blessed Virgin, 
 and pouring from twelve ever-flowing jets its cool pure 
 water. All round the galleries form a circle of shops, 
 where rosaries, images, and medals are exposed for 
 sale. Behind the facade the edifice stretches out into 
 wings, which conceal the court and gardens of the 
 convent. 
 
 On entering the church one is struck by the rich- 
 ness of its ornaments, and the profusion of statues, 
 frescoes, and paintings. The whole history of Chris- 
 tianity is depicted beneath these vaulted roofs, angels, 
 saints, the mysteries, and the life of Jesus, from Beth- 
 lehem to Calvary. The totiching recollections of the 
 Old and New Testament revive here under the brush of 
 the painter and the chisel of the statuary. The choir 
 and the sanctuary are masterpieces, every chapel bears 
 witness to the miracles of its patron, and every altar 
 rests upon the ashes of a saint. 
 
 A few steps within the entrance, in the middle of 
 the nave, rises a- little dome, supported on pillars of 
 black marble. The bas-reliefs which ornament it are all 
 in honour of the Mother of God, and represent her so- 
 journ on this earth and her Assumption into heaven. 
 Beneath this dome, an altar serves as pedestal to a black 
 statue, from which stream g-olden rays, and the pnle 
 reflections of a single lamp show it to be that of the 
 Virgin and her divine Child. The stones around this 
 little chapel are more deeply worn than any others, for 
 it is here all come to shed their tears and pour forth
 
 THE ABBKY OF EINSIEUELN. 113 
 
 their prayers ; this is the object of so many a pilgrim- 
 age ; this is the image (as we shall see in the sequel) 
 hefore which the holy Meinrad used to pray. 
 
 When for the first time I ascended the lofty steps 
 which lead to the church, many families of pilgrims had 
 just arrived. Sinking- under the burden of heat and 
 fatigue, they had nevertheless passed through the village 
 without a moment's pause. I watched them stoop to 
 drink at the sacred fountain, then climb the steps with 
 slow and weary feet, and go to cast themselves on their 
 knees within that holy chapel, before a thought of rest 
 or food came near them. There was no anxiety about 
 a place of shelter or a morsel of bread ; the fulfilment 
 of their vow seemed to be all that occupied their hearts. 
 
 I knelt amongst the pilgrims, and mingled my voice 
 with their litanies; and forgetful for a moment that I 
 was a traveller, who came to make his observations on 
 the habits of another people, I thought only of God and 
 of the absent ones at home. I now understood the na- 
 ture of a pilgrimage, that pious custom of our fore- 
 fat hoi's, I understood its promises and its hopes, the 
 religious feelings it must inspire, the confidence which 
 sustains one through its toils. 
 
 It seemed as if a new source of consolation was re- 
 vealed to me at the foot of this altar, as if a protecting 
 power was discovered, hitherto unknown, against the 
 evils of the future, a refuge to which, in times of deso- 
 lation, I should not appeal in vain. 
 
 While thus plunged in meditation, a hymn to the 
 Blessed Virgin re-echoed through !ie church. It was 
 Ming by fifty pilgrims from the mountains of the Tvrol ; 
 they had hut just arrived, and hastened to raise, in clear 
 harmonious voices, a hymn in boin-ur of the Mother of 
 Anirels. The next day they were to return to (heir home 
 tilled with blessings from the Virgin of Einsiedi'ln. 
 The sole object of this long and fatiguing 1 journey had 
 been to kneel at the foot of her sacred image, recite the 
 ros;iry, and pour forth a canticle of praise. The shades 
 nf evening revealed but dimly the bold, manly forms of 
 I
 
 1J4 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 the Tyrolese hunters, in their picturesque costume, and 
 the pious devotion of the women and children, who, in 
 their holy faith alone could have found the strength 
 sufficient for such a journey. Some old men, whose 
 enfeebled limbs were exhausted by the efforts they had 
 made, blended deep sighs with these pure sonorous 
 tones, and the voice of more than one mother, who had 
 left perhaps her child languishing upon a bed of sick- 
 ness, gave more plaintive and tender melody to the 
 hymn of joy. As for me, I could join only by my tears. 
 
 The next day I begged permission to see the ab- 
 bey, which being granted, a Benedictine showed me, 
 besides the cells, a fine library, with several ancient 
 manuscripts, a collection of philosophical instruments, 
 and one of mineralogical specimens. 
 
 He also told me the history of the abbey, the ravages 
 it had endured from fire and revolutions, and how, 
 rising once more from its ashes, it now beheld the 
 number and the piety of its pilgrims year by year in- 
 crease. He told me of wonders that had been accom- 
 plished in this spot by the intercession of Mary, and 
 described to me the rule of the Benedictines, who 
 divide their days between prayer, study, and their sa- 
 cred ministry. 
 
 It was thus he related the origin of the abbey : 
 
 Cfje EtgeirtJ. 
 
 In the ninth century, Meinrad, the son of Prince 
 Berthold of Hohenzollern, in Swabia, allied by his 
 illustrious birth to the noblest families in Europe, re- 
 signed the wealth and honours to which he was entitled, 
 and entering a monastery, became a Benedictine. But 
 even here, the reverence with which lie was regarded 
 for the sacrifice he had made, savoured too nearly of 
 human respect and worldly glory to leave Meinrad 
 satisfied with his choice. He resolved to become a 
 hermit; arid building secretly with his own hands a 
 little hut amongst the solitary hollows of a mountain
 
 THE ABBEY OF EINSIEDELX. 115 
 
 near the monastery, lie went out one day, as if for a 
 ramble, and took up his abode there. This mountain, 
 named Mount Etzel, separates the Lake of Zurich from 
 the valley of Einsiedeln, and here, for seven years, dwelt 
 Meinrad, practising all the austerities the most rigid 
 penance could suggest. But even here the world dis- 
 covered his retreat. Crowds of anxious penitents sought 
 out the holv recluse of the mountain, and wearing into 
 beaten paths its hitherto untrodden tracks, came day 
 by day to beg counsel, or consolation, or pardon of 
 tfieir sins from one who lived so near to God. In those 
 days it was the custom for all who had doubts and 
 di&culties to refer themselves with unhesitating con- 
 fidence to the advice of solitaries such as Meinrad. 
 The more, certainly, they were separated from the 
 world, the more surely did their words breathe inspira- 
 tion from on high. Rich and poor, labourers and noble- 
 men, the priest, the lord, the old man and the child, 
 the humble monk and the prince-bishop, all took their 
 way to the hermit Meinrad, and received the same 
 cordial welcome, advice, and tender consolation. 
 
 But often, when the poor man went home to his 
 cottag'e with joy, lightened of all bis troubles, the rich 
 one returned sorrowful to his palace, disquiet in his 
 soul, and shame upon his forehead. For Meinrad, like 
 a true servant of God, spoke faithfully to all, fearing 
 not man, and determined to do justice. 
 
 However, these crowds of visitors distracted him 
 sorely. He yearned to give himself wholly to prayer 
 and meditation ; and having discovered at the foot of 
 the mountain in a wilder region a pine-forest, so thick 
 and lonely that the hunters themselves dreaded to ex- 
 plore its shades, and known even in this land of gloomy 
 woods as the " Dark Forest," he resolved to fly thither, 
 and hide himself securely. Unknown to all, he effected 
 his departure, taking with him nothing but an image of 
 the Blessed Virgin; but it was impossible so trans- 
 cendent a light could be completely buried even in 
 these forest depths. The sad and the repentant fol-
 
 116 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 lowed him still. Resisting- no more the evident will of 
 God concerning him, Meinrad received all who braved 
 the terrors of the forest, and even suffered them to 
 build him a cell which should shelter him from storms, 
 and a simple oratory, where he could set up the holy 
 image of the Mother of Mercy. To her feet, where he 
 himself knelt almost unceasingly, Meinrad brought his 
 penitents, and none went away without a blessing-. Nor 
 was it only human visitants he welcomed there. At 
 midnight, once, a religious from the convent of Reicho- 
 nau, who occasionally paid the hermit a visit, followed 
 him at a distance to the little chapel, whither he went 
 to say the evening- office, when suddenly the whole 
 chapel hecame illuminated, and as the monk drew near, 
 he beheld upon the altar-steps, where Meinrad knelt, a 
 young child of celestial aspect, who recited the office 
 with him. 
 
 Thirty-three years had passed away since Meinrad 
 retired from the world, twenty-six of which had been 
 passed in the Dark Forest, when two miserable men 
 came one day, as if to beg* hospitality from the holy 
 hermit. He read their deadly purpose in their souls, 
 and said to them : " You should have come a little 
 sooner, that you might have assisted at my Mass, and 
 prayed the saints to show you mercy at your last hour. 
 You shall receive my blessing 1 and forgiveness before 
 you kill me; and when I am dead, light, I charge you, 
 these two candles, one at the head and the other at the 
 foot of my couch. After this, fly for your lives, lest you 
 should be denounced by those who come to visit me." 
 
 Notwithstanding- this address, the simple piety of 
 which would have been sufficient to disarm most ruf- 
 fians, the hope of plunder induced these wretches to 
 kill the hermit : they found nothing 1 , however, but his 
 penitential hair-shirt. They forgot to light the candles 
 as be charged them; but beheld them, says the Ger- 
 man tradition, miraculously kindled by invisible hands. 
 Fleeing- in terror and remorse, they escaped unseen by 
 human eye, and took refug-e hi an inn at Zurich. But
 
 THE ABBEY OF EINSIEDELN. 117 
 
 Meinrad had made friends with the birds of the air; 
 and two tame crows, with whom he had been accus- 
 tomed to share his bread, followed the murderers, 
 crying after them, and striking at them with their 
 beaks, as far as the inn, from which one of the servants 
 vainly endeavoured to chase them away. This circum- 
 stance attracted the attention of some people of Wolrau, 
 who having found the hermit dead, haa instantly set 
 forth in quest of the assassins, and recognising the birds 
 as those of Meinrad, felt little doubt they had pursued 
 the g*uilty men. The two miserable creatures, when 
 arrested, confessed their crime and sufferea its penalty; 
 the birds, adds the tradition, still hovering above the 
 scaffold. The inn where this occurred bears to this 
 very day the motto of " The two faithful Crows," and 
 they are introduced into the arms of the abbey. 
 
 Thus died the holy Meinrad, January 21, 863 ; but 
 to his empty cell crowds of pilgrims still travelled. 
 And before it had quite crumbled into decay, Bennon, 
 or Benoit, a royal prince, and canon of Strasbourg, 
 renouncing all his worldly wealth, came to the Dark 
 Forest, and raised around the hut of Meinrad many 
 little wooden cells, wherein he and other holy men 
 might dwell. This was the origin of the abbey. The 
 forest lost its solitude and gloom, and the place took the 
 name of " Einsiecleln," which has been rendered into 
 Latin thus by chroniclers : Eremm, eremus Deiparce, 
 eremitariim coanobium. 
 
 By St. Eberhard these humble cells were after- 
 wards improved into a fine monastery, and the chapel 
 became a magnificent church. Under the third abbot, 
 the title of " Prince of the Holy Empire" was given 
 for ever to the Abbot of Einsiedeln. Princes poured in 
 their wealth, and the sanctity of its inmates bestowed a 
 higher dignity upon the monastery. It became the 
 centre of intelligence, activity, and labour in those 
 parts, the school for young nobles, a well-spring of 
 general civilisation.* 
 
 * An ancient tradition affirms that the consecration of this
 
 118 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 Century after century rolled away, and still the 
 glory of Einsiedeln did but increase. Saints and learned 
 men came and went within its walls, and countless 
 communities drew from its sanctity and wisdom the 
 beginning- of their strength. 
 
 But a time of persecution and of darkness succeeded 
 to centuries of increasing prosperity. The impiety of 
 a French army, and the envy of an ungrateful populace, 
 devastated and well nigh destroyed this sacred edifice. 
 An attempt was even made to carry off the venerated 
 Image to which Meinrad had knelt in the solitude of 
 the Dark Forest. But the pious care of the good 
 monks prevented this sacrilege ; and whilst a similar 
 one was taken to Paris, the true relic was securely 
 guarded, and now once more adorns the restored mo- 
 nastery. 
 
 Again, the praises of God resound where first the 
 venerable saint upraised his holy hands ; and pilgrims 
 still throng thither, as almost a thousand years ago 
 they crowded to the recluse of the mountain. 
 
 church was performed in a miraculous manner ; and this is the 
 belief of no less a person than St. Charles Borromeo. Conrad 
 Bishop of Constance, Ulric Bishop of Augsburg, and other pro 
 lates, came in the year 949 to celebrate the rite of dedication in 
 the usual manner ; but on the eve of the day appointed, whilst 
 Conrad was praying' at midnight, on a sudden he saw the new 
 sanctuary lighted up, and the consecration performed by angelic 
 hands, our Lord Himself and His apostles appearing in the midst. 
 In the morning all assembled for the ceremony ; but on seeking 
 out Conrad, they were informed by him of the prodigy which 
 had taken place. So marvellous did the circumstance appear, 
 that they at first treated it as an illusion, and were about to pro- 
 ceed to the dedication, when a voice was thrice heard from the 
 sanctuary, declaring that the church was consecrated. It may 
 be added that several other churches lay claim to-a similar pri- 
 vilege : among others, those of St. Denis, near Paris, and the 
 Cathedral of Rheims. We have already mentioned the testi- 
 mony of St. Charles Borromeo. We may also add a bull of Pope 
 Leo VIII., to the same effect ; and the following sentence of the 
 angelic doctor in his "Summa :" Qua>dam tcrnpla dicuntur angelica 
 tninisterio consecrata " Some churches are said to have been 
 consecrated by the ministry of angels."
 
 119 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE MADONNA DELLA GROTTA, NAPLES. 
 
 CATHOLIC travellers, who, after visiting the shrine of 
 St. Alphonso at Pagani, and the ancient Baptistery of 
 St. Mary Major's at Nocera, go on to the shrines of 
 St. Matthew and St. Gregory VII. at Salerno, not un- 
 frequently make a little detour from the high road, as 
 soon as they have passed La Cava, that they may visit 
 the famous Benedictine monastery of La Trinita. The 
 road by which the ascent to this monastery is generally 
 made passes a little to the right of the sanctuary of 
 Santa Maria della Grotta, and hides from the uncon- 
 scious traveller the very beautiful scenery which is so 
 near him ; but if he turned aside to the left, soon after 
 having passed the village of San Cesareo, two minutes' 
 walk would suffice to bring him to the edge of a long 
 deep narrow and precipitous ravine, clothed with wood 
 down to the brink of the stream which rushes along the 
 bottom, and crowned on either side with a chapel of the 
 Madonna. At present there is a very safe, and commo- 
 dious path, leading to the mill which is a little farther 
 up the valley, and a bridge whereby we may cross from 
 one side to the other. But two hundred j'ears ago, at 
 which time our history begins, this path was neither 
 safe nor convenient ; it had a very bad name, and was 
 said to be infested by evil spirits. One day, in the 
 year 1654, as a certain Don Federigo, a priest of La 
 Cava, was going- along by this way to St. Pietro a 
 Dragonea, one of the hamlets belonging to the parish 
 of San Cesareo, he had an encounter with some of 
 these spirits, just at the mouth of one of those grottoes 
 or natural caverns in the rock, which are so frequent in 
 that neighbourhood, and from whence La Cava itself is
 
 120 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 supposed to have derived its name. On his return 
 home, this good priest determined to place so dangerous 
 a cavern under the immediate protection of the Ma- 
 donna; but not having 1 sufficient means to procure a 
 statue or painting" for this purpose, he was obliged to 
 content himself with fastening to the rock a little print, 
 which he happened to have, representing the Blessed 
 Virgin, with the Dove and the Cherubim over her head, 
 holding- the child Jesiis in her arms, and having St. 
 Paul, the first hermit, on her right hand, and St. Ono- 
 frius on her left. The title of this picture was the Ad- 
 vocate of Sinners ; and as the print remained there, 
 uninjured by time and by the damp, during' a period of 
 forty-eight years, the cave gradually lost its old name 
 of the Grotta de* Sportiglioni (or, of the bats), ambre- 
 ceived in its stead that of the Axvocatella. 
 
 Doubtless it had been saluted with many an Ave 
 by the devotion of the passers-by during this half cen- 
 tury; and at length, in the year 1702, Fra Angiolo 
 Maria di Mnjuri, a lay brother of one of the Franciscan 
 convents in La Cava, remarkable for his devotion to 
 the Blessed Virgin, caused a copy of the engraving- to 
 be executed in fresco, in a little niche which he had 
 prepared for it in the rock. At the same time he ex- 
 horted the neighbours to burn a lamp before it, and 
 frequently repeated, in the presence of the parish priests 
 and others, that that grotto, which had once been the 
 abode of infernal spirits, would ere long- become the 
 house of God, and that the Mother of God would dis- 
 pense from thence the treasures of her power and good- 
 ness with a most "liberal hand. Of course, the first 
 part of this prophecy, so to call it, had a natural ten- 
 dency to bring about its own fulfilment. One of the 
 priests, who had often listened to Fra Angiolo's confi- 
 dent assurances on this subject, caused an altar to be 
 raised before the painting, a lamp to be kept burning, 
 and the litanies and other devotional exercises to be 
 frequently repeated there. 
 
 It happened on Saturday, the 19th of May, in the
 
 THE MADONNA BELLA GROTTA. 121 
 
 following 1 year, that as a poor man, named Antonio 
 Casaburi, accompanied by his son, a boy of six years 
 old, was driving along this path a donkey laden with 
 corn, the animal went too near the edge of the preci- 
 pice and rolled over, carrying the boy along with him. 
 The depth of the rock in this place was about 120 feet, 
 30 that the poor father expected nothing else than to 
 see his son dashed to pieces at the bottom ; neverthe- 
 less, with the natural instinct of a Catholic, he called 
 loudly upon Santa Maria dell' Avvocata, whose shrine 
 was at his side, to assist him in this hour of danger : 
 and when, in company with two or three others, who 
 had been witnesses of the accident, or whom he had 
 called from the mill to assist him, he arrived at the spot, 
 he found the animal quietly grazing', the boy busily col- 
 lecting the scattered grain, and both perfectly uninjured. 
 The fame of this miracle, which was attested by 
 three competent witnesses, besides the father and the 
 child themselves, drew such multitudes of persons to 
 the grotto, that the crowd passing to and fro in so 
 narrow a place became quite dangerous, and leave was 
 obtained from the proper ecclesiastical authorities to 
 erect a spacious chapel there. The building was car- 
 ried on briskly, through the liberal almsgiving of those 
 who came to ask for grazie here, and but few of whom 
 were " sent empty away ;" but in the meanwhile a new 
 bishop had been appointed to the see of Cava, who 
 determined to take those precautions enjoined by the 
 Council of Trent, and to inform himself, by means of a 
 congregation of theologians, and by the juridical ex- 
 amination of witnesses, of the exact truth of the mar- 
 vellous reports which were in circulation. The painting- 
 was boarded up, and all access to it forbidden whilst 
 this examination was pending; but it soon appeared 
 that the proofs were too distinct and too numerous to 
 admit of doubt ; and after fifteen days the people were 
 once more gladdened witli the sight of their Avcocata, 
 and the episcopal sanction was formerly renewed to the 
 undertaking in hand. On the 7th of September, 1704,
 
 122 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 the first mass was celebrated in the new church by one 
 of the parish priests, a man whose span of life had 
 already exceeded " the threescore years and ten," and 
 who, having- himself received a signal grazia at the 
 hands of this Advocate, consecrated the last years of 
 his life to celebrating* her glories, and, by order of the 
 bishop, published an account of them. 
 
 It would be too long- to enumerate or even make 
 a selection from them. Suffice it to say, that every 
 year, as the principal festa, which is in the month of 
 May, comes round, persons crowd to visit the sanc- 
 tuary, not only from Nocera and Salerno, but also from 
 Castellamare, Sorrento, and even Naples itself ; and at 
 all times of the year, simple peasants from the adjoin- 
 ing- villages, groups of women, members of the same 
 family, or neighbours in the same village, suffering 
 under some common affliction, may be seen wending 
 their way through the chestnut-groves of La Cava, 
 with bare feet and dishevelled hair, alternately telling 
 their beads and reciting the litanies until they reach 
 this Church of the Grotta ; here they kneel for awhile 
 to repeat their devotions in the presence of the picture 
 itself, and to make some little offering of flowers, or 
 oil, or candles, after which they return to their homes, 
 bearing with them some portion of the oil from the 
 lamp that has been burning before the shrine, nothing 
 doubting that, if it be God's will, the sick will receive 
 the same benefits from the application of this oil as, 
 we know from the testimony of St. Chrysostom, the 
 Christians of his days often experienced from the same 
 remedy.
 
 123 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE MONKS OF LERINS. 
 
 THE deep silence of night was yet unbroken except by 
 the rustling 1 of the foliage in the fresh sea-breeze, when 
 the bell of the monastery of Lerins began to ring for 
 Matins, and its sound re-echoed through the whole of 
 the little island. At the holy summons, more than 500 
 monks left their hard pallets to meet in the church, 
 and sing the praises of Him to whom they had vowed 
 their lives, and of His blessed Mother, whose assump- 
 tion into Heaven they were about that day to celebrate. 
 The altars were lighted up with a thousand waxen 
 tapers, and the whole church wreathed with green 
 garlands, mixed with flowers, gathered in the gardens 
 of the monastery, whose bright colours formed a plea- 
 sant contrast to the dark habits of the religious. 
 
 Scarcely had the bell given its second signal before 
 the fathers, with noiseless steps, had gained the choir. 
 One alone seemed deaf to the accustomed summons : 
 it Avas the abbot, who, standing at the window of his 
 cell, looked out into the pale moonlight, and fixed his 
 eyes with melancholy intentness on the mainland op- 
 posite the southern coast of France, as if he sought to 
 discern some object in the distance. Sometimes, too, 
 he seemed straining his ear as if to catch a remote 
 sound ; but all was still, except the gentle murmur of 
 the waves as they rippled to the shore of his own island, 
 or broke against its cliffs. At last, rousing himself 
 from his mournful reverie, he prostrated himself on the "* 
 ground, and with clasped hands, and eyes raised to 
 heaven, exclaimed thrice, " Thy holy will be done, 
 my God ! : ' As soon as he had pronounced these wordrf, 9 
 his countenance resumed its accustomed serenity ; and, 
 at the third and last summons of the bell, he rose, and
 
 124 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 went to the choir, where his brethren were awaiting 
 him in some anxiety ; for their abbot was ever wont to 
 be first, not last, at the midnight office. 
 
 As soon as lie had taken his place, the cantors in- 
 toned the invitatory : " Oh, come, let us adore the King 
 of kings, whose Virgin M other was this day taken up 
 into heaven !" and all the religious repeated in chorus, 
 " Oh, come, let us adore the King of kings, whose Virgin 
 Mother was this day taken up into heaven !" " Oh, 
 come," resumed the cantors, " let us rejoice before the 
 Lord ; let us praise God our Saviour ; let us come into 
 His presence with songs of gladness, and sing hymns to 
 His glory !" And again the choir repeated, " Oh, come, 
 let us adore the King of kings, whose Virgin Mother 
 was this day taken up into heaven !" 
 
 When matins were ended, the abbot robed himself 
 in the sacerdotal vestments, and beg*an to offer the 
 Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, which the choir accom- 
 panied with sacred chants, now of penitence, and now 
 of joy. 
 
 One by one, their arms crossed on their breasts, the 
 religious advanced towards the altar, to place themselves 
 in fitting order to receive the Holy Communion. Then 
 the abbot, holding aloft the vessel containing the 
 Sacred Hosts, thus addressed his children : " My well- 
 beloved brethren in Christ Jesus, this God who has 
 already given His blood for you on Calvary, is now 
 going to give you Himself. After such generosity, can 
 you refuse Him any thing ? Nay, even if he should de- 
 mand from each one of you the last drop of your blood, 
 which of you would dare withhold the gift ? Which of 
 you would not burn to exchange this perishable life 
 against the crown of immortality / In this holy soli- 
 tude, you have learnt to renounce not only tilings ex- 
 ternal to yourselves, but even those very selves ; day 
 by day you have been learning by practice how to sacri- 
 fice yourselves to Him who has just sacrificed Himself 
 for you. Well, my dear children, now is the moment 
 come when it will be required from at least the larger
 
 THE MONKS OF LEIIINS. 125 
 
 number among 1 you to consummate this sacrifice ; and 
 the holy bread you are about to receive will serve as 
 your viaticum. Be of good cheer, my children ; the 
 sun which is now about to rise shall never set for you ; 
 but its light will be succeeded bv the eternal brightness 
 of the Sun of Righteousness. Your palms are ready, 
 your crowns are even now woven. Before the bell rung 
 for matins this night, I was transported in spirit into 
 this very church. You were all here with me, my 
 children ; and the guardian angel of these isles, robed 
 in a vestment of crimson, but his brow radiant with 
 joy, was here among* us ; and I saw him give first to 
 me and then to another a branch of palm, at the same 
 time crowning- your brows with a resplendent garland. 
 Some few only were left out, reserved, no doubt, by the 
 providence of God, for further conflicts. You already 
 know, my brethren, that thg Saracens have invaded 
 Provence ; their next prey will be this island of oiirs ; 
 be strong' then, and remember that they can only reach 
 your bodies, that your souls are treasured up for eter- 
 nity. But let none among you be self-confident, and 
 then none will be apostates. To suffer for a moment, 
 and to enjoy for ever, such is your blessed destiny. 
 The God whom you see here hidden for love of you, 
 will soon manifest Himself to you in all the brightness 
 of His glory. Come, then, unite yourselves to Him ; 
 and love shall lighten all the ang-uish that you may be 
 called upon to bear." 
 
 This address, so far from saddening the hearts of 
 the brethren, only made their festival more joyous; 
 and blissful tears stole down their pale cheeks. Two 
 and two they came forward to receive Holy Communion 
 from the hands of their abbot, from the eldest to the 
 young-est ; and the Holy Sacrifice was scarcely com- 
 pleted when the sun appeared above the horizon ; then 
 they sang- Lauds with more fervour than ever before ; 
 and then, at the command of their abbot, they set them- 
 selves to meditate on the Passion of Christ, and so to 
 nerve their souls with courage to meet the coming- trial.
 
 126 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 At the same time the abbot offered to conduct to a 
 place of safety any one among them who feared death, 
 and called to him the youngest of the monks, to the 
 number of thirty-six, together with some children whom 
 they had in the monastery as pensioners, and placing 
 them on board two barks, he sent them towards the 
 coast of Italy, after tenderly embracing them, and giv- 
 ing them his last benediction. They all wept bitterly, 
 and implored permission to stay and die with the rest ; 
 but religious obedience constrained them, and they de- 
 parted, long looking back with regretful eyes to their 
 beloved abode, where they would so gladly have re- 
 mained to earn the martyr's crown. 
 
 Meanwhile, the monks who were left behind busied 
 themselves in securing, as far as they could, against 
 pillage and destruction the objects they considered most 
 valuable. They dug pits in the remotest corners of the 
 island to hide the sacred vessels, the relics of the saints, 
 the sacerdotal vestments, and all that could be profaned 
 by the barbarians. After this, they betook themselves 
 to their ordinary occupations on festival days ; some 
 gave themselves to their books, others guided their 
 flocks to the pasture-grounds, and others, again, in the 
 scriptorium, went on with the works they had begun 
 copying. No one seeing them thus employed, in such 
 perfect peace and serenity, could have supposed that 
 they were in the immediate expectation of death. 
 
 Soon, however, a number of barks were discerned in 
 the distance, making rapid way towards the island ; 
 and, as they came nearer, there resounded from them 
 loud cries of " Death to the Christians !" while at the 
 same time a forest of Damascus blades glittered in the 
 sun. At last they drew to land, and a throng of Sara- 
 cens, armed to the teeth, leapt on shore, and pressed on 
 towards the monastery. 
 
 The religious, as we have said, in obedience to their 
 abbot's commands, were silently engaged in their re- 
 spective occupations, and the approach of the Saracens 
 only shed a gleam of joy over their countenances ; two
 
 THE MONKS OF LERINS. 127 
 
 of them, and no more, named Eleutherius and Colombo, 
 overcome with fear, fled away and hid themselves in a 
 grotto situated in the midst of a wood which skirted 
 the eastern shore of the island. 
 
 The Saracens had no sooner landed than they 
 thronged into the narrow path which led to the monas- 
 tery, at the gate of which knelt the abbot, in tranquil 
 expectation, holding- the cross in his hands, and praying 
 to the Lord to give both to him and his numerous chil- 
 dren strength to confess His holy name in the presence 
 of His enemies, and to suffer the extremity of pain rather 
 than renounce the faith. 
 
 At the sight of the humble attitude and undisturbed 
 serenity of the holy man, the Moors drew back aston- 
 ished; but fury in a few moments took the place of 
 amazement ; they seized him and dragged him forcibly 
 into the midst of the cloister, to make him the chief 
 victim of their rage against the religion of Christ. 
 Very soon they had spread themselves through church 
 and corridors, halls and gardens, and the monks were 
 dragged to the side of their abbot, and there guarded 
 with drawn sabres, while the work of devastation was 
 accomplished. 
 
 Then indeed did this abode of silence resound with 
 the clang of arms, with cries of fury, and with the con- 
 fused noise of destruction ; for every thing that could 
 not conveniently be carried off was broken, seats, 
 tables, books, crosses, earthen vessels, were thrown in 
 heaps out of the windows ; and the rage of the invad- 
 ers was inflamed by finding no rich booty, nothing 
 in any part of the monastery but poverty and sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 At last the chief of the Saracens, snatching the 
 cross from the hands of the abbot, held it up to him, 
 and commanded him to spit on it, and acknowledge 
 Mahomet on pain of instant death. 
 
 " Nay, rather," answered the abbot meekly, " give 
 me that holy symbol, that I may cover it with kisses, 
 too happy to die for Him who died for me."
 
 128 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 At that same moment the raised scymitar fell, and 
 severed his head from his body, which was the signal 
 for a frightful carnage ; and all would have perished in 
 an instant if the chief had not interposed, commanded 
 his soldiers to separate the young from the old, that if 
 they could find no booty, they might at least carry off 
 a good number of slaves. Immediately about a hun- 
 dred of the younger monks were put aside, and all the 
 others massacred before their eyes, in the hope that 
 they might thus be induced by terror to abjure the 
 more readily the Christian religion. Then the chief 
 thus addressed them : 
 
 " See, now you are free from those old watch-dog's 
 who guarded you ; they had done with life, which has 
 no attractions at their age, -and therefore they despised 
 it; but your brows are yet unwrinkled, now is your 
 time for enjoyment, and I offer you the means of at- 
 taining it. Renounce the religion of Christ, and em- 
 brace that of Mahomet. See Moussa, my lieutenant, 
 was once a Christian like you, and I swear to you by 
 the Crescent that I will treat you as I have treated 
 him ; and now I give you your choice between the 
 turban and death." 
 
 " Death, deatli !" they all cried with one voice, and 
 immediately began a song of thanksgiving. The chief 
 commanded their immediate slaughter, and so they all 
 ascended together to claim their crown, four only being 
 reserved, whom the chief kept bark for slavei-y. These 
 were of lofty stature, and so beautiful that they might 
 have been taken for angels rather than men. 
 
 Meanwhile, Eleutherius and Colombo remained hid- 
 den in their grotto, fancying every moment they heard 
 the Saracens approaching, when suddenly a brilliant 
 light shone before them, and a delicious melody rung 
 in their ears, tokens, as they could not doubt, of their 
 brethren having won at that moment the martyr's 
 crown; for, lifting their eyes, they saw, though the 
 sun was now high in heaven, a number of brilliant stars
 
 THfc MONKS OF LERINS. 129 
 
 disappearing one by one in the depths of the sky. Then 
 Colombo said to Eleutherius, 
 
 " Cowardly soldiers of Christ are we, who have fled 
 before the enemy; and, therefore, now that our bre- 
 thren have reached the port, we are still here below 
 tossing about in the storm, and in danger of shipwreck. 
 The thoug'ht of the eternal prize nerves my heart against 
 the terrors of death ; I will seek the Saracen ; slavery 
 or martyrdom, whichever be my lot, can nothing avail 
 to shake my faith : I will go and try to bury my bre- 
 thren ; in order to pay them this last duty, I ought to 
 risk my life." 
 
 "My brother," answered Eleutherius, "while the 
 Saracens are in the island it will be useless to think of 
 burying' our brethren : to attempt it will be to incur 
 certain death. But, however, if you believe that your 
 inspiration is of heaven, follow it, and the Lord will be 
 your helper, covering you with brazen armour, so that 
 you will be invincible; but for myself, I am vet too 
 weak thus to present myself to death with deliberate 
 purpose. The holy will of God be clone." 
 
 Accordingly, after giving the farewell kiss, Co- 
 lombo left the grotto, and made his way through the 
 thickets to a narrow path which led to a gate of the 
 convent-garden. He expected to find the Saracens 
 there, and therefore armed himself by prayer before 
 entering* ; but he met no one, though threatening cries 
 warned him that he had been seen from the windows 
 of the monastery; and he reached the cloister without 
 interruption. There a fearful sight met his eye, heaps 
 of dead bodies, rivulets of blood, heads separated from 
 their trunks, limbs scattered about here and there, and 
 in the midst, fixed on a pike, the head of the venerable 
 abbot. At this sight lie threw himself on his face 
 sobbing; but one blow from the scymitar of a Saracen 
 sent him to join his brethren in heaven. 
 
 How long and sad for Eleutherius was the night 
 which followed this day of slaughter ! All was pro- 
 foundly still; and knowing by the silence that the 
 
 K.
 
 130 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 Saracens must have departed, he left his grotto in the 
 middle of the night, and made his way to the monastery. 
 There, thrilled with terror and g*rief, he stumbled every 
 moment over the bodies of his brethren; and being 
 unable to procure any thing* to make a light, was con- 
 strained to endure the additional horror of darkness for 
 several hours, which he spent in prayer, kneeling* on 
 the sod made holy by the blood of so many martyrs. 
 At first, his soul was wrapt in sadness at the thoug-ht 
 that he alone was left behind, while his brethren were 
 in glory; but afterwards, he felt a blessed consolation 
 in knowing that they were all interceding in his 
 behalf. 
 
 " my brethren !" he said to them, " I fled, it is 
 true, before the face of the enemy; but I have not 
 denied my faith, therefore you still love me I dare to 
 hope it, and you will not forget in heaven him who is 
 still left on the battle-field exposed to the darts of his 
 foe. The remembrance of your triumph will sustain 
 my faith, strengthen my hope, and increase the fervour 
 of my charity." 
 
 Thus he passed the night in tears and prayer; and 
 at last a ray of joy seemed to pierce the depths of his 
 soul, and he burst forth involuntarily into songs of 
 praise. 
 
 His next thought was of his own present duty ; and, 
 after some reflection, he resolved to go into Italy and 
 seek the young religious whom the holy abbot had 
 sent thither, in order to bring them back and re- 
 establish the monastery; for he hoped that the Saracens 
 would speedily abandon the coasts of Provence. He 
 was absorbed in these thoughts, when he heard the 
 distant step of a man slowly advancing by the cloister 
 wall. His first impulse was to fly ; but he remembered 
 the holy ground on which he stood, and determined 
 not to be again guilty of cowardice. " Let him come," 
 he said to himself, "Mussulman though he be; the 
 blood which surrounds me shall support my courage;" 
 and he threw himself once more on his knees to seek
 
 THE MONKS OF LERIN8. 131 
 
 for strength in prayer. Meanwhile, the step grew 
 more and more distinct, though in the twilight he 
 could not distinguish who it was that was approaching 
 him; but in a few moments a Moor stood beside him, 
 and spoke. 
 
 " Fear nothing-, my brother," he said, " I am no 
 longer thine enemy. I was once a Christian; I became 
 a renegade, but now I would return to the faith of my 
 fathers. Now rise, and hear my story. I was born at 
 Tauroento, a hundred miles from hence, on the shores 
 of the Mediterranean; and I was hardly thirteen when 
 the town was taken and sacked by the Moors. My 
 father, a fervent Christian and a valiant soldier, put 
 himself at the head of the population, and held out 
 during a siege of several months; but at last he fell 
 under the steel of the Mussulman; and his wife Cecilia, 
 my mother, I saw massacred before my eyes while 
 kneeling in prayer; and I myself, seized by her mur- 
 derers, was thrown, with a great number of companions 
 in misfortune, into a vessel bound for Africa; there, 
 exposed in the market like a beast of burden, I was 
 sold to a zealous Mahometan. For two years, he treated 
 me, if not with kindness, at least without severity; and 
 though several times he proposed to me to change my 
 religion, yet on my refusing he left me in peace. But 
 when I reached the age of sixteen, he attacked me 
 more vigorously ; and by dint sometimes of seducing 
 promises, sometimes of harsh treatment, he succeeded 
 in overcoming my resistance." 
 
 At this avowal his speech was interrupted by sobs, 
 and the wasted cheeks of the monk were also bathed 
 in tears. 
 
 "Alas!" he continued, "why did I not practise 
 the constancy of these noble martyrs, and sacrifice my 
 life rather than my faith! At the moment of accepting- 
 the turban I ceased to be a slave, and from that time 
 began to live what is called a life of pleasure, but with 
 a bitter sorrow in the depths of my heart. Some time
 
 132 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 after tins, Abdal Malek set forth from Africa with an 
 army to fight against Charles Martel, who had defeated 
 the Mussulmans at Poitiers, and I accompanied him. 
 From this time I have added crime to crime; under 
 the name of Moussa, T have led the Saracens on to fire, 
 to murder, and to pillage, respecting 1 neither age nor 
 sex, pillaging* churches, devastating- monasteries, so 
 that my crimes rather than my valour have raised me 
 to the rank of lieutenant to the chief, Boalkier. 0, 
 holv monk," he continued, throwing 1 himself at the feet 
 of Eleutherius, " pray for me ! I dare not myself ad- 
 dress my prayers to heaven ; it would be deaf to my 
 voice. How can I hope pardon from a God whom I 
 have so outraged !" 
 
 " my brother," replied Eleutherius, " the mercy 
 of God is greater than even your crimes. The Divine 
 ray which has just pierced the darkness of your heart, 
 has no doubt been obtained for you by the prayers of 
 those whose blood you have shed, and who, imitating 
 their Divine Saviour, have prayed for their murderers. 
 Therefore, let hope spring up in your soul, together 
 with repentance, and penance shall restore peace and 
 felicity to your heart." 
 
 By this time the day had dawned, and they both 
 occupied themselves in burying the bodies of the holy 
 martyrs. In a few days, Eleutherius set olf for Italy, 
 to bring- back the brethren whom the abbot had sent 
 there; but the bark' which bore them had been captured 
 in the Gulf of Genoa by African pirates, who had 
 carried them into Spain, where they had been sold as 
 slaves. 
 
 Moussa, the converted renegade, was thus left sole 
 guardian of Lerins. He laid aside his Mahometan 
 costume, which lie burnt in the midst of the garden, 
 and put on a monk's dress, which lie had found in one 
 of the cells. From that time he devoted himself to 
 works of penance, intending' to awnit the re-establish- 
 ment of the monastery, and to pass therein the rest of
 
 THE MONKS OF LERINS. 133 
 
 his days with the monks whom Eleutherius had gone 
 to seek, and whom he hoped one day to see return to 
 the convent. 
 
 The Saracens, meanwile, after their day of slaughter 
 at Lerins, pursued the work of devastation far and 
 near, sacking- and burning 1 towns, villages, and churches. 
 One day, after the destruction of a church in which the 
 whole population of a village had taken refuge, and 
 were buried under its ruins, the chief, Boalkier, re- 
 marked, for the first time, the absence of his lieutenant, 
 Moussa, whom he had not seen since the day at Lerins, 
 and inquired for him of his attendants; but none could 
 give any account of him, for he had not communicated 
 his design to any; so that the chief, becoming impa- 
 tient, commissioned two of his soldiers to go and make 
 inquiries concerning him. For this service he selected 
 two renegades, who, knowing the country, were best 
 able to help him in his search. They were both robbers 
 by profession, one of whom had escaped from the public 
 prisons, and the other was pursued by justice in conse- 
 quence of a murder which he had committed; and 
 both had joined the Saracens in order to shield them- 
 selves from the vengeance of the law; the declaration 
 of apostasy being to them a mere formula, which they 
 pronounced without any thought or conviction one way 
 or the other. After taking- counsel together, they 
 agTeed to explore first the Isle of Lerins, as it was 
 there that they had last seen Moussa. Accordingly, 
 they took a boat, and rowed towards the monastery. 
 
 As they approached the island, serious reflections 
 began, in spite of themselves, to arise in their minds, 
 when they contrasted the savage fury of the Saracens, 
 which they had witnessed, with the meek endurance of 
 the holy monks ; and when they landed on the island, 
 even yet reeking with the blood of the martyrs, an 
 emotion to which they had long been strangers stirred 
 the very depths of their hearts, so long hardened by 
 crime. After the}' had landed, they fastened their boat 
 to a tree in silence, and ascended the narrow path lead-
 
 134 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 ing to the cloister. The bodies of the martyrs were no 
 longer to be seen ; but in a recess in the sanctuary was 
 a monk praying 1 . 
 
 " Here is a man," said one, " who has had a nar- 
 row escape; what are we to do with him?" The 
 other made no answer. When they came up to the 
 monk, they saw that his eyes were bathed with tears. 
 
 " Well, brother," said they, " you seem to have 
 had a visit from the Saracens ; and you must think 
 yourself lucky to be still standing- on your feet, and 
 with your head on your shoulders. It is one of these 
 same Saracens that we are seeking : Moussa is his 
 name. Have you met with him ?" 
 
 " Moussa !" answered the seeming- monk : " I am he; 
 or rather I am he who once bore that name. Do you 
 not recognise me .<* Who you are, I know well ; and 
 I know also that I am more guilty than you, because I 
 led you on to crime by word and by example ; but 
 since the goodness of God gives me the opportunity of 
 retrieving my sin so far as it is retrievable, I implore 
 you also to leave the ways of wickedness ; for there is 
 yet time for you as well as for me. His mercy is infi- 
 nite, as I am experiencing; but His wrath will indeed be 
 dreadful if you continue in sin." 
 
 The two renegades looked one upon another almost 
 stupified with astonishment. They felt as though they 
 were dreaming, and dared not break the silence. 
 
 " What are we to do ?" at last asked one of them. 
 
 "What. .'"' answered Moussa; "do as I do myself, 
 weep and pray, and bow before the just judgment of 
 Gon. Unworthy as I am, I have taken on myself this 
 holy habit : if you too would wear it, we may be com- 
 panions in penance, as we have hitherto been in sin." 
 
 " But have we not to fear the anger of our chief i* 
 He may return to this place." 
 
 "Let him return," answered Moussa: "too happy 
 should I be if I might mingle my blood with that 
 which I myself shed on this holy sod." 
 
 After a moment's hesitation the two apostates de-
 
 EU8KBIA OF MARSEILLES. 135 
 
 termined to remain in the island with Moussa; and 
 thus did the blood of the martyrs prove, as it ever has 
 done, the " seed of the Church." 
 
 xx. 
 
 EUSEBIA OF MARSEILLES. 
 
 NOT far from the town of Marseilles lies a smiling val- 
 ley, fertile and green, which is abundantly watered by 
 the river Huire'une : it is a spot which a painter would 
 choose as his study, a poet as his theme, a spot which 
 seemed consecrated to quiet and peace, separated by its 
 thick surrounding 1 woods from all the cares and turmoils 
 of the outer world. 
 
 In this lovely vale, a fitting 1 habitation for those 
 whose vow bound them to a life of holy retirement, 
 stood a venerable convent, which had been established 
 there by the Deacon John Cassian. To this abode of 
 peace nocked innocent maidens and pious widows from 
 far and near ; some who were wearied of the vanity and 
 trouble of the world, and anxious to find a refuge from 
 it ; some and of these perhaps were the greatest 
 number who still in the earliest and brightest years 
 of life, had heard the voice of their Redeemer, and left 
 all to follow Him. 
 
 Who can describe the happiness of their convent life ! 
 of the peaceful days, every moment of which was pro- 
 vided for by the rules, and which flew by so quickly ! 
 Who can describe the peace of soul which reigned 
 through all the Sisterhood, in which love of God and 
 charity for each other had created one heart, and obe- 
 dience to their rule and their superior only one will ! 
 
 The superior of this convent at the time when the 
 event we are about to record took place, was a noble 
 maiden, by name Eusebia, well worthy to bear that 
 name, which signifies 'pious.' This noble virgin was one
 
 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 of a family of wealth and consideration ; but from her 
 tenderest years she had turned her thoughts from 
 earthly rank and earthly riches to a heavenly inherit- 
 ance; and, at the tender age of fourteen, she hade 
 adieu to the honours and pleasures of the world, and, 
 what in those days of early girlhood must have heen 
 far more trying', to her happy home, her mother's 
 tender care, and came to lay her rich dowry, her rare 
 beauty, and a devoted heart, all, without reserve, at the 
 feet of her heavenly Bridegroom. Eusehia had ever 
 been the pride and example of the Sisterhood, from the 
 days of her fervent novitiate until the unanimous vote of 
 the community had elected her their mother. 
 
 About this time frightful tales of the crimes and 
 outrages committed by the barbarous Saracens began 
 to penetrate the deep retirement of the convent ; but it 
 must have been very difficult, while their quiet life went 
 on in its daily routine of duties and recreations, to re- 
 alize the horrors under which the outer world was groan- 
 ing ; and it is probable that no personal terrors had 
 disturbed Eusebia's Sisterhood, until suddenly the news 
 fell on them like a thunderbolt, that the barbarians 
 had carried their ravages to the very gates of Mar- 
 seilles. 
 
 The terror and dismay which spread amongst the 
 community may well be imagined. If it were only 
 death which they had to fear, they would have awaited 
 their murderers with calmness, for though human nature 
 might shrink from the axe and the scourge, the memory 
 of an Ag-nes, a Cecilia, and a Catherine would have 
 nerved the weakest among them to endure the worst; 
 but a deeper dread, a more overpowering horror op- 
 pressed the spotless spouses of Christ, as they pictured 
 themselves in the unbridled power of such utter barba- 
 rians. Trembling and pale, they crowded round the 
 altar like startled doves, and nothing was heard amongst 
 them but groans of agony, broken supplications, and 
 heart-rending sobs. 
 
 Amidst the weeping, trembling crowd, Eusebia
 
 BUSKBIA OF MARSEILLES. 137 
 
 alone retained her composure. At the first sound of 
 the evil tidings she had sought the foot of the altar, 
 and there she knelt now, her arras crossed on her 
 bosom, her eyes fixed earnestly upon the crucifix, and 
 her whole form immovable as a statue. Suddenly she 
 started to her feet, the blood mantled to her forehead, 
 and her eyes beamed like those of one who had received 
 a sudden inspiration ; but in a moment the blush faded 
 from her cheek, and left behind it an ashy paleness ; she 
 trembled and closed her eyes for an instant, whilst her 
 lips moved in inward prayer, then, turning 1 to her Sis- 
 terhood, she spoke in a firm voice : " Dear children, 
 follow me : our Bridegroom summons us ; trust in 
 Him !" As she spoke, she moved through the ranks 
 of nuns towards the door. Hushed into awe and 
 silence, the maidens followed her as she walked on 
 towards a large crucifix, which hung- at one end of the 
 cloisters ; down on her knees she sank before it, and the 
 nuns followed her example. After a moment of earnest 
 prayer, Eusebia rose up calmly, and pointing- to the 
 crucifix, she said : 
 
 " Sisters, He Avlio.se image you see before you feared 
 neither pain nor humiliation Avhen He died to make 
 amends for the sensuality of His creatures. Look on 
 His mangled body; there is no beauty there, and yet it 
 is not represented as it really Avas, our eyes could not 
 endure the sight. Oh, my sisters, what have Ave, the 
 followers of a martyred, a tortured God, to do Avith 
 beauty? is it meet that AVC, His creatures, His chosen, 
 should value these poor features jibove the croAvn of 
 virginity Avhich Ave have vowed ourselves to obtain? 
 Courage, my children, let us save ourselves from out- 
 rage ; let us, at least, enter pure into the presence of 
 of our Bridegroom, however hard the trial, however 
 thorny the road ! Let those Avho feel as I do follow 
 my example." And with these words she raised a 
 knife, and Avith an unshaking hand severed her nose 
 and ears, and covered her face with hideous wounds. 
 There was a moment's pause ; for a moment, perhaps,
 
 138 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 courage may have wavered, and hearts beat faintly ; 
 but if so, the womanly terror was quickly vanquished, 
 every hand was stretched towards the saving* weapon ; 
 every nun followed the example of their heroic leader; 
 and when, some hours later, the Saracens invaded the 
 convent, instead of the lovely bevy of maidens whom 
 -they had hoped would bring 1 so high a price in the slave 
 market, they found only a group of g'hastly and bleed- 
 ing- images, who could inspire nothing but horror. 
 Furious at being thus defeated in their end, the bar- 
 barians fell on their now resistless victims, and the 
 noble troop of Christian heroines passed unspotted to 
 their crown. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF PLACIDUS. 
 
 DURING the reign of the Emperor Trajan, a man of 
 great and distinguished virtue and renown, named Pla- 
 cidus, led the Roman armies victoriously against their 
 Parthian foes. Possessing the grateful confidence of 
 his royal master, Placidus, in his public character, was 
 honoured and esteemed; whilst rich in the gentler vir- 
 tues of domestic life, he was dear to all who mingled 
 with him in private relationship. 
 
 He had a wife named Trojana, and two young sons, 
 with whom, when a return of pence enabled him to 
 leave the army, he retired to a country-house at some 
 little distance from Rome. 
 
 There, in the enjoyment of boundless wealth and 
 uxurv, Placidus lived content. His home contained all 
 ihatwas necessary to fill up his measure of happiness, 
 riches, honour, earthly love; what more could be de- 
 sired to satisfy a heathen soul:' And Placidus was a 
 heathen; not one of those joining inveterately in the cry 
 of persecution, which, even in the days of Trajan the 
 Merciful, arose fyom time to time against the infant
 
 THE LEGEND OF PLACIDUS. 139 
 
 Church of Christ; nay, from his natural benevolencw, 
 Placidus would have deprecated any act of violence 
 against the Christians, just because ttiey were poor and 
 unprotected; but still he was a heathen, and shared 
 avowedly in the universal feeling- of contempt with 
 which the immediate successors of the Apostles and 
 their scattered followers were regarded. Who can tell, 
 however, whether amidst his universal charities, some 
 cup of cold water to a stray disciple, may not have been 
 poured forth from a motive acceptable to the Searcher 
 of hearts; or whether a fervent prayer, uttered in a 
 moment of thankfulness by some Christian rescued from 
 destruction, may have brought down upon Placidus the 
 merciful regard of God ? vVho shall attempt to limit 
 His grace, or ascribe motives to His providence ? Suf- 
 fice it that a wonderful hour was at hand for Placidus, 
 which is thus recorded by ancient chroniclers. 
 
 He had a passion for the chase, and attended by 
 numerous retainers and friends was accustomed to spend 
 much of his time in the forests ; finding in pursuit of 
 stags and other game a recreation particularly accep- 
 table to one so long accustomed to the activity of ser- 
 vice in the field of battle. 
 
 One day that Placidus and all his gallant company 
 rode out as usual to the chase, a herd of deer was 
 started ; and dogs and horses bounded forwards gladly 
 in pursuit. One stag, larger and fleeter than the rest, 
 attracted Placidus. He observed it separate from the 
 herd ; and it irresistibly drew him from his companv. 
 Tiny followed the flying herd ffir away into the depths 
 of the forest: whilst lie, with an impetuosity that had 
 even to himself something supernatural iu it, tracked, 
 closely as his panting horse could bear him, the foot- 
 steps of the majestic stag. Sometimes in one direction, 
 sometimes in another, up steep ascents, and through 
 precipitous and narrow thorny ways, it led him on. 
 For a moment lie seemed about to capture it; but again 
 it was beyond his reach. On and on he went, forgetful 
 of the time, the distance, the closing hour of the day
 
 140 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 He saw nothing- but the stag ; he must gain it at last. 
 Suddenly they had passed the thicket, and a bare hill 
 was before them. The stag bounded to its summit, and 
 turning, faced the astonished Placidus. Motionless it 
 stood; and between its branching antlers, dimly dis- 
 cerned against the evening sky, arose a cross, encircled 
 by a ring of light, piercing and dazzling, as no ray of 
 sun or moon could kindle. 
 
 A voice of infinite tenderness then called him by his 
 name. Touched in that moment to the very soul, Pla- 
 cidus sank upon his knees, and exclaimed, " Who art 
 thou, Lord?" "Why persecutest thou Me, Placidus f 
 the voice replied. " I am the God thou ignorantly wor- 
 shippest; Jesus, thy Lord. Thine alms and prayers 
 have gone up before Me, and therefore am I come. As 
 thou dost hunt this stag, so henceforward will I hunt 
 thee." "Tell me Thy will, Lord," cried Placidus, 
 "that I may believe and perform it." The voice re- 
 plied, " I am the Son of the living God. I created 
 heaven and earth, and divided the light from the dark- 
 ness. I appointed days, and seasons, and years. I 
 formed man out of the dust of the ground ; and for his 
 sake took upon Me his own form. Crucified and buried, 
 on the third day I arose again. "This I believe, 
 Lord," replied Placidus ; " yea, and that thou art He 
 who bringest back sinners to the way of peace." "If 
 thou believest," returned the voice, " go into the city and 
 be baptised. And return hither to-morrow, that thou 
 raayest know of thy future life." Long wrapt in silent 
 awe, Placidus remained upon that hallowed spot. Then, 
 lighted by the moon, now high in the heavens, he pur- 
 sued his way to the city, which he discerned at no great 
 distance. 
 
 In those clays of secret adherence to the faith of 
 Christ, when a moment's delay might risk alike the con- 
 version or the life of an applicant, no hour was too late 
 for gaining admittance to the Christian bishop; and Pla- 
 cidus was therefore immediately ushered into his pre- 
 sence. Having- related bis wonderful adventure to the
 
 THE LEGEND OF PLACIDUS. 141 
 
 venerable man, and repeated his profession of faith, he 
 was baptised by the name of Eustace; and returned 
 before daybreak to the scene of his miraculous conver- 
 sion. Then kneeling* in prayer, he awaited the message 
 of the mysterious voice. And thus it spoke to him : 
 " Blessea art thou, Eustace, in that thou hast been 
 washed with the laver of My grace, and thereby over- 
 come the devil. Now hast thou trodden him to dust, 
 who beguiled thee. Now will thy fidelity be shown ; 
 for he whom thou hast forsaken will rage continually 
 against thee. Many things must thou undergo for My 
 sake. Thou must become another Job ; fear not, perse- 
 vere ; My grace is sufficient for thee. In the end thou 
 shalt conquer ; choose, then, whether thou wilt expe- 
 rience thy trials in thine old age, or forthwith." 
 
 And Eustace, with his new-bom self-distrust; re- 
 plied, "Even as Thou wiliest, Lord; yet, if it may be 
 so, try me now, and help me in my trial." " Be bold, 
 Eustace," spake the voice, for the last time. " Be bold; 
 My grace can bear thee up." The wife and sons of 
 Eustace, on hearing from his lips the wonderful things 
 which had befallen him, were ready on the instant to 
 believe in the Saviour who had manifested Himself so 
 mysteriously, and were baptised that very day by the 
 names of Theosbyta, Theosbytus, and Agapetus. 
 
 But a very short time passed by before Eustace be- 
 came conscious of an extraordinary change in all his 
 worldly prospects; and had not his faith risen trium- 
 phantly over all his pagan superstitions, he might have 
 thought himself persecuted by the gods of .his former 
 worship for having treacherously abandoned them. But, 
 enlightened by Divine wisdom, Eustace recognised with 
 joy that his portion was no longer in this world ; and 
 that it was through a narrow way, unincumbered and 
 single-hearted, that he was to follow his heavenly 
 Guide. 
 
 One by one his treasures dropped away. Disease 
 consumed his flocks and herds; his servants and retainers 
 became faithless; friends looked coldly upon him. His
 
 142 CATHOLIC LEQEiNDS. 
 
 house was plundered and destroyed ; his possessions ra- 
 vaged; he and his family gradually became destitute 
 and homeless. In this state he resolved, for the sake 
 of his family, to apply to Trajan; but the news of his 
 conversion had already gone abroad, and even the em- 
 peror forgot his heavy obligations, and shunned his 
 faithful servant. 
 
 Eustace then resolved on leaving his native land, 
 and seeking- in some distant country a new home, where 
 he might peaceably bring up his children in the true 
 faith. Journeying in this spirit to the sea-shore, lie 
 found a vessel about to embark, and entreated to be re- 
 ceived amongst the passengers. From his appearance, 
 the captain was about hastily to refuse, convinced that 
 he had no means of paying- for the voyage ; but on per- 
 ceiving the beauty of Theosbyta, his wife, a diabolical 
 scheme entered his mind; he consented, and the Chris- 
 tian family set sail from Italy. No sooner had they 
 reached Africa than the captain demanded payment ; in 
 vain Eustace pleaded his having- been taken on board 
 out of charity ; the captain was resolute in pressing his 
 claim; and on being assured by Eustace that he had 
 nothing- wherewith to satisfy it, he immediately seized 
 Theosbyta, declaring he would sell her as a slave. Re- 
 monstrances and tears were vain; and lest the boys also 
 should attract the cupidity of the heartless Roman, 
 Eustace was compelled to land with them, and leave 
 his beloved Theosbyta in his power. She herself even 
 urged him to save himself and the children ; willing 
 herself to endure whatever trials might be appointed 
 for her, so that they were spared. 
 
 So parted Eustace and his wife. His children now 
 were all remaining- to him in this world, once a trea- 
 sure-house of joys. ' Silent and musing on the mysteri- 
 ous ways of God, but still without a murmur, Eustace, 
 clasping the hands of his children on each side, walked 
 forward through the desert country wherein he found 
 himself. He had no longer an object consciously be- 
 fore him; and for miles he still went on, until (he fail-
 
 THE LEGEND OF PLACIDUS. 143 
 
 ing 1 footsteps of his young- companions recalled his 
 attention to their wants. He must now be father and 
 mother both: where could he find food and shelter for 
 them in the wilderness ? They were now at the brink 
 of a wide river, and on the other side Eustace perceived 
 a group of trees which promised both nourishment and 
 shade. Unable to swim with both the children at once 
 he first crossed the stream with Theosbytus, and placed 
 him in safety on the other side ; returning; for Agapetus, 
 what was the horror of the father, midway in the river, 
 to hear despairing- cries for help from both his sons at 
 once. A lion had already seized Theosbytus, and the 
 childish feet of Agapetus g-ave way beneath him as he 
 turned to rush from an enormous wolf which sprung- 
 out of some bushes by the river side. By the time 
 Eustace had struggled to the nearest shore both child- 
 ren had been carried out of sight. " Be it so, my 
 God !" cried Eustace, flinging himself face downwards 
 on the ground. " Thy will be done; henceforward I 
 am alone with thee !" And there for hours in silence 
 and in prayer he lay immovable, and the sun scorched 
 his uncovered head, and the cold dews of evening fell 
 upon his exhausted limbs, and he was unconscious of 
 all, except the presence of an unseen angel that came 
 and comforted him. When human nature had wept 
 its full, and divine consolations had strengthened and 
 cleared his mind, Eustace arose once more, and jour- 
 neyed on. 
 
 That night, on lying down to sleep desolate and 
 homeless on the bare ground, a vision sent by God 
 came like balm into his tortured heart. Pie seemed to 
 see his children sporting 1 with the ferocious beasts that 
 had torn them from hi< side. Suddenly the scene 
 changed, grown into young men and wearing the dress 
 of soldiers, noble and in angel beauty they stood before 
 him, their mother beautiful and calm drew near, all 
 were restored to him in that blessed moment : and 
 when the vision had faded from before him, and the 
 melancholy cry of the night-birds hovering above him,
 
 144 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 recalled Eustace to a sense of his bereavement, he still 
 felt that tender comfort lingering in his mind, he felt 
 that he should vet meet with lu's heloved ones again in 
 the land beyond the grave. 
 
 To find Theosbyta was the first object the return- 
 ing faculties of Eustace entertained, when the sort of 
 stupefaction which had followed his late trials began to 
 subside; and every effort a man so poor and destitute of 
 friends could make, he tried for long 1 , but constantly 
 without success. Hopeless at last, he committed the 
 future to God, and settled himself down as the hired 
 servant of a humble peasant. Here, a patient labourer, 
 he toiled for years ; never was a word of impatience or 
 regret heard to fall from the lips of the once princely 
 Eustace ; he remembered the days of his former mag- 
 nificence and luxury, but it was only to bow himself 
 more willingly beneath the hand of God. " Thou doest 
 all things well !" he whispered in his heart, and hum- 
 bled himself literally to the dust. So fifteen years 
 passed away ; none knew the story of the silent and 
 obedient labourer ; he was more unwearied at his tasks, 
 more faithful to his trust, more forgetful of himself 
 than others ; no one knew more than this ; he never 
 spoke but of necessity, and then never of himself. 
 
 In fifteen years his master died, and appreciating 
 the patient fidelity of Eustace, bequeathed to him the 
 humble cottage where he had served him so long ; here 
 then he still dwelt on, without a wish to change his 
 life. Meantime peace no longer reigned in Koine, ene- 
 mies were at her very g - ates. Trajan vainly thought 
 upon the noble Placidus, who had ruled his armies with 
 so powerful a spell, and led them on to victory with a 
 resistless arm. Where was the general who had been 
 so honoured and exalted in the moment of triumph, so 
 carelessly discarded at a leisure hour ? Oh, that Placidus 
 were at Rome once more ! An emperor's wishes are 
 roadilv divined, more readily accomplished. There 
 were few who would not gladly have undertaken to 
 restore the forgotten Placidus had it but been possible.
 
 THE LEGEND OF PLACIDUS. 145 
 
 He was above their envy, he had been trusted, and was 
 now wanted by all. Where could he have hidden him- 
 self? Several anxious to please the emperor, some 
 trembling 1 for the fate of their country, and a few from 
 affectionate remembrance of the long-lost Placidus, im- 
 mediately set forth in search of the absent commander ; 
 but there was no clue to his retreat ; none knew when, 
 or why, or how he had departed ; and disappointment 
 met the expectant emperor as party after party re- 
 turned desponding from their unsuccessful search. 
 
 At length two former comrades of the hero, pushing 
 in their generous zeal beyond the others, arrived one 
 day, footsore and weary, before the cottage-door of Eus- 
 tace, who hospitably bade them welcome, and hastened 
 to offer them refreshment. Their uniform was a pass- 
 port to his heart ; it was fifteen years since he had seen 
 a soldier. The men made inquiries of their host as to 
 the fate of Placidus. Eustace started, but concealing 
 his emotion, evaded their questions, for he had no desire 
 to brave once more the dangers and temptations of the 
 imperial city ; but when he heard the anxious inquiries 
 that had been made for him by his royal master, and 
 the affection with which his name was still remembered 
 at Rome, his heart was touched, and he hastily left the 
 room. During his absence, the soldiers conferred toge- 
 ther on Ms appearance, which reminded them strongly 
 of the commander they were sent to seek ; and remem- 
 bering an old sword-rnark which had honourably dis- 
 tinguished Placidus, they agreed to look for it in their 
 host. On his re-entering the room, they accordingly 
 glanced immediately at the back of his neck, and 
 found the identical scar. Convinced that they had 
 now discovered the object of their search, they laid 
 aside all reserve, and spoke so earnestly with Eustac^ 
 on the dependence that was placed on his generalship 
 at Rome, and the dangers that threatened their country, 
 that the determination of Eustace was gradually shaken, 
 and he consented to return to his former master, and if 
 possible serve him once again. The soldiers could 
 L
 
 140 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 scarcely realise that the once great and magnificent Pla- 
 cidus stood before them disguised in peasant's clothes. 
 When last they saw him, lie had reigned like a prince 
 over the hearts of thousands. His palace had been like 
 that of a king, his wealth boundless, his prosperity un- 
 clouded. They wept when they heard of his misfor- 
 tunes and his trials, of his loss of Theosbyta and of 
 his children. 
 
 The next day Eustace arose to leave the solitude 
 where he had dwelt so long 1 . Gladly would he have 
 spent there the remainder of his life ; he shrunk from 
 the thought of Rome, the pagan city, rich in idol 
 shrines and this world's luxury, underneath all which, 
 in silence and concealment, bowed itself secretly the 
 Church of God ; but fearing that in this unwillingness 
 to return there lingered more of selfishness and wilful- 
 ness than any better feeling, Eustace braced himself for 
 the departure, and committing his future to the care of 
 God, quitted his lonely dwelling with his guests. 
 
 As they journeyed towards the gates of Rome, the 
 news that Placidus was found flew before them to the 
 emperor's throne ; he rose, thanked his gods for such a 
 blessing, and came out himself to meet and welcome 
 the returning hero ; shouts and acclamations resounded 
 on every side ; amid the triumph of the people and 
 their own more deeply-felt emotions, the emperor and 
 his faithful servant entered Rome together. And non- 
 returned for Eustace the warlike days of Placidus ; the 
 army greeted him with rapture ; a victory was now no 
 longer doubted ; joy and confidence filled every heart ; 
 thousands poured in to swell the imperial forces ; there 
 was nothing but glory in joining an army headed by 
 Eustace. 
 
 Amongst the youths who crowded contending for 
 this honour, two particularly attracted the attention of 
 the general : he thought of Lis sons, his lost Theosbytus 
 and Agapetus; had they lived, they would have been 
 rhe nges of these striplings. Eustace placed them 
 honourably, as they deserved, by all report, in his
 
 THE LEGEND OF PLACIDl'S. 14? 
 
 forces, and kept his eye upon them. The march began, 
 and was continued until the army had advanced within 
 sight of the invading enemy, who lay encamped within 
 but a short distance of that melancholy coast where 
 Eustace had been landed by the treacherous captain. 
 
 Night was stealing silently over the hushed camp; 
 the soldiers slept, secure in the vigilance of their 
 guardian sentinels, and Mars their patron deity. The 
 two young strangers, however, still kept watch; and 
 when all their preparations for the morrow were 
 complete, they went out tog-ether to find some lonely 
 spot where they might offer up their souls in prayer 
 to God, for they were Christians. Unconsciously 
 they took the very path which had led Eustace and 
 his sons fifteen years before, and paused beneath the 
 same group of trees which had allured him to cross 
 the fatal river, on whose banks they stood. The young 
 men hastened to throw themselves prostrate ; but they 
 started on perceiving- that they were not alone another 
 worshipper knelt there a woman, pale and bowed, and 
 looking in the dim evening twilight so shadowy and 
 motionless, that a sense of awe, as if in the presence of 
 some supernatural being-, mingled with the instinctive 
 reverence that stayed the young men's noiseless footsteps 
 on the g'rass : she saw them not, her eyes were fixed 
 immovably; and words, whose tones had utterance of a 
 sorrow deeper than goes forth in tears, fell slowly from 
 her lips. In the profound stillness of the spot each word 
 was distinctly heard : " My Eustace ! my Theosbytus ! 
 myAgapetus!" They started at the words so suddenly 
 that the woman -turned her head and rose, but not in 
 terror; she seemed like one who has nothing any longer 
 to fear or hope. The young men knew already they 
 were brothers, for they had long since told each other 
 the wonderful tale of their preservation ; and now, at the 
 words of the kneeling woman, they doubted no longer 
 they had found their long-lost mother. " Your name i"' 
 they grasped in one breath. "Theosbyta," she answered, 
 scarcely looking at them. " Mother !" hurst forth in
 
 148 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 one wild cry, as they threw themselves impetuously 
 towards her. She shuddered at the name so long un- 
 heard, and sunk fainting- to the ground ; but joy in that 
 instant had gone like healing balm into her wounded 
 heart ; and when her sons with tender care had poured 
 water from the river on her brow, she once more opened 
 her eyes, and gazed upon them with a rapture that 
 withheld the power of speech. Meanwhile Eustace also 
 soug'ht the grove of trees, which he had already seemed 
 to recognise : it would ease his heart to pour it forth in 
 prayer for his Theosby t-a before the day of battle ; as 
 for his sons, he doubted not they were already angels, 
 gone in their baptismal innocence before the throne of 
 God, to plead for him and their unhappy mother. The 
 little group upon the grass attracted his attention, and 
 as he quietly came onwards, the words " Theosby tus ! 
 my Agapetus !" from the reviving- mother, struck on 
 his ear. He paused : the remembrance of his former 
 vision on this very spot came freshly back upon him, 
 and for an instant a thought of spiritual visitations 
 glanced over his mind ; but on one of the young men 
 looking up, he recog-nised the face of his young captain, 
 who started on perceiving his commander; he knew 
 not yet that Eustace, the leader of the Roman armies, 
 was a Christian. Making- a sign to his brother, Theos- 
 bytus rose upon his feet, and attempted to explain to 
 the general that he and his brother had been just now 
 miraculously restored to their long-lost mother; but 
 Eustace heard him not; the- names and the remem- 
 brance of his vision still filled his thoughts, and gazing 
 intently on the pale Theosbyta, his faithful eye pierced 
 through the veil that time and grief had wrought over 
 her features, and in a stifled voice he asked, as just 
 before her sons had done, " Your name ?" " Theosbyta," 
 she answered. " I am your husband," he replied, and 
 folded her to his heart. " Father, our father !" cried 
 the youths, and Eustace sunk upon his knees at the 
 sound : " My wife, my sons ! God, Thou hast restored 
 mp all; how shall we e'lorifv Tliv name !'' "The end
 
 THE LEGEND OF PLACIDUS. 149 
 
 must now be near," murmured Theosbyta ; " remember, 
 suffering was to be the portion of thy Christian life." 
 " The will of God be done in all thing's," replied 
 Eustnce; and an "Amen!" echoed by his wife and 
 sons brought peace into their hearts, almost too deeply 
 moved by joy. 
 
 Then they prayed till morning's dawn, and then 
 Theosbyta related to her husband how she had been 
 kept as a slave by the wicked captain for many years of 
 anxious misery, but that God had guarded her; and 
 when, after her master's death, she became once more 
 free, she had laboured and maintained herself, ever 
 hoping that the day might arrive when her husband 
 and her children might return to claim her. " And you, 
 my sons," said Eustace, " by what miracle do I find you, 
 whom I thought already torn to pieces by wild beasts ?'' 
 Then Theosbytus told his father that the lion which had 
 seized him, being pursued by hunters before it had time 
 to do him any serious injury, dropped him to defend 
 itself, whereupon he was taken home by some humane 
 villagers, who healed his wounds and taught him to 
 become a hunter; that some months after, he acciden- 
 tally met with his brother, who had been rescued by 
 shepherds from the jaws of the wolf; and that hopeless 
 of recovering either of their parents, they had remained 
 many years with the friendly villagers, until able to 
 carry arms; when both becoming- soldiers, they had risen 
 rapidly in the army, and been chosen to bear honourable 
 part in it when commanded to rally under Eustace. 
 
 The night rapidly wore away in such discourse; and 
 with the dawn of day, kneeling together for a while in 
 prayer, they embraced and parted. 
 
 Joy spread through all the ranks when it was known 
 that Eustace had recovered his sons in the two brave 
 young captains. That day the Romans fought victori- 
 ously ; the presence of their leader inspired every man 
 with confidence and courage, and news was sent to Rome 
 that filled the emperor with delight. But the return of 
 the army was for some time delayed; pursuing his con-
 
 150 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 quest, Eustace followed his retreating- foes until he had 
 driven them completely from the country, and then 
 prepared to return to the imperial city. But meanwhile 
 Trajan was no more; Adrian, his successor, filled the 
 throne, and ordered every honour to be paid to the victo- 
 rious general, that he might enter the city in triumph, 
 as was wont on such occasions. 
 
 A day of feasting and rejoicing was proclaimed ; and 
 the emperor himself resolved to give it all the splendour 
 that his presence could bestow, by presiding himself at 
 the banquet. " But first," said he to Eustace, " we 
 must satisfy the gods ; let us hasten to the Temple of 
 Mars, and make the offerings he has so richly merited 
 at our hands." " My thanks," said Eustace, proudly, 
 "have been already offered to the God I serve, nor can 
 I bow my knee within a heathen temple." The einperor 
 guessed not the meaning of this speech at first, but those 
 w o stood around him knew its purport well. "A Chris- 
 tian!" they murmured ; " Eustace a Christian !" Adrian 
 caught the word. " Ail thou a Christian?" he demanded 
 fiercely. u I am," said Eustace. " I am sorry for thee," 
 was the reply; "but wilt thou not come and offer with 
 us at the shrine of Mars?" " It is but to cast a little 
 incense on his altar," whispered a friendly voice. " I 
 will die first !" cried Eustace, kindling at the whisper, 
 for he knew it to be that of one whom terror had long 
 since won back to heathenism, who had treacherously 
 deserted the faith of Jesus, rather than die worthy of 
 a martyr's portion. u Then die thou shalt !" cried 
 Adrian furiously, fancying somewhat of insult in the 
 unwonted energy of Eustace's decision. " 1 also am a 
 Christian," " And I, emperor !" cried out the manly 
 voices of Theosbytus and Agapetus, whilst their father 
 turned upon them a look half proud, half sorrowful, and 
 then glanced upwards with a smile. Theosbyta was 
 not far off; she heard and understood it all. " I also 
 am a Christian," she said, as firmly as her trembling 
 lips could utter the words, determined now to share the 
 fate of her boloved ones, whatever that might be. H^r
 
 THE LEGEND OF PLACIDU9. 151 
 
 words did not reach the emperor's ears, but they were 
 taken up by those who stood around, and echoed from 
 one to another till he heard and understood them. 
 " There is but one fate for you all," he answered ; " take 
 them to the lions' den." 
 
 " Another and a better festival than that they had 
 appointed for us is now provided, my beloved ones," 
 said Eustace, as he gazed inquiringly on the faces of 
 his wife and sons. But not a quiver of emotion was 
 discernible ; a holy smile of triumph and of joy lit up 
 each countenance. " We shall be martyrs for Jesus 
 Christ !" It was all they uttered as they were hurried 
 away. 
 
 Crowds followed to behold the unexpected sight. 
 
 The amphitheatre was thronged to excess. So little 
 sympathy was i'elt with Christians that even Eustace, 
 on proclaiming- himself oue, had lost at once all title to 
 their esteem. His victories were forgotten, or ascribed 
 to arts of magic. Already the Christian family were 
 exposed before the raging beasts ; but not one would 
 open its mouth against them. Calm and motionless, 
 their hands folded on their breasts, they stood, and the 
 hungry lions came and licked their feet. 
 
 This was attributed to some charm : " They have a 
 charm against the teeth of beasts !" was echoed round 
 the amphitheatre. "Away with them to the brazen 
 ox !" the emperor answered ; " they cannot quench his 
 fury." 
 
 This was an enormous figure, made resembling an 
 ox, and when heated by a fire underneath was used as 
 an instrument of torturing execution to those victims 
 who were placed within it. The fire was kindled, and 
 the door in the side of the figure opened. One by one 
 the martyrs ascended the ladder, entered the brazen ox, 
 and lay down as if to sleep. The door was closed upon 
 them, and the flumes roared hotter and more fiercely 
 upwards, whil>t the immense multitude held their breath 
 as one man, and a shudder of irrepressible horror ran 
 through the hoathen crowd. But not a cry or sound
 
 162 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 of anguish came from that fearful sepulchre ; and the 
 people remembered the wonderful smiles that had made 
 radiant the faces of Eustace and his family as they dis- 
 appeared one by one within its cavity, and looking- on 
 each other they marvelled how these Christians should 
 go so lovingly to death. Then games and processions 
 in honour of the victory went on, and they bowed 
 themselves before the shrine of Mars, and Eustace the 
 Christian was forgotten ; but three days afterwards the 
 brazen ox was once more opened. There lay the mar- 
 tyrs calmly, side by side ; the same smile was on their 
 faces, no change or smell of fire had passed over them. 
 God had given His beloved sleep. 
 
 The martyred family still lives in the memory of 
 the Church ; and the Catholic traveller will recall their 
 affecting story as he visits the stately churches which 
 bear the name of St. Eustachius. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE SANCTUARY OF OUR LADY OF THE 
 
 THORNS. 
 
 NOT far from the highest peak of Jura there is still 
 seen a heap of ruins, which belonged to the church and 
 monastery of Notre Dame des Epines Fleurics. It 
 lies at the very extremity of a narrow and deep gorge, 
 but somewhat sheltered on the north, and so produces 
 every year the rarest flowers of that region. At aboxit 
 the distance of half a leagiie, the opposite extremity af- 
 fords a view of the ruins of an old seignorial manor, 
 long since gone, like the house of God. All that is 
 known now is, that it was the mansion of an illustrious 
 family, that signalised themselves in arms ; and that the 
 last who bore the name of that band of noble knights 
 died fighting for the recovery of the Holy Land, with-
 
 SANCTUARY OF OUR LADY OF THE THORNS. 153 
 
 out leaving an heir to hand down the name to posterity. 
 The disconsolate widow did not fly from, but remained 
 aboiit the old grounds which so much afforded food to 
 her melancholy ; and the report of her piety and chari- 
 table deeds extended far and wide, so that her memory 
 has been handed down to, and respected by, Christian 
 generations. The people, who have forgotten all her 
 other titles, still call her the blessed one. 
 
 On one of these days, at the close of winter, when 
 the rigour of the season relaxes under the influence of 
 a genial sky, the saint was taking her usual exercise, 
 by walking along the avenue of her chateau, her mind 
 occupied with pious thoughts. Having arrived at the 
 thorny thicket terminating the avenue, she was not a 
 little surprised at seeing that one of the bushes was 
 already charged with all the decorations of spring. She 
 quickened her steps, to assure herself that this appear- 
 ance was not produced by any remains of the winter's 
 snow; and, overjoyed at seeing it in reality crowned 
 with a g-reat number of beautiful small stars, she care- 
 fully removed one of its branches for the purpose of 
 suspending it in her oratory, before an image of the 
 Blessed Virgin, to which, from the days of her child- 
 hood, she was devoutly attached; and then returned, 
 her heart surcharged with joy at being the bearer of 
 this simple offering. 
 
 Whether it was that this feeble tribute was really 
 pleasing to the Divine Mother of Jesus, or that a pecu- 
 liar, undefinable pleasure is reserved for the slightest 
 effusion of a tender heart towards the object of its love, 
 the soul of the lady of the manor never experienced 
 more thrilling delight than on that charming- evening. 
 With heartfelt joy, she promised to return every day to 
 the blossomed bush, and from it to bring back daily a 
 fresh garland. That she remained faithful to her en- 
 gagement who can doubt? One day, however, when 
 the care of the sick and indigent had detained her 
 long-er than usual, she. was obliged to quicken her step?, 
 to g'liin her wild shrubbery before nightfall. Her haste
 
 154 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 was vain, for darkness overtook her ; and it is said that 
 she began to regret having- entered so far into this 
 dreary wild, when a clear and softened lig'ht, like that 
 preceding 1 the rising- sun, displayed at once before her 
 eyes all the thorns in blossom. She arrested her steps 
 for a moment, thinking- that this lig-ht mig-ht proceed 
 from the halting'-place of brigands : for that it could be 
 produced by myriads of glow-worms, brought out be- 
 fore their proper time, could not with any possibility 
 be imagined; the season was still too far removed 
 from the calm and close nights of summer. 
 
 Nevertheless, the obligation, self-imposed, presenting 
 itself to her mind, and somewhat giving- her courage, 
 she advanced slowly with bated breath, took hold with 
 a trembling hand of a branch, which of itself seemed 
 to drop into her ringers, so slight was the resistance of- 
 fered, and re-entered the way to the manor, without 
 once looking behind her. 
 
 During all that night the lady reflected on the phe- 
 nomenon, and yet could find no satisfactory explanation ; 
 and as she was determined to unravel the mystery, on 
 the following day, at the same hour in the evening, she 
 repaired to the thicket, accompanied by a faithful 
 servant, and by her old chaplain. The same delicious 
 softened light played about it as on the previous even- 
 ing-, and seemed to become, the nearer they approached, 
 more bright and radiant. They stopped and placed 
 themselves on their knees, for it seemed to them that, 
 this light emanated from heaven ; then the aged priest 
 arose, alone advanced respectfully towards the flowery 
 thorns, chanting 1 at the same time a church hymn, and 
 removed them aside without the slightest effort. The 
 spectacle then presented to their view so filled them with 
 admiration, gratitude, and joy, that they remained a 
 long time motionless. It was an image of the Blessed 
 Virgin, rudely carved in wood, painted in rather lively 
 colours by an unskilled hand, and dressed in simple 
 attire; and from that it was that the miraculous light, 
 wir.li which the placf wa filled, emanated. '* Hail
 
 SANCTUARY OF OUR LADY OF THE THORNS. 165 
 
 Mary, full of grace!" said at length the prostrate chap- 
 lain ; and the sound of harmony which arose in every 
 part of the wood, when he had pronounced these words, 
 would have induced one to imagine that they were re- 
 peated by the angelic choirs. He then solemnly recited 
 those admirable litanies in which faith expresses itself, 
 though unconsciously, in the highest style of poetry; 
 and after renewed acts of adoration, he raised the image 
 between his hands to bear it to the chateau, where he 
 could find a sanctuary more worthy of it. As he moved 
 on, the lady and her faithful domestic, their hands 
 joined and their heads bowed, followed him slowly, 
 offering up their prayers in union with his. 
 
 It is unnecessary to add, that the marvellous image 
 was placed in an elegant niche, that lights blazed around 
 it, that incense curled about its head, on which a superb 
 crown was placed, and that even until midnight the 
 chanting of the faithful offered it their greetings. But, 
 strange to say, on the following morning no image 
 conld be seen, and no little alarm was felt by those 
 Christians who experienced such unalloved happiness at 
 finding it. What unknown sin could have brought 
 down this disgrace on the mansion of "the saint?" 
 Why had the celestial Virgin quitted it? What new 
 resting-place had she selected ? There could be little 
 difficulty in solving the mystery. The Blessed Mo- 
 ther of Jesus had preferred the modest retirement of her 
 favourite bushes to the grandeur of a worldly dwelling. 
 She returned to the coolness and freshness of the grove, 
 there to taste the peace of her solitude and the sweet 
 odour of her flowers. All the inmates of the chateau 
 repaired there in the evening, and found it there, shining 
 with -even greater splendour than on the previous eve 
 They fell down on their knees in respectful silence. 
 
 " Powerful Queen of Angels," said the aged chap- 
 lain, " this, then, is the temple that you prefer. Your 
 will 1)8 done." 
 
 And in a little time after, a temple gorgeous tind 
 rich a temple such as could be erected only by the
 
 156 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 architects of those grand and glorious times was raised 
 to cover the revered image. The great ones of the 
 earth enriched it with costly presents ; kings endowed 
 it with a tabernacle of the purest gold. The fame of 
 the miracles wrought through it extended far and wide 
 through the Christian world, and induced a great many 
 pious women to fix their abode in the valley, and place 
 themselves under monastic rules. The saintly widow, 
 more touched now than ever with the lights of grace, 
 could not refuse her assent to her appointment of supe- 
 rioress ; and after a life of good works and edifying 
 examples, which, like odoriferous incense, ascend e"d at 
 the foot of the altar of the Virgin, she died there full 
 of days. 
 
 Such, according to the old records of the province, 
 is the origin of the Church and Convent of Notre Dame 
 des Epines Fleuries. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 CATHERINE OF ROME. 
 
 DURING the time of the second visit of the great pa- 
 triarch St. Dominic to the city of Rome, whilst wait- 
 ing for the completion of the monastery of San Sisto, 
 he was moved by the sight of the great corruption 
 which prevailed among all classes of society ; and though 
 his stay there was very short, and had not been made 
 with any intention of pursuing his apostolic labours at 
 that time, yet he could not resist the appeal which the 
 sins of the people made to his heart ; and he accordingly 
 commenced the reading of the holy Scriptures in the 
 Papal Palace, with the view of remedying the idleness 
 and vice of those attached to the court ; whilst, at the 
 same time, he preached daily in the churches to the 
 commoner sort of people, gaining from both these 
 labours an abundant fruit of souls. He also did much 
 at this time by the preaching and propagation of the
 
 CATHERINE OF ROME. 157 
 
 devotion of the Rosary; and among 1 the many wonder- 
 ful effects which followed on the adoption of this devo- 
 tion, the following 1 story is related. 
 
 There was at that time in Rome a woman, named 
 Catherine, who had long* lived in the violation of every 
 law of God, and whose house was the resort of the 
 gayest and most dissipated society of the city, over 
 whom her beauty and talents gave her a fatally power- 
 ful influence. 
 
 This woman, although she had long neglected every 
 duty of religion, was induced by the novelty which at- 
 tached to St. Dominic's preaching, to go and hear one 
 of his sermons. It made so deep an impression on her, 
 that she went further; and receiving from his own 
 hands one of the rosaries, which he was accustomed to 
 distribute among- the people after his sermons were 
 ended, she kept it about her person, and began the 
 daily recital of it ; many years having passed since she 
 had said a single prayer until that time. But long 
 habits of a worldly and sinful life were not to be over- 
 come by a temporary impression such as that effected 
 by the preacher's words ; and Catherine's new devotion 
 produced no change in her manner of living. But God 
 designed to make this soul a special monument of His 
 mercy, and at the same time to mark, by the manner 
 of her conversion, the power and efficacy which He is 
 pleased to attach to the devotion of the Rosary. One 
 day, as she was walking near her own house, there met 
 her a young man of noble and majestic appearance, 
 whose aspect filled her with an emotion she had never 
 felt before. Addressing himself to her with a grace 
 which, whilst it wonderfully attracted her heart, filled 
 it at the same time with a certain sensation of awe, he 
 bid her hasten home and prepare supper for him, for 
 he was about to become her guest. Catherine lost no 
 time in making every thing ready, and they sat down 
 together at the table. But what was her surprise when 
 she perceived that every thing which her new guest 
 touched was immediately tinged with blood ! At first
 
 158 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 she thought he must have cut himself with the knife, 
 and therefore begged him to allow her, if such were the 
 case, to bind up his wound ; but he replied, " I have 
 no wound; but do you not know that a Christian 
 . should eat no food which he has not first steeped in the 
 *%lood of his Lord?" " In the name of God," said the 
 terrified women, " tell me who you are, and what you 
 desire of me ?" " That you shall presently know," re- 
 plied her guest; " but you must first order away these 
 servants and tables, that we may be alone together." 
 The order being duly obeyed, he rose from his seat, and 
 in a moment she saw that his figure changed into that 
 of a little child of surpassing beauty, yet a beauty 
 rather divine than human. His face had all the loveli- 
 ness of childhood, but the little head was crowned with 
 sharp thorns; on his feeble shoulders he bore a heavy 
 cross; while his hands and feet, beautiful in their childish 
 proportions, bore the marks of cruel wounds, and his 
 whole body was streaming with blood. It was a mixed 
 representation of the two mysteries of the Divine In- 
 fancy and Passion. Catherine's heart smote her with a 
 terrible remorse ; all the iniquity and forgetfulness of 
 her whole life came before her soul with a vivid inten- 
 sity which well-nigh deprived her of reason ; but the 
 sweet voice of the Child Jesus revived her fainting 
 spirits, as He said, " Enough of sin and hardness of 
 heart, my sister; look here, and see what thy sins have 
 cost Me, and what T began to suffer even when a little 
 Child, and ceased not to endure up to the hoiir of MY 
 death." Then another change passed over the figure 
 before her, and she saw Him as He appeared when 
 dying on the Cross. Every bloody trace of His Passion 
 was there ; his face livid and disfigured, and the whole 
 body bathed in the sweat of death. This vision lasted 
 but a few moments ; it changed yet once again, and 
 then she saw Him so glorious and beautiful, that h-cr 
 eyes could not gaze at Him for the excess of light that 
 shone from His person. It was not only from face nnd 
 form that this glory beamed forth as from a sun, but
 
 CATHERINE OF HOME 
 
 t-VHiv wound, which in the former visions had presented 
 so tearful and ghastly an aspect, was now clothed with 
 a wondrous beauty, beyond all human loveliness, and 
 flashing with the brightness of a thousand gems. Then 
 lie spoke again : " Look at thyself," He said, " and, 
 look at Me. blind and wandering sheep, return to' 
 the straight path and the safe fold ; never forget what 
 thou hast seen this day, for in these visions hast thou 
 been shown the way of salvation." And with these 
 words He disappeared. 
 
 It is not difficult to see that in these words of our 
 Lord and the accompanying visions, meditation on the 
 mysteries of His life and death which are given in the 
 Rosary is what is pointed out as "the way of salva- 
 tion." They had their full effect on Catherine; the 
 joyful, sorrowful, and glorious mysteries, thus pictured 
 to her eyes, remained imprinted also on her heart. She 
 determined once more to seek St. Dominic : and relating 
 to him the whole of what had passed, placed the direc- 
 tion of her future life in his hands ; for lie seemed to 
 her as an angel of God sent to guide her yet further 
 on that way of salvation which his words had been the 
 first to open to her. In his hands her conversion was 
 completed ; and the rest of her life was spent in so peni- 
 tent and holy a manner, that he himself acknowledged 
 that he was filled with wonder at the transformation 
 which, by the mercy of God, had been wrought in her 
 soul. Henceforth meditation on those divine mysteries, 
 which seemed in so special a manner to have been 
 given to her for her guidance, was her constant devo- 
 tion; and at her death (which took place many years 
 afterwards, when she had distributed all her goods to 
 the poor, and had herself retired to a life of strict 
 poverty and continual prayer), it is said the Blessed 
 Virgin appeared to her, and received her soul at the 
 moment that she expired. Her body lies buried in the 
 Church of St. John Lateran.
 
 ]60 CATHOLIC LEGEND* 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE MIRACLE OF TYPASUS. 
 
 EVENING was setting 1 in over the ancient city of Car- 
 thage, and bringing to its close a day of great and solemn 
 rejoicing; bells had been ringing the whole day long, 
 solemn processions had passed up and down the city, 
 and on men's faces there was the impress of a joy too 
 deep for utterance, such joy as is known only to those 
 who have endured the extremity of suffering. For the 
 church of Carthage had received as her bishop this day 
 the saintly Eugenius, after four-and-twenty years of 
 widowhood and desolation; and all those earnest faces 
 which crowd that ancient Basilica have known what it 
 was to have been left orphans, without a head, to face 
 alone the fury of a persecution almost unrivalled even 
 in those ages of blood. Enter into the church, and you 
 will feel that the mere surface of humanity has been 
 swept away ; the men and women and children even 
 who surround you have tested the realities of life ; and 
 the future has nothing terrible for those who have borne 
 themselves so manfully through the past. There is a 
 calmness and grandeur about some amongst them which 
 at once attracts your attention, they seem, by common 
 consent, honoured above the rest ; if you look more at- 
 tentively, you will see the insignia of their rank. Some 
 maimed limb, some terrific gash or scar, bears witness 
 that they have resisted unto blood for the faith of 
 Christ : and thus the rage of the persecutor, while it 
 has disfigured their earthly bodies, has placed upon 
 their brows an aureole of glory even in this lower life. 
 Listen : the heart of that mighty multitude g'oes up as 
 the voice of one man in thanksgiving to God. That 
 solemn ancient chant, it bowed the heart of the great 
 Augustine, and made him weep, when but a few vears 
 before lie heard it in that verv church : what would ho
 
 THE MIRACLE OF TYPASUS. 161 
 
 have felt had he heard it as it burst from the lips of 
 those noble confessors and future martyrs of Christ ! 
 They thought not of themselves or their own sufferings ; 
 not one thought of self-gratulation marred the perfec- 
 tion of their self-abandonment; they thought but of 
 the wrongs of Jesus ; their hearts were bursting at the 
 remembrance of the insults which for more than fifty 
 years had been heaped upon Him before their very 
 eyes ; they were making an act of reparation, they 
 were making atonement, they were thanking God for 
 those mysteries of faith, that Christ was God, that 
 God had died in human form for man. Far away over 
 the blue Mediterranean the fisherman caught the sound, 
 and stood up in his little boat, which looked all golden 
 in the setting sun, and joined his heart to theirs. Far 
 away the soft breeze bore it to the villages scattered 
 amidst the Mauritanian mountains, sleeping in such a 
 flood of light and spiritual beauty as is only to be seen 
 beneath the sunsets of the south. And far, far above 
 them all, and beyond them all, the watching angels 
 caught the sound, and bore it before the throne of God. 
 In its eager impetuosity of love it tried to make ainends 
 to the sacred heart of Jesus for more than half a cen- 
 tury of blasphemy. Oh, who can doubt that it attained 
 its end ! 
 
 And now the newly-consecrated bishop stood upon 
 the high-altar steps, his priests and attendants ranged 
 in semicircles on either side. He was a man of tall 
 stature and commanding countenance; but that pecu- 
 liar expression which rendered it so different from 
 others cannot be described, and is best understood when 
 we remember that even in life he was reckoned nmong 
 the number of the saints. As he stood there, address- 
 ing for the first time the flock which had been com- 
 mitted to his care, the first impression his calm clear 
 voice made on the hearts of all was one of recollection, 
 humility, and peace. The dove, wherein reposed the 
 adorable body of the Lord, brooded above his head, and 
 his words seemed rather the echo of the breathings of
 
 162 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 the dove than any thought or speech of earth. Few 
 would have recognised in the calm subdued tones of 
 that voice the expression of the ardent passionate spirit, 
 who, like another St. Paul, would have wished himself 
 anathema, rather than behold one of his children fall 
 away from the faith ; whose daily prayer was that he 
 might die for Christ; whose nightly dream was that 
 the crown of martyrdom was within his grasp. And 
 while the saintly bishop goes back into the past, with 
 his whole soul filled with thoughts of those among 
 whom he had to labour, we too must look back and ex- 
 plain in brief words the circumstances which were the 
 forerunners of the facts we are about to record. 
 
 The Roman provinces in Africa brought under the 
 empire of the faith were at the very height of peace 
 and prosperity. The voice of the great Augustine, 
 that column of the Church, against which the fretful 
 waves of false doctrine broke themselves in vain, was 
 scarcely hushed in death; the Church of Carthage 
 seemed to sit enthroned like a queen, by the shores of 
 that sweet southern sea whose waters brought to her 
 feet the learning', wealth, and respectful salutations of 
 the rest of Christendom; on a sudden, men were roused 
 from this deep sleep of security by a storm which over- 
 whelmed them ere they were well aware of its ap- 
 proach. In the year 428, Genseric, the king of the 
 Vandals and Alans, burst upon these fertile provinces 
 with his huge barbarian armies, and in tin incredibly 
 short space of time the whole country was laid w.iste. 
 These Vandals were, for the greater part, A nans, and 
 joined the sacrilegious malice so peculiar to heretics to 
 their native barbarity. We have neither power nor 
 heart to describe what the Christians of tho^e times 
 were forced to look upon : the adorable body and blood 
 of the Lord spilt arid scattered on the pavements ; the 
 altar-linen made into shirts and under-g-arments by the 
 blasphemers ; bishops burnt alive ; the virgins of Christ 
 scourged, tortured, insulted ; and the Catholics of 
 noblest descent disqualified from holding- any office,
 
 THE MIRACLE OF TYPASU8. 163 
 
 and condemned to keep cattle. Genseric died, and was 
 succeeded by his son, Huneric, under whom the perse- 
 cution went on more hotly than before. At last, at the 
 earnest intercession of the Emperor Zeno, Huneric per- 
 mitted the Church of Carthage to elect a bishop, after 
 the see had been vacant twenty-one years. There had 
 been small time for ceremony or preparation ; the shep- 
 herdless flock, eager to enjoy the comfort of a pastor, 
 with common consent pitched upon Eugenius, who had 
 grown up amongst them from childhood in the odour 
 of sanctity ; and he, well knowing what he was doing, 
 accepted the solemn call, knowing that the spousal ring 
 with which he espoused the Church of Carthage was 
 one of certain suffering, and almost certain death; 
 knowing that the present lull in the storm would be of 
 short duration, and that as soon as Huneric's policy 
 would allow him to follow his fierce inclinations, lie 
 would be the first victim of his rage. Perhaps even his 
 unshrinking heart would have quailed, if he could have 
 seen in that moment the real life that lay before him; 
 the long lingering martyrdom, harder far than death ; 
 the agony of betrayal and apostasy amongst some he 
 trusted most. But we" will not anticipate ; but listen as 
 he stands now, with the full glow of the setting sun 
 upon his brow, and his piercing 1 eye searching the very 
 hearts of those whom he addressed. " Therefore, 
 well-beloved children and brethren in Christ, bear 
 ye the trial patiently, and wait for the end. Go on 
 in the way of loftiness with the foot of lowliness, 
 fearing only sin, which will easily make an apostate of 
 a confessor. For how shall they be strong to confess 
 the faith of the divinity of Christ, who dare to defile 
 the members which are His '{ or how can thev follow 
 the meek Lamb in lowliness, whom anv thought of 
 pride uplifteth / Chastity, therefore, being the splen- 
 dour of charity, and martyrdom the particular crown 
 of both, humility is their safest guardian. Where these 
 gifts abound, I have no fear that the weakest amongst 
 you will fall away beneath nnv temptation : veo, even
 
 1C4 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 the tender and delicate woman shall be strong, ana 
 offer up her child to death, gazing on the Mother o 
 God beneath the Cross." 
 
 The sun sank into the sea, and sudden twilight fell 
 upon that mighty crowd; the mystic dove glittered 
 in the lamps which burnt around! the relics of the 
 martyrs. Something in the solemnity of that moment 
 thrilled upon the chord so closely buried in the heart 
 of Eugenius. He burst forth : " angels of my God, 
 intercede for us ! glorious patriarchs and prophets, 
 plead for us ! blessed Peter, keep not silence now ! 
 great and most beloved Father Augustine, more 
 great and beloved now than when on earth, from the 
 secure haven unto which thou hast attained, look down 
 on us, thy desolate flock, tossed and driven on these 
 stormy seas ! 
 
 " And you, children of saints ! brethren of mar- 
 tyrs ! remember ye belong to Christ, who suffers in 
 your torments, and prepares for you an immortal crown. 
 Soon shall the Red Sea of martyrdom be passed ; soon 
 shall the maimed and tortured body rest in peace ; soon 
 shall the everlasting nuptials of the Lamb be celebrated, 
 and He will lead the choice ones of His flock into those 
 heavenly pastures, whereof, methinks, the very grass 
 are joys. Therefore go on with stedfast foot, praying 
 for yourselves and for our unworthiness that we may 
 attain this crown." Then raising his hand, he blessed 
 them in the name of the thrice Holy Trinity; and men 
 left the " house and the dove" in peace. 
 
 We will conduct our readers over some sp:ieo of 
 time, in which the pledge Eugenius gave that day was 
 well redeemed, and leaving Carthage, travel westward 
 to the ancient city of Typasus. The little Aral) vilhige 
 of Ifessed now occupies its site ; and the ruins which 
 attract the admiration of the traveller of the present 
 day sufficiently prove its grandeur in the days of its 
 Roman occupation. But at the time of which we are 
 speaking, the graceful columns which surround the 
 forum had escaped unscathed from the hand of the bar-
 
 THE MIRACLE OF TYPASU8. 165 
 
 barian;' and the arches which spanned the broad "Via 
 Scipiano," which led to it from the city gates, still told 
 the tale of earthly triumphs which had been celebrated 
 there. That way was soon to become a u Via Crucis," 
 and the power before which the mistress of the world 
 had sunk into the dust was to be laughed to scorn upon 
 that spot. But now through the deserted streets of 
 that old city two men are passing quickly : one a 
 venerable old man in the dress of an ecclesiastic ; the 
 other clearly showing by his fair complexion, keen blue 
 eyes, and short, firm-set stature, that he was one of the 
 warlike children of the north. As they passed by house 
 after house, whose open portal and unkindled hearth 
 showed that it was forsaken, a party of men brushed 
 rudely past them, the foremost of whom was speaking 
 in a loud voice of the measures soon to be taken with 
 that " dog of an intruder, Eugenius." The hot blood 
 of the northman mounted to his cheek in a moment, 
 and, clenching his teeth, he drew the short sword which 
 depended from his belt, muttering, " The wretch ! the 
 blasphemer ! never shall he take that venerable name 
 within his lips again while I " " My son," said the 
 old priest, laying his trembling hand upon his lips, 
 " well may it be seen that you are but a catechumen in 
 the school of Christ, when words like these spring to 
 your lips so readily. For the sake of your saintly 
 -Master, hold your peace until we reach the open shore; 
 there shall we be in safety from the unfriendly ears 
 which now may overhear our speech."* Theobald bit 
 his lips till the blood came ; but his hand traced the 
 sign of the cross, and the fury which his Scandinavian 
 ancestors deemed perfectly uncontrollable yielded to its 
 might. They passed on in silence along the broad- 
 way, across the forum, until they gained the sea-shore. 
 Calm and wonderfully beautiful was the scene they 
 gazed upon : the long level sands, where the waves 
 rippled up to the very line they had worn when the 
 ships of old Rome bore Scipio to the conquest of this 
 new world. To the east lay the mausoleum of the royal
 
 JOO CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 family of Mussinissa, now vulgarly called " the tomb of 
 the Christian." Above the resting-place of the dead, 
 one fair solitary palm-tree stood out against the deep 
 blue sky, bringing remembrance of her of whom the 
 Church sings, that amidst the desert and the tombs of 
 earth she was exalted as a palm-tree in Cades. The 
 quiet of the time and place seemed to still the stormy 
 spirit of the northman ; but when the priest turned to 
 him, as though to ask his thoughts, he burst forth, 
 " Men live amid these scenes of blood till they learn 
 indifference. Your people are driven into exile, and 
 vou walk calmly through their desolate homes ; you 
 near those savage threats against Eugenius the holy, 
 the wise, the good, and it scarcely stirs your blood." 
 The old man gazed out upon the waste of waters, as 
 though other scenes than those he looked on were be- 
 fore his mind's eye. He paused long- before he spoke, 
 and then seemed rather thinking aloud than answering 
 his companion : " Four little months ago yon sea was 
 alive with boats, bearing- their living cargoes to the 
 ships which lay in the offing. All along this line of 
 sand there were groups of people in tears ; there were 
 partings between those who shall meet no more on 
 earth. Son was torn from mother, friend from friend, 
 priest from people. As each little boat bore the exiles 
 from the shore, they stood up and stretched out their 
 arms towards Typasus, and mournfully waved their 
 adieus to those they had lei't to die within its walls. 
 One old man v*is amongst them, whose spirit was worn 
 out by the long- harassing struggle with the Arian in- 
 trudjers. His flesh quivered and shrank with inexpres- 
 sible horror at the thought of torture and insult and 
 violent death. He looked to the distant shores of Spain 
 as a land at least of rest and a quiet grave. He was 
 one of the last to embark, and as he looked back sorrow- 
 fullv to the land he was leaving, a form seemed to 
 float upon the edge of the blue waters, and that face 
 of unspeakable sorrow gazed reproachfully upon him, 
 and a voice breathed into his inmost soul, ' Can it be that
 
 THE MIRACLE OP TYPASU8. 167 
 
 tb.ou fearest to stay and feed those few sheep in the 
 desert ?' He hesitated not a moment : he leaped from 
 the boat into the water ; he rejoined the forsaken band 
 of those who, from infirmity or poverty, could not em- 
 bark, the little knot of noble confessors, who, from 
 their longing- for martyrdom, would not embark. Love 
 rekindled the failing torch of faith. He went with joy 
 and singing 1 in his heart to console his children, to 
 suffer and to die with them. My son, call not the old 
 man indifferent because his God has given him the 
 gift of patience." Theobald fell on his knees and 
 pressed the old man's hand to his lips ; he would have 
 poured out his repentance for his unjust and hasty 
 words, but the priest checked him, saying, " Enough, 
 my son; I know all you would say. Now may you 
 deliver to me in all safety the bidding of our holy 
 bishop ; but first will it please you to declare, in brief 
 words, all that has passed at Carthage since the last 
 burst of this fierce storm. Small communication hath 
 there been between the churches since it broke forth, 
 and the last messenger Eugenius despatched to us was 
 taken and slaughtered on his way." 
 
 " My father," replied Theobald, " it is but little I 
 can tell of the first outbreak, for I was not in Carthage; 
 I only joined Huneric with the last troops which came 
 from Spain ; but I found Eugenius' name on the lips of 
 all, as one whose sanctity and wonderful gifts made him 
 master of all hearts, and excited against him Huneric's 
 especial rage. I heard the first order Huneric sent him 
 was to shut the church against the Vandals, who were 
 beginning to embrace the faith in numbers. Eugenius' 
 reply was, ' Tell Huneric that the door which the King 
 of kings hath opened, none may dare to shut.' Huneric 
 burst out with a torrent of curses, and the next day 
 witnessed a scene that it passeth jny poor wit to de- 
 scribe. Guards were placed at ^he doors of the churches ; 
 and when any one passed in clothed in the habit of a 
 Vandal, they struck them on the head with a short, 
 rough, jogged staff, and twisting it into the hair, vio-
 
 168 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 lently dragged off both hair and skin together. The 
 agony was so intense that many died, and many lost 
 their eye-sight ; but not one would give up their faith." 
 Theobald covered his eyes, as though to shut out the 
 horror of the remembrance. The priest asked him in a 
 culm voice, " And the women, did they stand firm ?" 
 " Most stedfast," answered Theobald j " it was the sight 
 of the strength made perfect in their weakness that first 
 drew me, a wandering' sheep, into the fold. I saw one, 
 Dionysia, a matron of noble birth and most delicate 
 nurture, scourged till she sank fainting in her own blood. 
 During the torment, I saw her gaze fastened on her 
 young son, Majoricus, who stood weeping beside her, 
 with a devoted tenderness such as in our colder lands I 
 never witnessed. All the mother's heart was in that 
 gaze. When they had wreaked their will on her, they 
 turned to the son. His cheeks grew pale at the horrid 
 preparations, and at the first touch of the torturer's 
 hand he uttered a shriek of horror. That sliriek roused 
 the mother from her death-like swoon ; she started to 
 her feet, and in a voice which thrilled through the whole 
 place, she said, ' Remember, my son, we were baptised 
 in the name of the Holy Trinity, and the bosom of our 
 Mother the Church.' Then, with most lofty words, 
 she went on encouraging him, as he endured the tor- 
 ment with heroic courag'e and when he could no longer 
 stand, his burning head was laid upon her lap; and while 
 the flesh to which she gave birth was quivering in agony 
 before her, she perpetually traced upon it the healing 
 sign of the cross, until she received the last sigh of the 
 victorious martyr. That scene, that martyrdom, that 
 mother, purchased for me the gift of faith ; and not for 
 me only, four of UP, ere that night closed in, knelt at 
 the feet of Eugenius to ask for admittance to the Catholic 
 Church." " noble confessor of Christ !" exclahi.ed 
 the priest softly, " thou like Abraham hast sacrificed 
 thy only son, and thou hast become the spiritual mother 
 of many children in Christ. And the end, my son?" 
 " She so longed to possess the precious remains of her
 
 THE MIRACLE OF TYPASUS. 169 
 
 child, that several of us wentuin the night to the place 
 of execution, and succeeded in bringing them to her. 
 She Juried them in her own house, that, as she said, 
 she might day by day offer to the Holy Trinity her 
 prayers over his grave, in the lively hope of a glorious 
 resurrection with him. And there the childless solitary 
 mother offers the daily sacrifice of her life." "And the 
 clergy ?" asked the priest " are any spared ?" " Scarce 
 any are left in Carthage," replied"Theobald. " Euge- 
 nius does every thing, and is every where ; he moves 
 like an angel of consolation through the miseries of the 
 times ; and the love of his children for him is strong as 
 death. The moon is not new since nearly 5000 bishops 
 and priests, and noble Catholic laymen of Carthage, 
 were banished by the tyrant's order to the deserts. 
 There they were to be left the prey of scorpions and 
 venomous serpents, to be fed with barley, like beasts. 
 Numbers of the people followed their bishops and priests 
 to the very borders of the desert, as though in triumphal 
 procession, with tapers in their hands. Eugenius stood 
 forth, an envoy between the living and the dead, and 
 said they must now return, for their time was not yet 
 come. Then the air was rent, not with the cries of those 
 who were descending into this living grave, but of those 
 who were returning' to life. Mothers cast their babes 
 at the feet of the confessors, and exclaimed, '0 confessors 
 of Christ, ye pass on swiftly to your crowns, but to 
 whom do you leave your desolate Hock ? Who will 
 baptise our children ? Who will bury us with solemn 
 supplication after death ? By whom shall the Divine 
 Sacrifice be offered up amongst us ?' Then Eugenius 
 raised his voice, and stilled that mighty cry. He told 
 them a beacon should be kindled that day amid the 
 dreary sands of the desert, which should lighten the 
 Christian world ; that if their voices were hushed in 
 death, God would raise the dead, or make the dumb to 
 speak, rather than allow His truth to be without a wit- 
 ness. Then prostrating at the feet of the pr,r;cipal 
 bishop amongst them, he kissed them, and asked his
 
 170 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 benediction, and all the people prostrating 1 to receive it. 
 Eugenius led them back to Carthage, with solemn hymns 
 of thanksgiving; for those who were counted worthy tf> 
 suffer for the name of Christ. Tiding % s have since been 
 brought us, that not one of those terrible serpents have 
 dared to approach the confessors." 
 
 " Yea, the desert shall blossom as a rose," said the 
 priest, fervently. " How sweet is the perfume it is now 
 sending* up in the sight of the company of heaven ! But, 
 my son, the hour is waxing" late, and I may not tarry 
 longer from my post at this moment ; I would fain hear 
 the message of the blessed Father Eugenius ere we 
 part for the night." 
 
 " They are evil tidings," said Theobald, after a 
 pause. " I would I had not been their bearer. Father 
 Eugenius bids me say that secret intelligence has reach- 
 ed him that the fury of Huneric is especially directed 
 against Typasus at this moment. The Arian bishop has 
 informed him of your stedfast opposition to his intru- 
 sion of your courageous celebration of the Tremendous 
 Mysteries of the unshaken constancy of your band of 
 confessors. Huneric is mad with fury at the fruitless- 
 ness of his efforts ; and Eugenius says that even now 
 his fierce bands are preparing to do their worst. What 
 that worst may be no one knows ; but the bishop sends 
 you health and benediction in the Lord ; and not doubt- 
 ing of your crown, he bids you remember him when 
 you shall have entered into rest." 
 
 A slight paleness overspread the countenance of the 
 old priest as these words reached his ear ; but it passed 
 in a moment, and raising his eyes he exclaimed, 
 " my dear and well-beloved Master, for fourscore 
 years and more Thou hast done good things unto me, 
 and now thou dost suffer me to give Thee all that re- 
 mains of this miserable life. Blessed be Thy Holy 
 Name." Then turning to the youth he said, " Blessed 
 be thou of the Lord, my son, for the good tidings thou 
 hast brought me this day. Return to Eugenius by the 
 wny of the sea, that thou mayest escape the hands of
 
 THE MIRACLE OF TYPASUS. 171 
 
 the barbarians; and tell him, by the grace of God, we 
 will redeem his word, that the beacon which has been 
 kindled in the desert waste shall be caught and an- 
 swered on the towers of Typasus ; and men shall know 
 and own that He is God who giveth victory to the 
 weak and contemptible thing's of this world. And now 
 depart quickly, my son," he said, laying- both hands on 
 the head of the youth, who knelt in speechless emo- 
 tion to receive his parting- blessing-. "It seemeth 
 to me that the sun will soon rise, which shall not 
 set until thou hast given thy best heart's blood for 
 thy Lord. But the time is not yet ; therefore depart 
 in peace, and do my bidding- with the holy bishop. 
 Farewell." 
 
 Day dawned over the fair city of Typasus, but 
 found it not as the sun had set upon it. In the dead 
 of the night the furious tramp of the wild undisciplined 
 troops of Vandal barbarians announced to the devoted 
 band that the hour of their trial had arrived. It found 
 them prepared and watching-. It had been agreed that 
 three strokes of the bell should assemble them all in the 
 house where they were wont to celebrate the Divine 
 Mysteries ; and the old priest and the subdeacon Re- 
 paratus kept watch. The solemn signal sounded about 
 the hour of midnight, and they had scarcely collected 
 all that remained of the inhabitants of Typasus ere the 
 armed barbarians poured in at the city gates, and in a 
 moment seemed to till the streets and the air jvith their 
 cries and blasphemous imprecations ; hundreds came, 
 and thousands followed, to sieze this helpless band of 
 Christian heroes. It seemed as though Huneric hoped 
 by the mere multiplication of animal strength to sub- 
 due that spiritual energy and force which had so often 
 proved too much for him. They soon discovered the 
 little assembly of Catholics, and drove them mercilessly 
 before them to the forum outside the gates. " Even so 
 He passed beyond the gate of Jerusalem," said tlio 
 solemn voice of the priest, ns urged by the pitiless goad- 
 
 r
 
 172 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 ing of the swords, their ears stunned with the blasphe- 
 mies and insults shouted around them, some of the 
 weaker sort stumbled and fell. As soon as they reach- 
 ed the forum they were fastened all tog-ether in the 
 midst with thick ropes ; a strong band of horsemen 
 was left to guard the place till morning- dawned, and 
 the rest of the Vandals dispersed throughout the city 
 to spend what remained of the night in revelry and 
 feasting. Meantime the confessors received the last 
 words of reconciliation and blessing from their pastors ; 
 they strengthened one another for the fiery trial which 
 awaited them ; they gave each other the kiss of peace, 
 and sang their "Nunc dimittis" with joy. As the 
 sun rose gloriously out of the sea, they saluted it with 
 a hymn of triumph, as the dawning of that happy day 
 which should see them suffer for Christ. About the 
 hour of Prime the forum was surrounded with their 
 eager persecutors; and it was with great difficulty that 
 the chief of the band secured silence for a moment with 
 a flourish of the wild unmusical horns they were accus- 
 tomed to use in battle. Then riding slowly into the 
 arena, he shouted, " Citizens, the children of the north 
 deal not in many words. One change, and one onlv, of 
 life and liberty and honour lies before you. Submit 
 to the bishop whom Huneric by rightful authority has 
 placed over you ; deliver up the fellow who has dared 
 to act as your priest; consent only to be baptised 
 amongst us, and you shall be received like brothers, 
 and Hunmc will show he knows how to treat his 
 friends, xliis, of his mercy and great clemency, he 
 offers once; he never offers mercy twice." There was 
 not a moment's pause clear and strong went up the 
 voice of that united band, " We were baptised in the 
 faith of the Catholic Church, and in her bosom we will 
 die. For Christ is very God, and the virgin Mother 
 of God stood beneath the cross of her Son." There 
 rose a sound from the surrounding soldiery like the 
 growl of a Avild beast; scarcely could their commanders 
 hold them back from darting on their prey, and tearing
 
 THE MIRACLE OF TYPASUS. 173 
 
 them to pieces. " Dogs !" shouted the chief through 
 the tumult, " hear, then, the too-merciful decree of Hu- 
 neric. Your hlasphemous tongues shall he torn out by 
 the roots, and your rig-ht hands cut off, and dogs shall 
 devour them before your eyes." More he would have 
 said, but the roar of the angry multitude drowned his 
 words. Every semblance of order vanished. 
 
 A troop of ruffians appointed for the purpose rushed 
 into the place. They seized them as they stood, and, 
 without any preparation, beg-an the work of butchery. 
 The old priest was the first victim. He was violently 
 seized by the hair and hurled to the ground ; and as he 
 meekly stretched out his right hand to the gleaming 
 axe of the barbarian, he murmured, "Holy Father, 
 grant me only in that day to say, Of those whom Thou 
 hast given me I have lost not one." The Vandal then 
 knelt upon his breast, and spitting in his face, pulled 
 the tongue out by the roots with such terrific force, that 
 it is marvellous life remained. And so it went on. The 
 subdeacon Reparatus was the next, uttering his con- 
 fession of faith while the torturer's hand was in his 
 mouth, till all those noble confessors lay prostrate in a 
 Red Sea of blood ; their mutilated members lying all 
 around them, sometimes cast to the dogs by their savage 
 foes. And now even titty seemed satiated. Human 
 nature seemed laid as low as human hands could Jhrust 
 it. Speechless, bleeding', mutilated, what more could 
 those well-nigh lifeless bodies do .' whafr more could 
 be feared from them ? so at least their pepecutors 
 thought; and preparing to leave them to tffijb' fate, 
 the foremost, giving a contemptuous kick to thV pros- 
 trate form of Reparatus the suhdeacon, exclaimed, 
 " Ha, blasphemer ! thou art silenced once and for ever 
 now : why stand ye not up and preach as of old, of a 
 God dying on a cross, and amvoman, the mother of a 
 God ? Choice witnesses are ye tnaly , Iy4^g there speech^ 
 less, of the divinity of your ChftisV " Reporatns k 
 up : soft, low, and clear arose t\<w\vonl^^>m his lips, 
 " I believe:'' nml then a chonuAl^Pl^nomed in from
 
 174 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 that prostrate band, finishing- the sentence, " The Christ 
 is very God of very God; and Mary the Mothei of 
 God stood beneath the cross of her Son." Then as 
 the mighty marvel flashed upon their minds, a cry, 
 strong", thrilling 1 , but most musical, burst from their lips, 
 "Alleluia, alleluia to the Lamb who sitteth on the 
 throne; He hath done all tiling-swell; Hemakethboth 
 the deaf to hear and the dumo to speak." Earth and 
 heaven and hell stood attentive as that wondrous song- 
 went up. Huneric's fierce barbarians fled in wonder 
 and arnaze ; and hour after hour the confessors knelt on 
 the spot of their torture, g'iving- God thanks for the 
 miraculous gift He had vouchsafed that day. Their 
 sound went forth into all lands. Constantinople, and 
 the Isles of the Sea, and the fair fields of France, were 
 blessed by the presence of these wondrous witnesses of 
 the truth; and ever as the "Credo" came from their 
 lips, it carried conviction to the hearts of all who heard 
 them, of the mig-ht of God's power, and the strength of 
 His Church. 
 
 Years passed on : the career of Eug-enius was still 
 bright with saintly deeds and unfailing- perseverance. 
 In long- exile, in imprisonment, under every kind of 
 contumely, with his head laid upon the block and the 
 axe gleaming over him, he was still the same, the 
 unshrinking* confessor of that precious faith, dearer to 
 him than life. Still it seemed as thoug-h the yearning- 
 longing 1 of his soul mig-ht not be gratified ; he was to 
 live and suffer, not to die. A winter night had set in 
 drearily; the holy bishop sat alone in a roug'h, rude hut, 
 which scarcely offered any resistance to the piercing- 
 blast which swept through it from the mountains. The 
 wide desert country of Tripolis lay round him. He was 
 a prisoner in the hands of Anthony, an Arian bishop, 
 who made his exile one unvarying- round of sufferings, 
 to which his eager love of the Cross continually lidded 
 more. He was writing- by the dim lamp, when suddenly 
 a mysterious awe and terror i'ell upon him, for which he 
 rnuld not account. "The Evil One is busv," he muttered
 
 THE MIRACLE OF TYPA8US. 176 
 
 to himself ; and leaving his writing, he betook himself 
 to prayer. It was no wonder that the pastor should 
 suffer and fear exceedingly, for that night two stars 
 had fallen from heaven. The next nig'ht the door of 
 the hut was softly opened, and Reparatus the sub- 
 deacon knelt before him. He spoke no word, and the 
 strong man's face was wet with tears. "Speak, my 
 son," said the bishop ; " is Eugenius so little used to 
 suffer, that thou fearest to tell thy tidings?" Re- 
 paratus lifted up his face, and spoke in the low tone of 
 one whose heart is torn by .every word he utters : 
 " The lamps of the sanctuary are defiled, and their 
 light is gone out in utter darkness. The two confes- 
 sors whom you wot of at Tripolis have fallen into deadly 
 sin, and they are speechless. In their misery they have 
 fled away into the desert, and we have come to ask 
 counsel of your holiness." The bishop clasped both 
 his hands over his face, and bowed it on the table 
 before him ; and when he raised it, the trace of agony 
 left upon it was deeper than that left by years of exile 
 and suffering. He rose and gathered his mantle round 
 him, as though he would have started instantly to seek 
 the lost sheep ; and then the remembrance of his im- 
 prisonment cams upon him, and he sat down again and 
 wept. At last, recovering his calmness, he said, " Let 
 prayer be made for them throughout all the Churches, 
 that the mercy of God may bring them to repentance: 
 and do you, my son, bid those of our brethren who re- 
 main stedfast take heed lest they fall. Let them count 
 that forgiven them from whicn they have been pre- 
 served through grace; and for that in which they have 
 not been tried, let them walk needfully, and be instant 
 in prayer." 
 
 Eugenius died at last in exile, full of good works, 
 and in a monastery which he himself had founded. 
 Perhaps, as he looked back upon all the varied suffer- 
 ings of his long and agitated life, the agony of that night 
 was the only one which seemed worth remembering. 
 But the tears which the saints of God woep for the
 
 ]76 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 sins of others shall all be wiped away in the morning 
 of the resurrection.* 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE DEMON-PREACHER. 
 
 THERE was in a town of Italy in the early part of the 
 14th century a convent of Franciscan monks, who 
 followed the rule of their holy founder limits utmost 
 strictness. The spirit of Francis seemed to be alive 
 again among- his children, so rigidly did they adhere to 
 the constitutions he had left them, and specially to the 
 religious poverty which he had loved and chosen as his 
 bride. Never had they departed from that law which 
 sent them daily from house to house, begging- the alms 
 of the faithful as their only support. You might meet 
 them every day, treading- barefoot through the dirty 
 streets in their poor rough habits, carrying a coarse 
 bag on their backs to receive the scraps of food which 
 some would give, who were too poor to offer morej or 
 driving the convent ass before them, laden with the 
 wood-chips they had gathered together. Pictures they 
 were of that meek, patient, suffering spirit which is 
 the heritage of their order ; and yet, for all their low- 
 liness and poverty, they carried about with them a cer- 
 tain air of spirituality that made yon feel disposed 
 to uncover as they passed, for they bore back your 
 imagination to Juclea and the streets of Jerusalem, and 
 filled you with the thoughts of One who was the first 
 to stamp the mark of holiness upon the abjection 
 they imitated so well. Now, at the time of which we 
 
 * The truth of tiie miracle recorded above is as well ascer- 
 tained as any fact in history. It has recently been critically 
 examined, and the proofs thrown together, by" Victor de liuch, 
 of the Society of, Jesus. The facts of the Vandal persecution 
 in Africa are too well known to require any authentication here.
 
 THE DEMON-PREACHER. 177 
 
 speak, the inhabitants had lost something of that fer- 
 vent, chanty and devotion that had made them at first so 
 ready with their alms when the friar's little box was 
 offered at their door. They were growing- rich, and 
 their hearts were narrowing ; and often the poor Fran- 
 ciscans were driven away with curses and abuse, and 
 many a hard word was levelled against the " idle men- 
 dicant." Still they lived, hardly enough, yet con- 
 tentedly ; contempt and ill-treatment were like a sweet 
 savour to their scanty food ; and they never thought of 
 complaining at what seemed as much a part ot their 
 state as the habit that they wore. 
 
 ]\ T ow this resignation and lowliness of spirit were 
 very displeasing to the great enemy of souls, who eyed 
 these poor despised friars of Lucca as the greatest ad- 
 versaries he possessed in the town. He determined, 
 therefore, on making a powerful effort to shake their 
 constancy and endurance ; and in order to effect this, 
 to shut the hearts of the citizens yet more against 
 them, by temptation of avarice and selfishness, which 
 he knew well enough were the likeliest to prevail, arid 
 could scarcely fail of success. His designs answered 
 as he expected : the people of the town became gra- 
 dually more and more hardened against the friars : and 
 the very appearance of one of them in the street was 
 a sig-nal for every door to be closed. At length the 
 alms, which were their only resource, entirely failed, 
 and the distress of the brethren became excessive. 
 There was one of the citizens named Louis, the richest 
 man in the town, who had lately married a young and 
 tirtuous wife, and to his door the father-guardian 
 directed the last appeal for assistance to be made ; for 
 Octavia (such was the name of the merchant's wife,) 
 was known to entertain friendly and charitable feelings 
 for the order, and had never yet allowed the friars to 
 go away without giving them some trifle for the love 
 of God. 
 
 It was late in the day when the poor brother whose 
 charge it was to beg for alms knocked at the door of 
 x
 
 173 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 Louis's house. He Lad been on foot for many hours, 
 and his bag was still empty; and he felt weary and 
 discouraged. It was a timid knock that he g-nve; and 
 perhaps the faintness of its echo told the master of the 
 house what kind of visitor was standing- at his gate; 
 for when the door opened, and the good friar raised his 
 eyes from the ground, half in hopes to meet the kind 
 looks of Octavia, he saw that the merchant Louis him- 
 self stood before him, and in no gentle mood, to judge 
 from his knit brow, and the quick rough movement of 
 his hand. 
 
 "What brings you here, friar?" he said, with a 
 contemptuous sneer ; " back to your convent and pray, 
 as is your trade; or if that suits not your holinesses, 
 why, work like honest men ; we will have no vagrants 
 here." 
 
 "May it please you, g-ood sir," replied the trembling- 
 friar, "I thought to see the Lady Octavia. It has 
 pleased our Lord to try us during- this last week as 
 seems good to Him, and none of us have broken fast 
 this day ; but you will scarce refuse to help us for His 
 love ;" and he held out his little box with a hesitating 
 and pitiful glance. 
 
 "The Lady Octavia forsooth !" returned the other; 
 " let her look well to it ere she have aught to say to 
 you. Begone, I say; for I make not my money in 
 order to throw it after all the beggars that may choose 
 to hang about my gate. Begone, and fast if you will ; 
 you are ever ready to tell us it is profitable to our 
 souls." He turned, and would have shut the door; 
 but the friar made another attempt to speak. 
 
 " Good sir," he said, " I beseech you to be patient; 
 we have verily toiled all the day, and have taken 
 nothing ; send me not away empty, and God will re- 
 ward you for your charity, even as though you did it to 
 Himself. The Lady Octavia hath ofttimes bidden \ts 
 ask freely when we were in need ;" but his words 
 w<'i-e interrupted by the heavy blow of a stick. 
 
 " Say that name again, and I will send you home
 
 THE DEMON-PHKACHKR. 179 
 
 with broken bones to fill your bag 1 ," was the angry re- 
 ply. " Here, good neighbours, help me to drive this 
 fellow to his hole again;" and at his words the by- 
 standers, who had gathered tog-ether at the sound of 
 the altercation, pressed closer round the person of the 
 friar, and began to hoot and clamour after him as he 
 moved away, whilst some, bolder than the rest, threw 
 mud and stones upon him, bidding- him carry them 
 back to the convent to fill his bag". And as he passed 
 along 1 , the crowd grew every moment more numerous 
 and angry, till, when they came to the convent-gates, 
 it was a hard matter for the poor friar to effect his 
 entrance, without receiving- serious injury from some of 
 those who pressed about him. 
 
 That evening- the friars went indeed to their refec- 
 tory, but it was not to eat. They sat, with heavy 
 hearts and downcast eyes, whilst one of them read 
 aloud, as was their custom ; and the tables were covered 
 as usual, but there was not a morsel of bread. And the 
 next day thing-s were worse, for the riot of the previous 
 evening- had roused the attention of the governor of the 
 town; and he came to the convent, and tried, partly 
 with threats and partly with persuasions, to induce the 
 brethren to abandon a place where they had become 
 the object of popular dislike, and where their presence 
 only disturbed the public quiet. The courage of many 
 *of the friars was fast failing- them ; they made a fail- 
 show to the governor, but as soon as his back was 
 turned, the general feeling- of discontent and despon- 
 dency beg-an to manifest itself. 
 
 " We had done better to have accepted lands like 
 other of our communities," said one. " Our father Fran- 
 cis meant not that his children should perish for their 
 keeping of the dead letter." 
 
 "It were well to sell the silver vessels," said an- 
 other; " perchance this trouble comes on us for over-rich- 
 ness in our church furniture: if we be sons of poverty, 
 wooden vessels will serve our turn, and befit us best. '*
 
 180 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 The father-guardian lieard it all, and knew not how to 
 answer. 
 
 <r Know you not, my children," he said at length, 
 " that we may neither retain lands, nor sell any goods 
 for our own maintenance, without breaking 1 those twenty- 
 five precepts which our father loft on us, and which 
 bind us under mortal sin ? Fear not for the future ; 
 for God Himself has surely promised His help to them 
 that keep the same ; and His promises are not void." 
 But though he spoke thus, the brothers could hear in 
 the tremour of his voice that his heart was not wholly 
 with his words ; his confidence was faltering with the 
 rest ; and the triumph of the devil seemed as though it 
 were soon to be complete. 
 
 And he knew it. He was there in the midst of 
 those fearful failing hearts, terrifying them and tempt- 
 ing them, filling them with a strange unaccountable 
 dread, by the unseen influence of his presence. And as 
 they yielded to the cowardly suggestions he was whis- 
 pering in their ear, he was every moment gaining more 
 and more power over their hearts. He was then watch- 
 ing them with an infernal joy ; bxit the joy was very 
 short : it was broken by a light that glanced across his 
 vision; and a voice sounded in his ears, "whose echoes 
 were well known to him, and filled him with the old 
 anguish, and reminded him of his conquest and defeat. 
 It was the voice of Michael. "Fallen Star of the" 
 Morning," said those angelic tones, " wherefore art 
 thou here ? I come to drive thee hqnce, and once more 
 to humble thy pride." 
 
 "Thou mayest do thy will, "returned the malignant 
 spirit ; " but I, too, have had mine : there is not one 
 of all these friars but has done me good service this 
 day, for they have doubted God's word and mistrusted 
 His promise. I am well content to go, and leave them 
 thus." 
 
 " But not tlms shalt thou leave them, perverse 
 and evil serpent," returned the archangel : " if thou hast
 
 THE IJEMON-PREACHER. 181 
 
 done thy work, thou shalt also undo it ; thine own lips 
 shall recall these poor children who have erred through 
 weakness, and shall bring 1 Louis also to a better mind, 
 and shall restore charity to the hearts of the citizens ; 
 yea, so that of their own will they shall build another 
 convent within these city walls, where God shall be 
 served and praised, and the rule of Francis, which thou 
 so hatest, shall be strictly kept. This is the decree of 
 the Most High, who changeth not." 
 
 The demon gnashed his teeth. " I am no preacher," 
 he cried ; " and I fight not against mine own house, 
 least of all will I do work for that Francis of whom 
 you speak, for he was ever my deadliest enemy." 
 
 " Therefore is it given thee as a punishment for thy 
 malice to do even as he would do were he again on 
 earth," replied Michael ; " and thou must obey. Thou 
 shalt take the form of one of his friars, and shalt enter 
 the house; and good words shall flow from thy lips 
 against thy will; and thou shalt recall the friars to 
 trust and confidence, and shalt reproach them for the 
 shameful yielding of their hearts ; and shalt strengthen 
 them with holy speech and words of comfort. More- 
 over, thou shalt thyself procure them the means which 
 they lack, so that their sufferings shall cease, and they 
 shall have wherewith to feed the poor at their gates as 
 of yore ; and so shalt thou learn well what it is to fight 
 against God and His saints." 
 
 There was a knock at the convent-gate, and the 
 porter opened it timidly, for he scarcely knew what to 
 expect. A monk, dressed in the rough habit of the 
 order, stood without ; but it was not one of the commu- 
 nity, and the good friar did not recollect ever to have 
 seen him before. A singular majesty of bearing might 
 be discerned even through that poor despised gurb of 
 poverty, something too much of the air of command, 
 as some might have thought ; but yet the grandeur and 
 nobleness of his aspect, and the bright Hash of his eye, 
 gleaming benoath the thick hood covering his face,
 
 182 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 seemed to compel respect. " I would speak with th 
 father-guardian," he said ; and the tone of his voic* 
 was signally musical. The porter bowed in silent 
 wonder, and led him to the presence of the assembled 
 religious, who were in the act of making their final 
 preparations for removal. 
 
 " Deogratias, my brethren," was his salutation ; and 
 the sound of his voice startled them strangely. 
 
 " Mother of God !" exclaimed the astonished guar- 
 dian, "who are you, brother, and whence do you 
 come?" 
 
 " I come fi'om very far, and I was led here by the 
 hand of God," replied the stranger; "so very far away 
 was I when it was laid on me to come hither, that 
 doubtless were I to name it, you would not know it ; 
 for it is a country little spoken of, and the sun itself 
 shines not on it as on yours." 
 
 "And your name, good brother; you are of our 
 older?" 
 
 "I am called Obedientus Obligatus; and I wear 
 your habit, as you see. In old days, before I put it on, 
 they called me Cherubino." 
 
 " Well, good brother," replied the guardian, " you 
 are surely welcome. I would we had aught to otfer 
 you ; but the times go hard with us, and you have 
 chosen an untoward moment for your visit. Tbe men 
 of this city have risen up ag'ainst us, and will do nothing 
 for our support ; and we are even now preparing to go 
 forth and seek new shelter ; for we fear lest if we tarry 
 here, we perish for very want." 
 
 The tall form of the strange friar assumed an air of 
 yet greater majesty as he heard these words ; he pushed 
 back the cowl, and displayed a countenance which struck 
 awe into all who beheld it. The shaven crown was 
 encircled by a single ring of coal-black hair ; the brow 
 was lofty ; and the eyes, deep-sunk in their recesses, sent 
 forth a gleam of fire, as he gazed on the guardian with 
 a look that seemed to penetrate into his heart. His 
 face, too, was pale, and had that look of suffering which
 
 THE DEMON-PREACHER. 183 
 
 might be worn by one who ever bore about him some 
 secret pain; and as he spoke, his lips assumed for a 
 moment a curl almost of contempt. 
 
 " faithless and perverse generation !" he said at 
 length, " are these the soldiers of their Lord, the sons 
 of him who wore the wounds of the crucified, the 
 children of the saints, and the followers of martyrs? 
 Two days of want have come upon you, and where is 
 your confidence ? You trusted and prayed when God 
 gave you abundance, and were ready with pious speeches 
 and brave words when the alms-boxes came home full ; 
 and now, after two days of trial, your faith and courage 
 have all fled away, and you are ready to believe that 
 God's word, which He promised to your fathers, is 
 about to fail ! Therefore do you err grievously, inas- 
 much as you do wrong to the truth and fidelity of the 
 Most High." 
 
 And as he spoke, an expression of new pain shot 
 across his face. 
 
 " Saw you that ?" whispered one of the younger 
 brothers to his nearest neighbour ; " he is surely a 
 saintly soul, whom it grieveth even to speak of sin ; 
 but he is about to speak again. I wot well the secrets 
 of our souls are manifest to him." 
 
 " Yea, they are manifest," said brother Obligatus, 
 turning the lustre of his sparkling eyes full on the last 
 speaker. u And thou who so lately didst give thy 
 vows to God, standest now before Him half resolved to 
 break thy faith, and dally with the gifts and lands of 
 worldlings, lest perchance thou shouldst suft'er too hard 
 an abstinence for thy delicate frame. fools and slow 
 of heart, did ye not know that sooner than one word of 
 His should fail, the angels themselves would bring you 
 food ? nay, the very demons would be forced to serve 
 you, arid minister to your needs." 
 
 rt My father," said the guardian, with a low rever- 
 ence, " you are all unknown to us, yet we see well that 
 you speak by the Spirit of God. We cannot resist or 
 gainsay your words, for they have a strange power
 
 184 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 with them ; and, for my part, I feel that, come what 
 may, I will now die a thousand deaths ere I abandon 
 this house, or infringe one letter of the rule of Francis." 
 
 " Nor I, nor I !" burst from the lips of the brothers. 
 " You have conquered, father, and are to us even as 
 an angel of God ; do with us as you will, for we know 
 verily that He speaks by your mouth." 
 
 What a moment for the tempter ! for it was even 
 he ; he saw how the momentary weakness of the poor 
 friars had but been the occasion of their gaining a new 
 title to the favour of heaven, by their quick penitence 
 at the first word of exhortation. Gladly would he have 
 retired from a scene that only tortured him ; but brother 
 Obligatua had no will of his own ; there was a stronger 
 power than his compelling him to say words which 
 were not his, and which were an agony for him to utter. 
 So covering his face for a moment with his hand (the 
 brethren thought it was to hide the emotion which 
 their words produced), he continued : 
 
 " My brethren, God has been angry ; but He will 
 be appeased by your prayers and humiliation. As to 
 me, the task is mine now to provide in His name for 
 all your wants." 
 
 " Good father," said the giiardian, " if you purpose 
 seeking alms, know that there is none to give them in 
 this town." 
 
 " Fear nothing," replied Father Obligatus ; " but 
 get you to the choir, and cause the gates to be opened, 
 for t will not return empty-handed." 
 
 And now the unwilling preacher found himself com- 
 pelled to go through street after street, stirring up the 
 cold hearts of all he met by his wonderful eloquence. 
 Men gathered after him, and hung upon his words; they 
 felt that nothing could resist the force and magic of his 
 appeals for charity, and all for the love of God. The 
 love of God ! words which carne forth with so sad and 
 sweet a music from his lips, while his very lieait was 
 torn with their utterance. And oh, as he felt forced 
 on to speak to them of the vanity of riches, and the
 
 THE DEMON-PREACHER. 185 
 
 danger of that covetousness which takes the heart from 
 God, and binds it like a galley-slave to Satan, and of 
 the pride and self-love that likens them to devils, and 
 defaces in them the image of the Most High, what a 
 bitter humbling thing it was ! and how he writhed and 
 straggled against the hand that forced him on, whilst 
 men thought it all but the energy of one who laboured 
 for fit words in which to utter his idea, and the zeal 
 for the salvation of souls which so kindled the words 
 of the impassioned speaker ! The alms poured in from 
 all sides, and he was forced to take it, and to carry the 
 heavy bag on his own shoulders, into which every 
 hand was now eager to put something, and so bring 
 his load back to the monastery. 
 
 This went on day after day ; the fame of the won- 
 derful preacher extended even beyond the walls of the 
 city, and strangers crowded to see him from all parts; 
 and when they had once heard him, they felt a new 
 spirit revive in their hearts ; it was a wonderful change. 
 And what was worst of all was to have to wear that 
 meek, lowly look of the poor Capuchin, and to rattle 
 his little box, and cry, " Charity, my masters, charity, 
 for the dear love of God !" and as they dropped their 
 coins into it, to bow low, and promise prayers for his 
 good benefactDrs, and to ask God to bless them and 
 reward their liberality. At a week's end the alms had 
 increased to so enormous an amount that it was judged 
 fitting the surplus should be appropriated in some way, 
 and the universal cry of the citixens was for a new 
 monastery; it seemed as though t'l.ey could never now 
 be weary of Capuchin friars; and brother Obligatus 
 was forced to go about peeking for labourers and masons, 
 urging them on, so that they worked with extraordi- 
 nary rapidity, they hardly knew how ; for the walls 
 seemed to grow under their hands with supernatural 
 speed whenever the brown frock of that wonderful friar 
 was seen standing near the spot. Meanwhile, the friars 
 themselves were not a little perplexed to guess who 
 their strange helper could really be. Some said it was
 
 186 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 Francis come back to earth to help his children ; but 
 those even who most admired Br. Obligatus looked 
 doubtfully on this suggestion; for with all his holy, 
 pious words, they felt as though there was a different 
 air and carnage about him from that of the meek and 
 lowly founder of the Friars Minor. The father-guardian 
 kept a prudent silence ; men said he had received a 
 divine revelation as to the truth ; and so indeed he had, 
 but he did not allow any word of it to escape his lips. 
 Now, on a certain day it chanced that, as he walked to 
 and fro within the convent-garden, he met Obligatus 
 coming from the new building; and though usually he 
 did not seek his company, yet this time he could scarce 
 avoid addressing him. He was the first to speak : 
 " Brother," he said, " how goes on the convent '? is it 
 well advanced ?" " It is finished," said Obligatus, 
 concealing his face as he spoke; for he had become un- 
 easy in the guardian's presence, and did not much relish 
 the glance of his clear g'rey eye. " How ? finished ! 
 why, it was begnan but five months since !" " And they 
 have been five years to me," said the demon, bitterly ; 
 " nevertheless, had I been so permitted, I could have 
 done it in five days." " God does not work miracles 
 without necessity," answered the guardian coldly, for 
 he thought it well not to seem to know more than others. 
 But Obligatus saw that he was discovered; and not 
 caring* to dissemble any longer, he turned fiercely 
 towards his companion, saying, with an impatient ges- 
 ture, " God ! always God ; / could have done it, I say. 
 I am powerful enough for that." " I know you," said 
 the guardian, " and I know that God permits your 
 presence here ; I know, too, that with all your boasted 
 power, you are less strong than our Father Francis." 
 " He powerful !" said Obligatus; "yes, when he prays; 
 a poor sort of power : mine at least is mine own." 
 " And yet you have failed ; the friars have returned 
 to their first faith; the citizens are more devout and 
 liberal than before ; there remains but one task laid on 
 you by heaven to be accomplished, and all your malice
 
 THE DEMON-PREACHER. 187 
 
 will be baffled. Go, then, and convert the merchant 
 Louis from his gold; for it seems to me that there yet 
 lies in store for you a great humiliation." 
 
 In fact, the conversion of Louis was the hardest of 
 all the tasks imposed on Obligatus. He laboured at it 
 night and day, but always without success. The mer- 
 chant could not refuse to see him, for the friar Obliga- 
 tus was a great man in the town, the popular favourite, 
 and the confident of the governor and the city council. 
 Moreover, there was that in his manner which no one 
 dared openly to affront ; so Louis endured his presence 
 and his exhortations ; but he listened to them unmoved, 
 and his heart grew every day harder and harder. At 
 length he fell sick; the physicians declared him in 
 danger of death ; his wife hung over his bed, and im- 
 plored him now at length to think of his soul ; but still 
 he babbled of his money and his trade, and would not 
 hear of priest or prayer, and turned away his head when 
 they showed him the crucifix : it was a hopeless case. 
 " Oh, would to God," said the weeping Octavia, " that 
 the holy friar Obligatus were but here ! Run for him, good 
 Beppo," she added, turning to an attendant, " and tell 
 him that Master Louis is growing worse ; and pray him 
 not to delay, for there is sore need of his presence." " I 
 am here, my daughter," said the deep voice of the friar 
 in her ear ; " Master Louis is indeed in need of prayer 
 and holy words, for his hour is come at last." Then 
 turning to the sick man, his whole form seemed to 
 dilate, as he burst forth in one of those strains of thril- 
 ling eloquence which had so often fascinated the ears 
 of the people during the last five months. He spoke 
 of the soul and of its loss ; its death that never dies, 
 and the anguish of that remorse that comes too late, and 
 never goes away. He spoke of the unquenchable fire, 
 and the hair of the hearers bristled on their heads. 
 " That man must surely have seen the things whereof 
 he. speaks," they whispered ; " speak he of heaven or of 
 hell, it is all one ; it is as though he gazed on them 
 with his very eyes." Yes ; and he spokfl of heaven
 
 188 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 not enjoyed, not possessed but of the eternal regret of 
 one that had been created to enjoy it and to possess it, 
 and had once half tasted of its happiness, and then had 
 lost it, and lost it through his own fajjlt. Oh, the wild 
 weeping, and mourning, and gnashing of teeth, and 
 the cry of long despair of that loss ! How, as he 
 spoke, the doleful sounds of the eternal prison seemed 
 to rise round the bed of the dying man ! it was the loss 
 of God whereof he spoke, of God the supreme beauty, 
 the supreme truth; of God the end of all desires and all 
 love (and the plaintive echoes of his voice seemed full 
 of an unspeakable regret), all lost lost lost ! 
 
 " My master is a bold man," muttered Beppo to an- 
 other attendant ; " I would not for all his money-chests 
 that such words as those should be spoken over my 
 dying bed." But scarcely had Louis heard them, even 
 as Obligatus had uttered the last syllables, the death- 
 rattle was in his throat; and as that last word " lost" 
 came forth from the lips of the speaker, he gave one 
 convulsive motion of the hands, and fell back upon his 
 pillow. Obligatus bent eagerly over him ; he was quite 
 dead. " Mine !" cried the demon with a tone of triumph, 
 "mine own at length. Michael, thou art baffled now !" 
 
 "Alas! the good friar is beside himself," said the 
 bystanders. " Holy father, you have indeed done your 
 utmost with the unhappy man; we pray you take 
 some rest ; your much speaking has overwrought your 
 strength." But as they spoke they perceived that the 
 friar was wrestling as with some strong power, which 
 forced him against his will. Broken sentences burst 
 from his lips : " I cannot nay, I will not lie is mine, 
 I say." Then turning to those who filled the room, 
 " Follow me to the Great Piazza," he said ; " I cannot 
 resist that voice." And so saying he rushed from the 
 room, and into the street ; with hurried step traversed the 
 piazza, till he came to the spot where he had been wont 
 to address the multitudes who flocked to hear him. 
 The news of what had happened soon spread through 
 the place. " The merchant Louis has died impenitent,
 
 THE DEMON-PREACHER. 189 
 
 and demons have carried off his soul," said they one to 
 another ; " doubtless, Father Obligatus hath witnessed 
 the same, and hath much on his mind to speak to us ; 
 it will be a rare discourse." And so curiosity, the hope 
 of hearing-, the well-known eloquence of the friar on so 
 terrible and stirring 1 a subject, soon gathered a vast 
 crowd that filled the piazza from end to end. 
 
 Obligatus stood up before them. What kind of 
 words they were he spoke we dare not attempt to chro- 
 nicle ; but his audience at least had never heard the 
 like. How many a sinner was roused from his dream 
 of luxury and ease bv those words, that seemed as 
 though they opened hell beneath his feet ; how many a 
 cold, indifferent heart now felt for the first moment 
 what it was to have, and to lose, a soul. Yes, Louis 
 had indeed become the victim of his own avarice and im- 
 piety ; but the loss of that one soul was the conversion of 
 thousands. And many a man had afterwards reason to 
 thank God for having 1 witnessed the tragedy of that 
 day, which first brought him to penitence, and saved 
 him from a like fate. 
 
 The last sermon of the demon-friar was ended. He 
 knew the souls it had lost him ; and his moment of 
 triumph was over. Tearing- off his friar's habit, and 
 casting- it from him, he cried, " Francis ! the truce be- 
 tween us is at an end. I have done thy work, and thou 
 hast conquered." Then turning- to the astonished multi- 
 tude, "Go to the father-g-uardian of the Capuchins/' 
 he said, " and to-morrow he will declare to you what 
 these things mean ; but never more will ye behold the 
 Friar Obligatus." As he spoke, he disappeared, men 
 scarcely knew how ; nor was he ever seen again. The 
 strangeness of his last words, and the casting away of 
 the holy habit, perplexed them sorely, till the truth 
 was declared, and then a yet more solemn awe fell 
 upon their souls ; nor has the tradition of this event 
 ever been lost ; but far and wide, through many a city 
 of Italy, and in other lands, may still be found, in broken 
 fragments, the legend of the Demon-preacher.
 
 190 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 
 
 AT the close of the year 148}, on the eve of St. Tho- 
 mas, the deputies of the free Confederation of High 
 Germany met in full assembly at Stantz, in the canton 
 of Unterwald. They were, for the most part, men who, 
 by their bravery and skill in battle, no less than by their 
 wisdom and prudence in time of peace, had acquired 
 great consideration among- their countrymen; and they 
 had assembled on this occasion to deliberate upon 
 matters of the gravest import to the common welfare. 
 
 At this period the cities and states of the Swiss 
 Confederation were at the height of their prosperity ; 
 the fruit of three memorable victories over the forces of 
 the Duke of Burgomdy. 
 
 Six years had not elapsed since the first of these 
 that of Granson. In this famous engagement, the 
 Confederates had humbled the haug'hty arrog-ance of 
 Charles the Bold : his fine army, three times stronger 
 than their own, had been cut in pieces; and this 
 hitherto unconquered hero, the master of the richest 
 provinces on this side the Alps the two Btirgundies, 
 Gueldres, and almost all Belgium, this warrior, before 
 whom France trembled, and whom Lorraine had been 
 unable to resist, fled from the field of battle with only 
 six companions. Four hundred pieces of artillery, six 
 hundred banners, his ducal hat, his sword of state, 
 the three large diamonds, celebrated through Eu- 
 rope, which were destined at a subsequent period to 
 adorn the crowns of mighty potentates; in a word, a 
 camp which was unequalled in riches and magnificence 
 throughout Christendom, and could onlv be compared 
 to the camps of the Turks, fell into the hands of poor 
 mountaineers, who, with the help of God, had defended 
 their liberty against the cupidity and pride of a foreign 
 foe.
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 191 
 
 The second battle took place on the plains of Morat. 
 Charles of Burgundy was supported by Savoy, Milan, 
 and Italy. The Swiss had for auxiliaries, Austria, the 
 cities of Alsace, and Rene 1 , Duke of Lorraine. The 
 Confederates fought with unabated heroism, and all the 
 might of Burgundy failed to overpower them. His 
 army was again routed with enormous loss, and Charles 
 fled a second time, having* with him only thirty men. 
 The Confederates, after the battle, fell on their knees in 
 thanksgiving- for the success of their arms; the trumpets 
 poured forth a joyous blast; messengers, decorated with 
 green branches, ran in all haste through the towns and 
 villages, and the bells rang- out exulting- peals ; sounds 
 of triumph echoed from the depths of the valley to the 
 solitary chalet at the foot of those eternal glaciers, 
 where dwell the chamois and the vulture. 
 
 The third of these great battles was fought by the 
 Swiss near Nancy. The Burgundian, in his despair, 
 had collected all that remained of his forces, and having 
 on this occasion to contend with troops superior to his 
 own, he displayed a valour worthy of his name and 
 ancestors. But all his efforts were in vain; and Charles, 
 the last of his house on the throne of Burgundy, was 
 once more totally defeated. 
 
 The reputation of the Swiss became so great in con- 
 sequence of these successes, that the most powerful 
 princes of Europe sent ambassadors to their assemblies, 
 and sought their alliance. At the negotiations held at 
 Zurich, in 1478, for concluding peace with Burg-undy, 
 were to be seen envoys from the Emperor of Germany, 
 the King of France, the Archduke of Austria, and 
 counts and lords from far and near. The Swiss had 
 no longer a single enemy to fear. 
 
 But notwithstanding these brilliant victories, these 
 distinguished marks of respect, and their increasing in- 
 ternal prosperity, the deputies of the Confederates as- 
 sembled at Stantz in 1481 did not wear so serene an 
 aspect as might have been expected. They cast at one 
 another dark and distrustful glances; and none would
 
 192 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 have conjectured that these were the same men who, a 
 little before, had fought so loyally one for the other, 
 and who had owed the success of their ai-ms to their 
 unbroken unity. But the Swiss of that age were men; 
 and the men of that day were little different from those 
 of the present; the very prosperity which God had 
 granted them became their misfortune. Their coffers 
 were full of gold ; but the old manner of life, in which 
 their fathers found strength and contentment, had be- 
 come distasteful to them. The immense booty taken 
 from the Burgundians, and the payments made on va- 
 rious accounts by France, had occasioned large sums of 
 money to circulate among the people; and the Swiss, 
 overcome by the seductions of gold, had lost something 
 of their pure and disinterested love for their country. 
 The heart of more than one old Confederate must have 
 bled to see the ancient sentiments of loyalty and the fear 
 of God so visibly declining among the people; and 
 their former simplicity and purity of manners giving 
 place insensibly to corruption and disorder. The autho- 
 rities sought zealously to arrest the progress of evil. 
 But laws could not long preserve their vigour, when 
 vice poisoned the soul of the community. The arro- 
 gance of youth no longer yielded the respect due to 
 age ; and this deterioration of manners threatened to 
 bring about the ruin of the country. 
 
 The minds of the Confederates had been already so 
 warped by jealousy and selfishness, that the members 
 of the assembly of Stantz could come to no mutual un- 
 derstanding', and were unceasingly embittered against 
 each other. There were two parties in the assembly at 
 variance with each other; that of the towns, and that of 
 the country. The peasants of Uri, of Schwytz, and 
 Untenvalden, cantons which gave birth to the Swiss 
 League, who pastured their flocks in safety in high val- 
 leys, inaccessible to the enemy, desired peace beyond 
 every thing; and distrusted the ambition and cupidity 
 of the citizens, who would draw them needlessly into 
 interminable wars. They sought to maintain the Swiss
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 193 
 
 Confederation within its ancient limits, and were not dis- 
 posed to strengthen the opposite party by the admission 
 of new towns. On the contrary, the towns of Lucerne, 
 of Berne, and of Zurich exerted themselves to obtain 
 admittance into the Confederation for Soleure and Fri- 
 bourg; because they themselves lay exposed to the at- 
 tacks of the enemy, Switzerland not having as yet any 
 natural frontier; and these towns had fought faithfully 
 for Switzerland in the wars against Charles, and the 
 Confederates in the hour of danger had promised to 
 admit them into the league. 
 
 To this source of discord was added the envy ex- 
 cited by the division of the Burgundian booty and the 
 foreign subsidies. It was in vain that the cantons of 
 Glarus and Zug sought to interpose their mediation, and 
 that meetings were held in various places to reconcile 
 differences. And now the Confederates were assembled 
 for consultation for the last time at Stantz. The ani- 
 mosity of party, however, was so great, that after three 
 sessions of angry debates, the members rose with agi- 
 tated countenances, and separated without taking lea ye 
 of one another, to meet ag^ain, perhaps, only in the con- 
 flict of civil war. That which neither the power of 
 Austria, nor the audacious might of Charles of Bur- 
 gundy, had ever been able to accomplish, the Swiss 
 were themselves in danger of bringing about by their 
 internal dissensions; and the liberty and happiness of 
 their country stood in the most imminent peril. 
 
 These considerations filled all g'ood citizens with 
 sorrow and alarm ; and, amongst others, a cure of Stantz, 
 named Henri Im Grand, a Lucernois, and a man full 
 of pietv and zeal for the good of his country. As he re- 
 flected on the danger which threatened her, his thoughts 
 turned to the holy hermit, Brother Nicholas, of Kauft. 
 " This man," said he to himself, " lives in the presence of 
 God ; a divine blessing is certainly with him ; all honour 
 him as a saint ; he is, perhaps, the only man whose voice 
 will command attention from these adverse parties." 
 The man of God rose up, took his staff, and ascending 
 o
 
 194 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 the valley of Enstmosn, crossed the Kernwald to the 
 peaceful solitude where dwelt the hermit-saint. 
 
 Let us leave the good cure" to accomplish his journey 
 with the help of God; he has almost four leagues to 
 travel, and the Swiss leagues are a good measure ; and 
 while we meantime inquire who is this Brother Nicholas, 
 and in what manner a poor hermit in his solitude has 
 acquired such influence and authority. 
 
 The man who at this epoch, not only in the moun- 
 tains of Switzerland, but even through Christendom, was 
 known and venerated under the name of Nicholas de 
 Flue, was born in the higher valley of Unterwald sixty- 
 four years previously (in 1417), at the time the bishops 
 of the Catholic Church sat in the Council of Constance. 
 The cottage of his parents was situated in a peaceful 
 and woody country, near the high mountains of Sachs- 
 len. Not far distant is the beautiful lake of the four 
 cantons, surrounded by smiling meadows, and enamelled 
 with odoriferous flowers ; its waters are clear as a mir- 
 ror ; all manner of fish may be seen sporting in its 
 depths, and every variety of aquatic plants floating on 
 its surface. From the crystal basin which laves their 
 foot, the mountains rise high into the azure regions of 
 the air, and upon their declivity are the pretty huts of 
 the shepherds sheltered by dark forests; while grazing 
 flocks give life to the landscape : the lofty summits of 
 these mountains are covered witli eternal snows, and 
 penetrate the clouds, towering far above all surround- 
 ing objects. Upon the shores of the lake, in the val- 
 leys, and on the hills, are charming villages, beautiful 
 churches, and modest chapels. Crosses in many parts 
 mark the spots where a good action has been performed, 
 or a crime committed; or where the wild and frightful 
 aspect of nature makes the heart shudder from the con- 
 sciousness of guilt, and cast itself helplessly on God. 
 Four cantons, Uri, Schwytz, Lucerne, and Unterwalden, 
 the native country of Brother Nicholas, surround this 
 beautiful lake; the whole forming a magnificent pano-
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 195 
 
 rama of mountains, elevating- the soul by its grandeur and 
 variety. It was here that IN icholas de Flue was born ; in 
 one of these solitary valleys, where the silence is broken 
 only by the bell of the herd, the wild song of the birds 
 of the forest, and the murmur of Alpine torrents. He 
 was descended from a race of good and pious shepherds, 
 in whom were transmitted from father to son the ancient 
 virtues of the Swiss, and who enjoyed during successive 
 centuries the esteem of their fellow-countrymen. His 
 parents had an honest competence; and, after the ex- 
 ample of their fathers, they adhered stedfastly to the 
 true and ancient faith, respected the laws of their 
 country, and brought up their children in piety and 
 virtue. They tended their flocks with unwearied care ; 
 and, after a life of tranquillity, fell asl ep in God, full 
 of confidence; for they had walked before Him, like the 
 patriarchs, to the borders of Jordan. The young Ni- 
 cholas grew up beneath their salutary tutelage, and 
 manifested always an obedient spirit and a love of vir- 
 tue ; gentle and pious even from the days of his child- 
 hood. It was often remarked by those around him, 
 that after the hnrd labour of a whole day in the fields, 
 when he returned home in the evening-, he would dis- 
 appear by stealth to pray in some secret place. His 
 spirit began.tlius early to mortify the body, in order to 
 give itself without distraction to elevated contemplation. 
 When some one, out of kindness, warned him not to 
 ruin his health in his youth by such severe fasts as he 
 wi* accustomed to observe, he replied, with sweetness, 
 that such was the will of God concerning him. Not- 
 withstanding his fervent and austere devotion, his de- 
 meanour was cheerful and affable ; and he discharged 
 with fidelity all tho duties which his condition of life 
 imposed upon him. He entered upon manhood en- 
 dowed with a noble firmness of soul, a penetrating in- 
 telligence, and great purity of heart. In his twenty- 
 third year he took arms, at the call of the magistrate!-:, 
 in the rrnnp:iirn against Zurich ; and again, fourteen 
 years later, at the time of the occupation of Thurgovia,
 
 196 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 when he commanded, as captain, a company of 100 
 men, and manifested such bravery, that his country 
 decreed him a gold medal as a recompense. A yet 
 more honourable circumstance in the same expedition 
 was the saving- of the monastery of the valley of St. 
 Catherine, near Diessenhofen, which to this day reveres 
 him as its deliverer. It was owing 1 to his exhortations 
 that the Swiss relinquished their desig-n of setting- fire 
 to the abbey, in order to expel the enemy, who aban-., 
 doned it soon after of their own accord. In battle he 
 carried his sword in one hand, his chaplet in the other : 
 he showed himself at once a fearless soldier and a 
 merciful Christian, protecting- the widow and the 
 orphan, and not permitting- the conquerors to perpetrate 
 acts of violence ag-ainst the vanquished. 
 
 Arrived at manhood. Nicholas married, in obedience 
 to the wishes of his parents; choosing- from among- the 
 maidens of the canton a virtuous young- girl, named 
 Dorothy Wysyling-. They had ten children, five sons 
 and five daughters, from whom sprang a numerous and 
 honourable posterity, which never lost the remembrance 
 of its ancestors. 
 
 Nicholas was himself unanimously elected governor 
 and judge of Obwalden. His conduct in this important 
 post may be gathered from what the cure, Henri Im 
 Grand, his director and friend, revealed after his death. 
 Nicholas had one day said to him on this subject, " I 
 have received from God the gift of an upright spirit. I 
 have been often consulted in the affairs of my country ; 
 I have also pronounced many judgments ; but, through 
 Divine grace, I do not remember to have acted against 
 my conscience in any thing : I have never regarded 
 persons, nor have I ever departed from the ways of 
 justice." The high dignity of Landamman was decreed 
 him by the General Assembly several rimes ; but ne 
 feared the great responsibility ; and, without doubt, lie 
 felt also that God had reserved him for some other and 
 greater tiling. 
 
 Nicholas had thus lived fifty years for the good
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 197 
 
 of his country and family, and esteemed by all, when, 
 in the year 1467, he felt himself moved by an ardent 
 desire of being 1 more intimately united with God, in a 
 life of entire separation from the world. His eldest 
 son, Jean de Flue, thus speaks of him : " My father 
 always retired to rest at the same time as his children 
 and servants; but every night I saw him rise again, 
 and heard him praying in his chamber until morning 1 . 
 Many times, also, he would repair in the silence of the 
 night to the old church of St. Nicholas, or to other holy 
 places. These hours of solitude were to him the hap- 
 piest moments of his life ; and the interior impulse be- 
 came even more powerful to consecrate the remainder 
 of his life to the devout contemplation of eternal truths. 
 God also favoured him frequently with miraculous inti- 
 mations of His divine will. On one occasion, when he 
 went to visit his flock at a place called Berg-natt, ac- 
 cording to his wont, he knelt upon the grass, and began 
 to pray, when God vouchsafed him a consoling vision. 
 He beheld a fragrant lily, white as snow, come out of 
 his mouth, and rise towards heaven. Whilst he regaled 
 himself with the perfume and beauty of the flower, his 
 flock came gambolling towards him, and amongst them 
 a noble horse. As he turned to look, the lily inclined 
 itself towards the horse, which advanced and drew it 
 from his mouth ; by which Nicholas was made to un- 
 derstand that the treasure to which he should aspire 
 was in heaven; and if his heart was not wholly detached 
 from the things of earth, he would forfeit the possession 
 of the celestial joys reserved for him." 
 
 Another time, while engaged in the ordinary busi- 
 ness of his house, he saw three men approach him, of 
 venerable aspect, one of whom addressed him thus : 
 
 " Tell us, Nicholas, will you put body and soul into 
 our power ?" 
 
 " I give myself to none," replied he, "but the Al- 
 mighty God, whom I have long desired to serve with 
 my soul and body." 
 
 At these words the strangers turned with a smile
 
 198 CATHOLIC LEUENDS. 
 
 one towards the other, and the first answered : " Be- 
 cause thou hast given thyself wholly to God, and art 
 bound to Him for ever, I promise that in the ?0th year 
 of thine age thou shalt be delivered from all the troubles 
 of this world. Remain, then, constant in thy resolu- 
 tion, and thou shalt carry in heaven a victorious banner 
 in the midst of the armies of God, if thou hast borne 
 with patience the cross that we leave thee." 
 
 Upon this the three men disappeared. These and 
 similar apparitions confirmed him in his resolution of 
 separating- from the world. At length he disclosed to 
 his wife the desire of his soul, and entreated her, for the 
 love of God, to g-ive him permission to fulfil the voca- 
 tion which God had indicated to him. She consented 
 with calm resignation, and Nicholas began at once to 
 arrange the affairs of his house, assigning- to each of his 
 children his part of the inheritance. He then assembled 
 all his household, his old father, 70 years of age, his 
 wife, his children, and his friends : he appeared before 
 them barefoot and bareheaded, clothed in the long robe 
 of a pilgrim, with a staff and chaplet in his hand ; he 
 thanked them for all the kindness they had shown him, 
 exhorted them for the last time to fear God before all 
 things ; then he gave them his blessing and departed. 
 That this separation was a trial to him, was evidenced 
 by his frequent expressions of thankfulness to God that 
 He had strengthened him to overcome for His service 
 the love he bore to his wife and children. 
 
 Nicholas set out for the place whither God should 
 see good to lead him with a tranquil heart : he would 
 not remain in his own neighbourhood, lest be should 
 become a subject of scandal, and be regarded as an im- 
 postor assuming an appearance of sanctity ; at the same 
 time he dreaded ostentation, and endeavoured to conceal 
 his great piety as much as possible from the eyes of 
 men. Crossing the fertile valleys and the verdant 
 mountains of his country, he arrived at the limits of 
 the Confederation. When not far from Aaran, upon 
 the Hanenstein, which then separated Burgiindy from
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 199 
 
 Switzerland, at a spot whence he could see beyond the 
 frontiers the little town of Liechtstall, he had a remark- 
 able vision. The town, with its houses and towers, ap- 
 peared to him enveloped in flames. Terrified with this 
 spectacle, he entered into conversation with a peasant 
 whom he found in a neighbouring' farm-house ; and after 
 some preliminary discourse, he made known to him his 
 purpose, begging him to point out a solitary spot where 
 he might be able to carry it into effect. This man 
 counselled him to remain in his own country; because, 
 as the Confederates were not always well received in 
 other parts, he might be unfavourably regarded, and his 
 retreat be disturbed ; besides, there were deserts enough 
 in Switzerland where he might serve God in peace. 
 Brother Nicholas thanked his host for this good counsel, 
 and retook the same evening the road to his native 
 place. He passed the night in a field in the open air, 
 reflecting on the end of his pilgrimage, and praying 
 God to enlighten him. Soon he fell asleep, but sud- 
 denly beheld himself surrounded with a bright light, 
 and it seemed to him as though a cord drew him to- 
 wards his own country. This supernatural light pene- 
 trated his whole interior, and caused him, as he after- 
 wards declared, a suffering as from the sharp incisions 
 of a knife. The following morning he rose, and went 
 the same day without stopping as far as Melchthal, his 
 native place : he repaired to one of his pastures called 
 the Kluster ; there he made a little hut of branches and 
 leaves under a strong- larch, in the midst of thorny 
 bushes, and remained without discovery till the eighth 
 day, neither eating nor drinking, but absorbed in prayer 
 
 1 1 * i i n i I / 
 
 and meditation on divine things. Some hunters in 
 pursuit of game in the forest first became aware of his 
 retreat, and spoke of him to his brother Pierre dp Flue, 
 who came to entreat him not to suffer himself to die 
 with hunger in so wild a solitude. Brother Nicholas 
 begged him to be without uneasiness on his account,, 
 since he had experienced no evil result up to that time. 
 Nevertheless, that he might not seem to tempt God, he
 
 200 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 sent secretly for the cur6 of Kerns, a venerable priest, 
 named Oswald Isner, and acquainted him with the whole 
 case. This good man gave the following testimony after 
 the hermit's death, as may be read in the parish record 
 of the year 1488: 
 
 "When Br. Nicholas had passed eleven days without 
 food, he sent for me, and asked me whether he should 
 take some nourishment or continue his trial, as he had 
 always desired to be able to live without eating, in order 
 to be more effectually separated from created things. 
 When I saw and comprehended that this could come 
 only from the source of divine love, I counselled Br 
 Nicholas to persevere as long as he found himself able ; 
 and from this time to the day of his death, a period of 
 more than twenty years, he continued to dispense with 
 bodily food. As the pious brother was more familiar 
 with me than with any other person, I sought earnestly 
 to learn from him how his strength was sustained ; and 
 one day he told me in great secrecy, that when he 
 assisted at Mass, and the priest communicated, he re- 
 ceived a strength which enabled him to refrain from all 
 other nourishment." 
 
 When the fame of this miraculous life spread abroad, 
 people flocked from all parts to see a man whom God 
 had so distinguished, and to convince themselves of its 
 reality by personal observation. It may well be ima- 
 gined that no woodsman in the canton went to fell a tree, 
 no shepherd to visit his pastures, without seeking an 
 interview with this wonderful inhabitant of the solitude. 
 His quiet life was in consequence so much disturbed, 
 that he determined to seek a more isolated spot. After 
 traversing several of the wildest valleys with this in- 
 tention, he beheld above a gloomy gorge, down which 
 the Melch precipitates itself with deafening roar, a 
 brilliant light descending from heaven. Obedient to 
 this indication of the will of God, he built there a little 
 hut, surrounded with thick underwood, situated only a 
 quarter of a league from his former house. But the 
 same year, his neighbours, the inhabitants of Obwalden,
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 201 
 
 edified by his holy life, and knowing- him to be neither 
 an impostor nor a vain enthusiast, built him a chapel 
 with a small cell attached, and presented it to him as a 
 mark of their affection. Brother Nicholas entered this 
 new dwelling 1 , and continued there to serve God in the 
 same supernatural life. Meanwhile the renown of his 
 extraordinary mode of existence extended far and wide : 
 many were unwilling" to believe that a man could thus 
 live miraculously by the sole grace of the Almighty, 
 whilst others glorified God on his behalf. 
 
 It was only on Sundays and festival days that he 
 left his cell, and assisted with the rest of the parishioners 
 at divine service in the church of Sachslen. Once a 
 year he repaired to Lucerne for the great procession, 
 and to visit the celebrated places of pilgrimage, as well 
 as those to which the Church had granted indulgences. 
 When the journey became too fatiguing on account of 
 his advanced age, and the gifts of pious persons enabled 
 him to procure the services of a priest, he heard Mass 
 daily in his own chapel, and confessed and received the 
 Holy Communion frequently. He consecrated to the 
 service of God all the hours from midnight to midday, 
 at which time he prayed and meditated, especially on 
 the passion of Jesus Christ our Saviour, who, as he said, 
 communicated to him in the exercise a miraculous 
 strength, a supernatural food. 
 
 During the remainder of the day, from midday to 
 the evening', he received those who visited him ; or, when 
 the weather was fine, he would traverse the mountains 
 praying-, or visit his friend Brother Ulrich, and con- 
 verse with him on divine things. Ulrich was a German 
 gentleman originally from Bavaria, who, after many 
 remarkable adventures, had quitted the world to es- 
 tablish himself near Nicholas in this solitude. Lodged 
 in the hollow of a rock, he led a life similar to his, 
 save only that he could not dispense with food, which 
 the pious country-people provided for him. In the 
 evening Brother Nicholas resumed his prayers; then he 
 went to take a short repose upon his couch, which con
 
 202 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 sisted only of two planks, with a piece of wood or a stone 
 for a pillow. 
 
 The holy and miraculous life of a man so entirely 
 separated from the world, inspired all Christians, without 
 distinction of rank, with such confidence in the power 
 of his prayers, and in the wisdom of his counsels, that 
 in the Swiss cantons and elsewhere, whoever was in 
 trouble or anxiety, or desired sound advice in public or 
 private affairs, went to seek Brother Nicholas in his 
 asylum, to receive from him direction and consolation, 
 and to recommend himself to his prayers. Generals 
 and statesmen, bishops and scholars, did not think it 
 beneath their dignity to visit, in these wild defiles, this 
 poor hermit, who could neither read nor write ; and they 
 went away astonished at the simple wisdom, the clear 
 and profound insight into thing's divine and human which 
 he manifested. Those who from far and near repaired 
 in pilgrimage to Einsiedeln, to invoke the holy Mother 
 of God, did not think they could return in peace to their 
 firesides, if they had not visited and conversed with 
 Brother Nicholas. 
 
 It need not, then, excite astonishment that the cure 
 Henri Im Grand should have placed his hope in Brother 
 Nicholas. Let us now see how the zealous priest suc- 
 ceeded in his undertaking. 
 
 Night was already far advanced when the cure 
 Henri arrived before the hermitage. The cell where 
 the pious brother had lived for so many years was so 
 low that he touched the ceiling with his head : it was 
 not three feet in length, and only half that width; to 
 the right and left were little windows the size of a man's 
 hand, and a door and window opened to the chapel. 
 No other furniture was to be seen but the bed, with its 
 old gray coverlet, on which the hermit reposed. 
 
 The good cure explained to the brother the great 
 danger in which the country was involved : he informed 
 him how deplorable had been the issue of the assembly, 
 and implored him in the name of God to come and succour
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 203 
 
 his poor country in the present emergency. Brother 
 Nicholas replied with his usual calm gravity : " Return," 
 said he, " to Stantz ; tell the envoys of the Confedera- 
 tion that Brother Nicholas has something 1 to propose to 
 them, and that he will repair to them speedily." 
 
 The cure, full of hope, resumed his journey with all 
 possible speed ; he hastened to the inns where the de- 
 puties were preparing for departure, and conjured them, 
 with tears in his eyes, in the name of God and of 
 Brother Nicholas, to be again reconciled, and to listen 
 for the last time to the counsels and proposition of the 
 pious hermit. They consented ; and some hours after, 
 the brother appeared in the midst of the assembly. 
 
 Notwithstanding his great age, Nicholas had per- 
 formed this long and difficult journey without resting ; 
 his fine majestic figure, which time had scarcely bent, 
 was to be seen advancing across the market-place of 
 Stantz to the town-hall. He wore, according to custom, 
 his simple dark-coloured dress, which descended to his 
 feet; he carried his chaplet in one hand, and grasped 
 his staff with the other ; he was, as usual, barefoot and 
 bareheaded ; and his long hair, a little touched by the 
 snows of age, fell upon his shoulders. When the holy 
 man entered the hall before all the Confederates, ancl 
 they beheld the peace which irradiated his countenance, 
 anct the heavenly light which shone from his eyes, a 
 profound veneration for the humble servant of God 
 penetrated the whole assembly, and they responded to 
 his friendly salutation by rising spontaneously and 
 bowing low before him. After a few moments, silence 
 was broken by the fine and sonorous voice of the her- 
 mit, who addressed them thus : 
 
 " Dear lords, faithful Confederates, I salute you in 
 the name of God, our good Father and Master, who 
 has sent me here, that I may exhort you touching your 
 dissensions, which are likely to bring about the ruin of 
 our beloved country. I am a poor unlearned man; but 
 I will give yon counsel in all the sincerity of my heart, 
 and will speak to you as God inspires me. Would
 
 204 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 that my words may bring 1 you to unity and peace! 
 dear Confederates ! discuss your affairs in a spirit of 
 friendship and kindness ; for one good leads to another. 
 Believe me that it is to a stedfast union that you and 
 your fathers owe your prosperity. And since, in re- 
 compense of this concord, God has vouchsafed you such 
 noble victories, would you, through jealousy and avarice, 
 separate to your mutual destruction ? Keep yourselves 
 carefully from all dissension, from all distrust ; in God 
 we ought always to find peace : God, who is peace it- 
 self, is not subject to any change ; but discord is the 
 parent of change, and leads to destruction. For this 
 cause I conjure you, dear Confederates of the country, 
 receive into your alliance the two good towns of Fri- 
 bourg and Soleure; they have given you faithful succour 
 in danger, they have suffered with you good and bad 
 fortune, and they have lost much in your cause. I 
 will not only exhort and counsel you, I will also en- 
 treat you earnestly, because I know that it is the will 
 of God. A time will come when you will have great 
 need of His assistance and support. And you, Confe- 
 derates of the cities ! renounce these rights of security 
 which you have established witli these two cities ; for 
 they are a source of discord. Do not extend too far 
 the circle of the Confederation, that you may the better 
 maintain peace and unity, and enjoy in repose the 
 liberty so dearly purchased. Do not meddle with too 
 many external affairs, nor ally yourselves with foreign 
 powers. dear Confederates ! accept neither presents 
 nor subsidies of money, that you may not appear to 
 have sold your country for gold, that jealousy and 
 selfishness may not germinate amongst you and poison 
 your hearts. Preserve in all your relations your na- 
 tural justice; divide the booty according to the service 
 rendered, the conquered lands according to the locali- 
 ties. Do not be drawn into unjust wars by the hope 
 of pillage; live in peace and in good understanding 
 with your neighbours ; if they attack you, defend your 
 country valiantly, and fight like staunch men. Practise
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 205 
 
 justice amongst yourselves, and love one another as 
 Christian allies. May God protect you, and be with 
 you for all eternity !" 
 
 Thus spoke Nicholas de Flue; and God gave His 
 grace to the words of the holy anchorite, says the 
 worthy chronicler Ischudi; so that in one hour all 
 difficulties were smoothed away, and base passions 
 were silent through shame before the severe counsel 
 of a man who appeared before this assembly with 
 his hands raised towards heaven, even as a prophet sent 
 from God. 
 
 The Confederates, in accordance with Nicholas's ad- 
 vice, received into their league the towns of Fribourg 
 and Soleure ; the ancient treaties of alliance were con- 
 firmed, and further consolidated by being established 
 on the basis of new laws unanimously enacted. The 
 pacification of all the Swiss cantons, the maintenance of 
 public order, and of the authority of the magistrates 
 against the disturbers of the peace, the division of booty 
 according to the rule given by Nicholas, such were the 
 points upon which the Confederates, who had so long 
 contended with so much animosity, came this same day 
 to an entire agreement. 
 
 The brother returned the same evening to his peace- 
 ful hermitage. At Stantz the bells were rung, and 
 sounds of rejoicing floated across the lakes and through 
 the valleys to all the villages and towns of Switzerland, 
 from the snowy heights of St. Gothard to the smiling 
 plains of Thurgovia. There was as much joy and glad- 
 ness every where as after the victories of Granson and 
 Morat, and with as just cause : for there the Confede- 
 rates had delivered their country from foreign enemies; 
 here they saved it from their own passions. Their true 
 deliverer, who had obtained for them this victory over 
 themselves, was the poor Brother Nicholas, and as such 
 he was every where recognised and extolled. 
 
 The towns and countries of the Confederation, and 
 above all Soleure and Fribourg, satisfied with the happy 
 termination of their dissensions, testified their gratitude
 
 206 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 to the brother by sending him letters of thanks and 
 precious gifts. He accepted the latter only when they 
 were destined to adorn the chapel, for he wished that 
 they should honour God alone as the author of all good. 
 In accordance with this desire, the inhabitants of Soleiire 
 sent him twenty gold florins to found a perpetual mass. 
 Fribourg did the same. Berne sent a courier with a 
 letter of thanksgiving and a handsome present. The 
 answer which the brother returned, through the medium 
 of his son John, exists to this day in the archives of 
 Soleure, to which city it was presented by Berne. So- 
 leure also testified her gratitude to the cure Henri Im 
 Grand, who had brought the brother to Stantz. From 
 this time the general veneration for, and confidence in, 
 Brother Nicholas increased continually. 
 
 Nicholas lived six years longer in his peaceful re- 
 treat, rich in benedictions. At length the time arrived 
 when God would call His faithful servant from the mi- 
 series of the world to eternal joys in His unchangeable 
 presence. 
 
 The whole life of the saint had been an unceasing 
 combat with his earthly nature, a combat which was to 
 continue to his latest hour, in order that he might be 
 adorned in heaven with crowns of patience and meek- 
 ness, virtues which had enabled him to support every 
 trial on earth. Before his death God sent him a sharp 
 sickness, in which indescribable pains penetrated to the 
 very marrow of his bones. In this condition of suffer- 
 ing he turned from side to side, writhing upon his 
 couch like a worm trodden under foot. These fright- 
 ful pains lasted eight days, during which his body was 
 as it were annihilated : he bore them with perfect resig- 
 nation, and continued to exhort those who surrounded 
 his bed of death so to conduct themselves in this life 
 that they might leave it with a peaceful conscience. 
 " Death," said he, " is terrible ; but it is still more 
 terrible to fall into the hands of the living God." 
 When his pains were a little relieved, and the moment of 
 death drew near, Nicholas desired with all the ardour
 
 THE HERMIT NICHOLAS. 20? 
 
 of devotion to receive the sacred Body of the Saviour, 
 and to be strengthened by the Sacrament of Extreme 
 Unction. Near the dying- man stood his faithful com- 
 panion Brother Ulrich, his old friend Henri Im Grand, 
 and the pious anchorite Cecil, who after his death led 
 for seventy years the same solitary life in a neighbour- 
 ing cell ; his faithful wife and children also gathered 
 round him. In their presence he received the holy 
 Sacraments with tokens of deep humility ; then he 
 thanked God anew for all the oenefits He had dis- 
 pensed to liim, prostrated himself, and died the death 
 of the just. 
 
 This event took place on the first day of the spring 
 of the year 1487, the feast of St. Benedict, the same 
 on which seventy years previous he was bora. 
 
 The lily had been the favourite symbol of this pure 
 calm soul; the lily in flower, resplendent with a divine 
 glory, was Brother Nicholas himself, the humble ser- 
 vant of God, whose name it is said even St. Charles 
 Borromeo never pronounced but with uncovered head. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 The magistrates of the canton, desiring to verify the fact of 
 the monastic life of Blessed Nicholas, sent officers, who, for the 
 space of a month, occupied day and night all the avenues of his 
 retreat, in order that no person might bring provisions. Thomas, 
 Suffragan Bishop of Constance, subjected the brother to a similar 
 test when he consecrated the chapel; and after him, Bishop 
 Otho visited the hermit. The Archduke Sigismond of Austria 
 sent, for tne same purpose, his physician, the learned and skilful 
 Binkard de Ilorneck, in order that he might attentively observe 
 Nicholas during several days and nights. Frederic 111., Empe- 
 ror of Germany, also appointed delegates to examine him ; but 
 all these expedients served only to eoniirm the truth. Those 
 who visited him were so struck with the piety and humility of 
 the servant of God, that all their doubts vanished, and they left 
 him penetrated with the most profound respect. When asked 
 how he could exist without food, his simple reply was, " God 
 knows."
 
 208 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 THE MARTYR OF RCEUX. 
 
 " AT the time when the children of Clovis reigned in 
 Gaul," says an old chronicle, "there was in Ireland a 
 king by name Finnloga, who had a brother, the pious,, 
 Bishop Brendan. Adfm, one of the king's of Scotland, 
 had a daughter named Gelges, who had embraced the 
 religion of Christ. King Finnloga' s son was smitten 
 with her beauty, and married her, but privately, be- 
 cause it was necessary to conceal it from King Adfm, 
 who was an implacable enemy of the faith. He 
 soon discovered it, however, and had his daughter seized 
 and condemned to be burnt. In vain his relations and 
 other persons of influence represented to him that man 
 ought not to separate what God had joined ; he or- 
 dered the stake to be prepared. But no sooner had 
 Gelge"s placed her foot upon the burning wood than it 
 was extinguished. Her father was not convinced by 
 this prodigy, but he consented to spare the life of his 
 daughter, and he condemned her to perpetual exile. 
 She retired with her husband to good Bishop Brendan, 
 her uncle, and there gave birth to three sons Fursy, 
 Foi'llan, and Ultan. On the death of their grandfather, 
 Finnloga, their father was raised to the throne ; but 
 instead of returning to the court, they resolved, by 
 Brendan's instructions, to devote themselves to the 
 service of God, and they embarked as missionaries for 
 Gaul." So far the chronicler. 
 
 Fursy, after many labours and hardships, attained 
 the crown of martyrdom. Foi'llan, the second brother, 
 was preparing on the 31st October, 655, the day on 
 which our narrative commences, to leave Nivelles, where 
 he had been resting for a short space. Gertrude was 
 at this time the abbess of the convent of Nivelles, and 
 had s*iven to FoVllan, in 6H3, the domain of Fosses, where
 
 THE MARTYR OF R(EUX. 209 
 
 he had built a church and monastery, the tower of 
 which, in fact, exists to this day. His brother Ultan 
 was now at the monastery of Fosses, and Foi'llan was 
 to join him ; but before doing- so he wished to 
 te the festival of All Saints with his friend the 
 BhKjncent Maldegher. He took his journey there- 
 fore throdtli an opening- in the forest by the route of 
 hore he was to receive hospitality for the 
 astery of Vincent. 
 
 g many intricate paths in solitude 
 I wj^fcut meeting- any living- being; and 
 ^HIs he thougiit, lost his way, he began 
 to M ^Psome human habitation where he might 
 
 obtani ^pffid direction. At last he perceived some 
 rude strawM)uilt huts, and thither he accordingly di- 
 rected his steps. This was the hamlet of Sonefre. 
 
 Fo'illan seeing that it was now late, and that he had 
 not completed half his journey, was glad to enter a hut 
 and ask for a guide. The frightful appearance and 
 fierce looks Wife inmates of the cabin would have 
 frightened any^^re but the holy missionary. But, like 
 the glass which we read of in the Arabian tale, that 
 did not reflect any deformed object, the heart of the 
 saint suspected no evil, and he at once desired two of 
 the men to accompany him as guides. 
 
 Foi'llan conversed with the men from time to time 
 as they proceeded along the rough and unequal path ; 
 but they said -little in reply. Finding they were still 
 pagans, he spoke to them of God, His goodness and 
 mercy, of the redemption of man l>y the blood of the 
 Crucified, and of the paradise prepared for those who 
 believe and do His will. All his words, however, fell 
 unheeded on their ears, and he could only be silent and 
 pray for them. At last the saint arrived with his 
 guides at a part of the forest where an idol was wor- 
 shipped; and there, whether it was that these pagans 
 wished to force him to sacrifice like them to their god, 
 or whether they thought only of robbing him, the four 
 threw themselves: upon him and dispatched him 
 P
 
 210 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 with their clubs, heedless alike of his entreaties, or of the 
 prayers which with his last voice he offered ilp for his 
 murderers. 
 
 Night now set in cold and dismal. A violent ^jd 
 began to howl among the trees; and next*morni^B| 
 thick snow, which lay for several months, coifed the 
 face of the country. ^fl 
 
 Meantime, the companions of Foi'llua became a- 
 larmed at his prolonged absence, and^fl 
 seen him at the feast of Christmas,jAich li 
 customed to celebrate :ir Fusses. The most drea 
 fears began to be entertained, whioH 
 by several visions. His brother Ultnp, as he was at 
 prayers, saw pass before his eye 'love white as 
 snow, but with wings rei!<lene<l \viih Lin/nTf a similar 
 prodigy was seen by the abbess Gertrude; and on the 
 15th January, 056, information was given her in her 
 cell at NivdBes.j|Jpt in a certain spot of the forest of 
 Soignies the snow was red. Next day she repaired thi- 
 ther, gu-idedoy a bloody vapour whjtfMTvered in the 
 sky, and discovered the dead body offoillan. It was 
 at first carried with pomp to Nivelles, but Ultan desired 
 it might be buried at Fosses, as the martyr himself had 
 requested. In order to arrive at this monastery it was 
 necessary to cross the Sambre, then- swollen by the 
 melted snow and ice. Not knowing where to cross, it 
 is related that Gertrude ordering them to leave the 
 horses free, the latter passed, followed *bf the crowd, 
 through the place which has ever since been called the 
 " Ford of St. Gertrude." 
 
 The body of the martyr was afterwards enclosed in a 
 beautiful chapel; and on the same spot, at a later period, 
 was raised a magnificent church, to which was added, 
 in 1123, an abbey of Premonstratensians. The colour 
 of the snow, which had revealed the place of the crime, 
 gave to this place the name of Rood (red), which was 
 aftenvards known by the name of Le Rceux, an important 
 barony in the middle ages, and at this day a thriving 
 little Village. Soneffe, whence the murderers of
 
 ST. CXDMOy. 211 
 
 holy Fmllan came, continued, and still continues, to 
 bear the marks of the divine malediction ; for while all 
 the other hamlets around became flourishing towns, this 
 alone has remained as in the times of paganism, a col- 
 lection of miserable huts. 
 
 ^^^as tl 
 tuti, 
 of t 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF ST. OEDMON. 
 
 IT is a common thing amongst us to speak of the gifts 
 of genius ; and the phrase is never more frequently used 
 than in allusion to those poetic powers which, when 
 found in any very high degree, convey to the rudest 
 understanding the notion of coming from a higher Source, 
 and of being far out of the reach of those on whom they 
 are not originally bestowed : yet few who use the term, 
 and still more of those on whom those gifts have rested, 
 ever think of the Giver. By another phrase as common 
 as the first, they are wont to term the different rnanifes- 
 "" "''ions of genius the gifts of nature; and in the annals 
 ^ saints there are not wanting an abundance of 
 examples which seem as if given with fhe direct inten- 
 tion of teaching our forgetfulness and presumption that 
 these fji^ts of nature are only the gifts of God. The 
 very* remarkable instance of Albert the Great is already 
 beforfe the reader; another, equally striking, is to be 
 found in our own early history : it is that of the great 
 Saxon saint and poet, Caedmon. 
 
 Attached to the great abbey of Whitby, which was 
 founded in the seventh century by the Abbess St. Hilda, 
 there was a certain poor rustic employed by *the steward 
 of the monastery in the work of the farm, and whose 
 ordinary occupation was the care of the horses and cat- 
 tle. He was neither young nor of natural abilities, and 
 had passed all his life in the drudgery of his servile 
 culling, w^iich, however, was seasoned and made sweet
 
 212 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 to his soul by a holy and simple life, and the Jiabit of 
 prayer. 
 
 He was accustomed at times to join in the merry- 
 makings and entertainments of his neighbours, at which 
 meeting's, according- to the favourite Saxon custom, music 
 and singing, of the rude and unpolished style of the 
 day, were often introduced. But poor as were these 
 performances, they were far above the capacity of Csed- 
 mon, who was wont to sit a rapt and marvelling listener 
 to what doubtless seemed to him a display of incompre- 
 hensible talent. 
 
 One evening, as he sat with his comrades round a 
 blazing winter hearth, one of the company proposed 
 that all present should sing in turn to the music of a 
 small lute, which being handed from one to another, 
 should indicate the person who was next called on to 
 amuse the assembled guests. The proposal was agreed 
 to, and the singing- began. We should probably think 
 but little either of the music or words, were they pro- 
 duced in our own day ; the rude war-songs of our 
 Saxon forefathers were given in barbarous phrase, to a 
 rough and unharmonious chant; there was little skill 
 in the execution, and still less in the composition ; yet 
 Credmon watched the approach of the lute to the corner 
 where he sat with a sensation of nervous terror. It 
 was not the first time when he knew he should be 
 obliged to make the humiliating- avowal that he could 
 not sing; and good and holy as he was, it g-ave him 
 pain. Cipdrnon was an English saint, and he had an 
 English temperament, a certain shyness and aptitude 
 to blush, and the inability to carry off a failure well, and 
 the painful consciousness of being awkward and stupid 
 amid his gay companions. So, as the little lute came 
 nearer and hearer, he g-rew more abashed, and shuffled 
 about, and heartily wished himself safe in bed, or in the 
 stable with his horses.. Two more turns, good Credmon, 
 and the lute will be in your hands, and you will have, 
 as usual, to pass it on and say, " I cannot sing;" :md 
 to-night, moreover, there aro strangers present : for there
 
 BT. C2EDMON. 213 
 
 has been a meeting- of bishops and clergy who have 
 come to hold council at the monastery, and a crowd of 
 attendants in tl^eir train; and mingling' wit.h the mas- 
 ter's giiests you may see the equerry of his lordship of 
 York, a huge Northumbrian, with a voice that would 
 fill the abbey nave ; and, worse still, there is the house- 
 steward of Archbishop Theodore, whose keen Italian 
 eye has more than once rested on you as you sat a little 
 awkwardly in your corner, with a glance that said, as 
 plain as glance could say, that he considered you as 
 little better than a barbarian. What was to be done ? 
 To bear the ridicule of the whole company, and of that 
 foreign fellow with his look of conceited superiority, was 
 not to be endured ; before the instrument left the hands 
 of the next but one to himself, Caedmon had determined 
 on flight, and rising- from his chair as softly as he could, 
 he stole to the door, and before his absence was noticed, 
 found himself in the quiet refuge of his stable. He sat 
 down on the heap of straw that lay against the wall in 
 somewhat disconsolate mood. Why was he so different 
 from others, he thought, that he should not be able to 
 do what seemed so easy and so natural to them '? " I 
 marvel," he muttered, " that I can go among them, I 
 that am so dull and heavy, and can h'nd not a word to 
 say, while other tongues are so glib and busy with the 
 sea-kings and the like trumpery. Though, truly, could 
 these great fing-ers of mine find their way among the 
 strings of yonder lute, and knew I but the fashion of 
 speech which they call singing, it should not be on the 
 heathen Vikyngs that I would waste my breath ; no, 
 nor on the praise of strong ale, which nevertheless was 
 the chief burden of the Northumbrian's song." And 
 then good Ciedmon's heart smote him a little to think 
 how vexed and shamefaced he had been because he 
 could not do what, after all, was scarcely worth the 
 doing-; and how far better it was to sing God's praises 
 in his heart, and remain the dull rustic hind that he was, 
 than to abuse God's gifts by an unworthy use of them j 
 and lastly came a doubt whether the sweetest song- he
 
 i CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 could have offered his Lord that night, would not have 
 been to have sat quiet in his chimney-comer, and borne 
 the jests and ridicule of his companions^ with a patient 
 will. And with these thoughts in his head, and the 
 echoes of the last chorus yet ring-ing 1 in his ears, Civd- 
 mon leant his head on the straw-heap and fell asleep. 
 
 In his sleep he had a singular dream ; it seemed to 
 him that he was still lying 1 on his bed of straw, close by 
 the horses' stall, when the door of the stable opened, 
 and a stranger entered and stood before him. " Caed- 
 mon," he said, bending- over his sleeping- form, "I pray 
 you rise, and sing- me a song- to-night." And the voice 
 in which he spoke had a sweetness in it more exquisite 
 than the finest music of the abbey choir. " I cannot 
 sing-," replied Cnedmon, sorrowfully ; " it was even for 
 that reason I left the house and came here; for they 
 were merry and cheerful, and I was dull, and so I came 
 hither to hide myself, because I could not sing." "Ne- 
 vertheless, thou shalt sing," said the other. "And 
 what am I to sing about '?" asked Cadmon ; " I am n't 
 to speak of nothing- save the beasts and oxen that I 
 tend, and the fields' I till." " The beasts and the fields 
 are God's creatures, and show forth His praise," replied 
 his companion ; " fear not, therefore, but sing- as you 
 find words, and it shall be of the beginning of created 
 things." 
 
 Then Ciedmon felt a marvellous change in his soul : 
 thoughts and shapes came flocking on his mind, and 
 they were not so much new things as old tilings with 
 a new light shining on them and making them glorious. 
 The images traced on his memory through the long 1 
 years he had spent in the broad forests and healthy up- 
 lands of his native land, seemed to start up fresh and 
 beautiful within him. He heard the larks carolling 
 sweetly in the morning air, as they were wont to do 
 when he went early into the plough-field ; and the 
 mystic glory of many a sunset swam in golden floods 
 before his eye, which he had been used to watch as 
 he plodded home from his daily labour, scarcely know-
 
 T. C^JDMON. 215 
 
 ing how much of their beauty was sinking into his soul. 
 Nor was this all; for, mingling- with the images of 
 nature and the excellence of created things, there came 
 thoughts of the Lord who had made them, notions 
 about God, and aspirations after Him, which had filled 
 his simple heart as he had toiled at work, and which 
 in old time had seemed plain and homely like himself, 
 but now were all bathed in a new beauty, as though 
 the sunshine had suddenly been let into his heart. 
 And soon he thought there followed words, not slowly 
 and heavily, as Cnedmon had been wont to speak, but 
 flowing forth with a fulness and impetuosity like the 
 waves of a broad and noble river ; he felt that some- 
 thing mightier than himself was struggling within 
 him for utterance; and when at last those prisoned 
 words found vent, and shaped themselves into song-, 
 the sound of his own voice startled him, for it was rich 
 and musical, even like the voice of him who had lirst 
 addressed him and commanded him to sing-. 
 
 Now if this were all, and the story of Cnedmon were 
 nothing but the story of a dream, there would be little 
 to make it worth our notice beyond other dreams. Most 
 men can remember times when the mystery of sleep has 
 bestowed on them a fancied power, which fled from them 
 when the grey daylight brought them back to common- 
 place and common sense ; but with Caedmon it was riot 
 so. He went on making verses and singing them in 
 his sleep; and when he woke he still found himself 
 making verses, and could remember all he had made 
 and sung during the whole of that night. Moreover, 
 though when the cock began to crow outside, ho 
 started up from his straw, arid yawned and rubbed his 
 eyes, and found lie was still the herdsman Ca?dmon, 
 and knew that his first business was to lead the horses 
 out to drink, and sweep their stalls, yet for all that, he 
 knew he was at the same time another man. That 
 wonderful gift was within him which makes all things 
 new ; that gift, whose joys, too rare and excellent for 
 earth, are ever mingled with a pain, yet whose pains
 
 216 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 are worth all the common joys of rude souls; that gift 
 so like the prophet's inspiration, which kindles us with 
 a fire that surely first came down from heaven, and was 
 meant to keep alive the altar- fire, though they on whom 
 it foils too often forget from whence it came, and pro- 
 fane it to unhallowed purposes, so that it loses the pure 
 light of its celestial glory, and hums with the dulled 
 and faded lustre of an earthly flame. 
 
 Not so, however, did Credmon treat the power which 
 had heen given him from God : reflecting within him- 
 self that the change which could have transformed, a 
 rustic herdsman into a poet, in the short space of a 
 winter's night, was nothing short of miraculous, his 
 next conviction was, that he was bound to impart the 
 news of this strange transformation to his master the 
 steward ; and having- come to this conclusion, he pre- 
 sented himself before him, and informed him, with his 
 usual simplicity, that he had come to sing. " To sing!" 
 exclaimed the steward ; " now thou art surely beside 
 thyself, or the strong ale thou drankest overnight hath 
 got the mastery of thy brain. Never hast thou sung 
 since I have known thee ; and I would fain know, if 
 thou be such a scholar in thy music, why thou ever 
 sittest silent in thy corner like one of thine own beasts, 
 when it is time for merrymaking ; and now, when 
 thou shouldest be abroad with the cattle, dost come 
 to me to prate of singing : thou wast not given to such 
 vagaries." 
 
 "So please you," replied Cuxlmon, "it is neither 
 the ale nor mine own folly that speaketh ; but a strange 
 vision was given me last night as I lay in the stable; 
 and none other than an angel of God, as I deem him, 
 hath taught me how to sing : wherefore I pray you to 
 listen to the verses that I have 7nade, for truly I would 
 have other man's judgment than my own what these 
 
 " O / 
 
 things may mean." 
 
 When the steward saw by his words arid the un- 
 usual earnestness with which he spoke, that some mar- 
 vel had befallen him, he gave him leave to sing: arid
 
 
 ST. C2KDMON. *1 
 
 Caedraon began his poem on " The Beginning of Created 
 Things." Scarcely did the steward know what to 
 think ; for the words were so lofty, and the strain so 
 musical, and the mysteries on which he discoursed were 
 so profound and excellent, that it seemed to him as if 
 he had never heard poetry or music until then. 
 
 " Good Csedmon," he said, when the song was 
 finished, " thy case is past my counsel to decide ; and 
 whether thy music come from heaven or hell, it must be 
 for the Lady Hilda to resolve : for to her shalt thou 
 surely go, and sing even as thou hast sung to me; and 
 see well that thou tell her truly all things that have 
 befallen thee, and all the words wliich were spoken to 
 thee in the stable ;" and so saying, he carried the in- 
 spired ploughman to the abbey-gate, and sent a mes- 
 sage to the Abbess, that he craved to speak with her 
 on a matter that would admit of no delay. They were 
 admitted into her presence, and not a little did the 
 purport of their coming perplex her. 
 
 " Thou desirest me to hear this man sing/' she said, 
 addressing the steward in a tone of some severity ; " it 
 is a strange, and methinks scarcely a fitting request. Of 
 what does he sing, that thou shouldest call me from 
 choir and prayer to listen to his idle carols ?" 
 
 " Reverend mistress," said the steward, " I pray 
 you to have patience with me ; for even as I stand here, 
 there is a mystery in this matter which ghostly hands 
 alone can unravel. A spirit hath surely spoken to the 
 man, but whether good or bad it is for your reverence 
 to declare ; only this much I know, that words like 
 those that Coedmon spoke this morning have I never 
 heard before." 
 
 Then Hilda commanded that he should begin his 
 song- ag-ain ; and when she had heard " The Beginning 
 of Created Tilings," she marvelled as greatly as the 
 steward had done. The words of the heaven-taught 
 poet found a quicker arid readier response in her soul 
 than they had done in that of his less spiritually-minded 
 master. He began by an address to God, and do-
 
 218 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 voted himself to the praise of the Maker of all things, 
 and of the power of the Creator and His counsel, and 
 the deeds of the Father of g'lory. The Eternal God 
 was, he said, the author of all miracles ; and when He 
 made the world, He stretched out the heavens to be the 
 roof of that house which His Majesty had erected for 
 the sons of men ; and the earth was to be the place of 
 their abode. All thing's were of Him, and all thing's 
 should end in Him ; therefore in creatures men should 
 worship God, and praise the Creator who had made 
 them. This was the burden of his poem. 
 
 When Hilda had listened for some time in profound 
 silence and attention, she rose and addressed the poet : 
 
 " Caedmon," she said, " if thy tale be true, and 
 these words thine own, the matter is too high for my 
 poor wit to judge of; but the Lord Theodore of Can- 
 terbury and the Abbot Adrian are even now in the 
 house, and thou shalt speak to them : it may be their 
 learning- may see farther in this matter than doth my 
 simplicity." 
 
 Perhaps no young- poet in the first flush of newly 
 developed powers has ever been put to a harder ordeal 
 than was poor Coedmon on that eventful morning-; 
 thrice within an hour's space to repeat his verse, and 
 each time before a noble presence. It was no small 
 trial for him to stand before the Abbess Hilda, whom 
 he had been used to consider as the greatest person in the 
 whole world ; but to be brought before the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, the most learned man of Christendom, as 
 men were wont to call St. Theodore, and the not less 
 learned or less holy Abbot Adrian, who, between them, 
 as we are told, made men talk Greek and Latin as though 
 thev were their native tongues.* However, there was 
 no help for it ; once more he had to tell his dream and 
 repeat his verses, that all mig-ht determine what the 
 dream was, arid whence the verse proceeded. And 
 when they had heard him speak (says V. Bede), they all 
 
 * Bode, b. iv. c. 2.
 
 ST. CJBDMOX. 219 
 
 concluded that heavenly grace had been conferred on 
 him by our Lord. 
 
 " Y et since we know not surely whether these verses 
 are his own," said the abbot, " were it not well, my 
 lord archbishop, that some farther trial should be put 
 upon him ?" 
 
 " You say rightly," answered Theodore : " there- 
 fore will we choose out a passage of Holy Writ ; and if 
 he can put the same into like verses with those he has 
 even now recited, we may no longer doubt that the 
 hand of God is on him for some high purpose ; if not, 
 let him look well to it that he be not treated as knaves 
 deserve." 
 
 The passage was selected, and Cnedmon went away. 
 When he returned the next morning, he gave them the 
 whole composed in most excellent verse ; and moreover 
 the grace of God was so evident in the luminousness 
 and holiness of his thoughts, far more than even in the 
 marvels of his versification, that his hearers began to 
 feel that they had not only found a poet, but a saint in 
 the poor herdsman Caedmon. 
 
 " Whereupon," says V. Bede, " the abbess embrac- 
 ing the grace of God in the man, instructed him to quit 
 the secular habit and take upon him the monastic life; 
 which being accordingly done, she associated him to the 
 rest of the brethren* in her monastery, and ordered that 
 he should be taught the whole series of sacred history. 
 Thus Cteclmon, keeping in mind all he heard, and as it 
 were chewing the cud, converted the same into most 
 harmonious verse, and sweetly repeating the same made 
 his masters in their turn his hearers. He sang the crea- 
 tion of the world, the origin of man, and all the history 
 of Genesis, with many other histories from Holy Writ; 
 and of the incarnation, passion, and resurrection of our 
 Lord, and His ascension into heaven .... besides 
 
 * In th monastery of Whitliy, or Stroaveshalch, us it was 
 then called, there were two separate and distinct communities, 
 one of mo: i and tlio uth^r of women, both f^ivcriiocl hy tin 1 same 
 head.
 
 220 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 many other thing-s about the divine benefits and judg- 
 ments, by which he endeavoured to turn men away 
 from the love of vice, and to excite them to good 
 actions." " And by his verges," adds the same histo- 
 rian, " the mind-; of many were often excited to despise 
 the world, and to aspire to heaven. Others after him 
 in the Eng-lish nation attempted to compose religious 
 poems, but none did ever compare with him, for he did 
 not learn the art of poetry from men, but from God; 
 for which reason he never could compose any vain or 
 trivial poem, but only those which relate to religion 
 suited his religious tongue." 
 
 We have given the story of Ccedmon as furnishing- 
 a fitting' illustration of the true vocation of a poet, who 
 receiving- his powers directly from the hand of God, is 
 bound by his calling 1 to dedicate them to those objects 
 which are here so beautifully pointed out, namely, the 
 praise of God, and the exciting- of men's hearts to 
 aspire to heaven. The first to write in his native 
 tong-ue, Ctedinon mny be considered as the father of 
 Engiish poetry. He lived many years in the monastery, 
 where his life was as sweet and holy as were his words; 
 " for he was a very religious man," continues the same 
 author, " humbly submissive to reg-ular discipline, for 
 which reason he also ended his life happily." We will 
 give the account of his death in the words of his bio- 
 grapher. After telling- us that he was taken with a 
 moderate infirmity, and desired to be carried to the 
 house prepared for the sick, he continues : " The person 
 to whom he made this request wondered why he should 
 desire it, because there were no signs of his dying- soon; 
 nevertheless, he did as lie had ordered. He according-ly 
 went there, and conversing- pleasantly and in a joyful 
 manner with the rest that were in the house, when it 
 was past midnight, he asked them whether they had 
 the Holy Eucharist there ? They answered, ' What 
 need of the Eucharist.'' for you are not likely to die, 
 since you talk as merrily with us as thoug-h you were 
 in perfect health. ' Nevertheless,' he said, ' bring- me
 
 ST. C.EDMON. 221 
 
 the Eucharist.' And having received the same into his 
 hands, he asked whether they were all in charity with 
 him, and without any enmity or rancour ? They an- 
 swered that they were all in perfect charity and free 
 from anger, and in their turn asked him whether he was 
 in the same mind towards them ? He answered, ' I am 
 in charity, my children, with all the servants of God.' 
 Then strengthening- himself with the heavenly viaticum, 
 lie prepared the entrance into another life, and asked how 
 near the time was when the brothers were to he awak- 
 ened to sing the nocturnal praises of the Lord ? They 
 replied, ' It is not far off.' Then he said, l Well, let us 
 wait that hour ;' and sig-ning himself with the sign of 
 the cross, he laid his head on the pillow, and falling 1 
 into a slumber, ended his life so in silence. Thus it 
 came to pass, that as he had served God with a simple 
 and pure mind and undisturbed devotion, so he now 
 departed to His presence, leaving the world by a quiet 
 death ; and that tongue which had composed so many 
 holy words in praise of the Creator, uttered its last 
 words whilst he was in the act of signing himself with 
 the cross, and recommending himself into His hands." 
 
 Miracles followed on his death; and in the days of 
 the Conqueror his body was granted an honourable 
 translation. He is commemorated in the English mar- 
 tyrology on the twelfth day of February.* 
 
 * The resemblance between portions of Credmon's poem on 
 the Fall of Man and passages on the same subject in the Paradise 
 Lost have been judged by several writers so remarkable as to 
 justify the opinion that Milton was familiar with the English 
 version of the Anglo-Saxon poem. Conyboare, comparing the 
 passage referred to, says, " the resemblance of language is so 
 striking, that much of this portion of Csedmon's ode may be lite- 
 rally translated by a hundred lines of our great poet."
 
 222 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 THE SCHOLAR OF THE ROSARY. 
 
 IN a certain district in the south of France, about the 
 time when B. Alan de la Roche was reviving 1 the almost, 
 forgotten devotion of the Rosary in the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, there lived a noble lady, who governed her house- 
 hold and family in all holy discipline, and who was 
 among the first to join the confraternity in honour of 
 the Mother of God, on its re-establishment in that 
 country. She had an only child, named Bernard; a 
 boy whose disposition was as noble as his birth, al- 
 though indeed he was rather distinguished for the 
 angelic innocence of his life than for the endowment of 
 i is mind. He was sent by his mother to study at a 
 school in the neighbourhood, from whence he was wont 
 to return home every evening, for she could not resolve 
 to trust him away from her own care whilst he was 
 still so young a child. It does not seem that Bernard 
 was in any way deficient in ability; and he even made 
 considerable progress in some of his studies, especially 
 in grammar; but he was wanting in quickness and 
 vivacity of imagination; and the composition of French 
 and Latin verses, which was one of the common school 
 tasks of his class, became an insurmountable difficulty. 
 Many a weary hour did the poor boy spend, striving, 
 by hard labour and toilsome perseverance, to accom- 
 plish what many a thoughtless, quick-witted scapegrace 
 had finished in a few minutes ; his constant failures 
 and his wretched verses made him the butt of his com- 
 panions, and were always bringing him into disgrace ; 
 and still the more he tried, the harder and more hope- 
 less i" seemed to get either ideas or verses out of his 
 dull and tired brain. 
 
 One evening, when he returned home, after a day 
 of unusual trouble, he sat down in disconsolate mood 
 :>n the steps leading into the garden, and leaning his
 
 THE SCHOLAH OF THE KOSARY. 21*3 
 
 head on his hand, he gave himself up to very sorrowful 
 reflections. He knew how much his mother cared that 
 he should grow up a learned man, and then he was at 
 the bottom of his class, with the reputation of being- the 
 dunce of the school ; and all because he was not born 
 a poet: it was certainly a little hard. Poets, as all 
 know, are born, not made ; and it seemed an unreason- 
 able thing- to spend so many a long- day in trying- to 
 become what nature had not made him. Verses, he 
 thougiit, were such unnecessary things : he could be a 
 doctor, a soldier, or even a preacher, and still keep to 
 simple prose j he could save his soul and the souls of 
 other people, and never have mastered the scanning- of 
 an hexameter: "What can be the use of it all? he 
 muttered ; " if thev would but have kept to grammar !" 
 Now, when he had come to this point in his melancholy 
 meditation, he was joined by his mother, whose quick 
 eye had caught a glimpse of her darling, and recog- 
 nised in his attitude, and the heavy sorrowful way that 
 his head lay on his clasped hands, that something- un- 
 usual was the matter. 
 
 " Bernard," she said, and at the sound of that 
 gentle voice the poor boy started to his feet 
 " what is the matter ? Your hair is hang-ing about 
 your eyes, your cap is on the ground, and I see some- 
 thing- very like tears on those white cheeks : moreover, 
 this is not the first time that you have come home 
 in the same way; but for many weeks past I have 
 watched you with an aching heart, and with a sore 
 misgiving lest the trouble should be in your own con- 
 science." Bernard hung his head, but did not say a 
 word. " Do you not speak, my child ? " continued his 
 mother: "you were never wont to hide your sorrows 
 thus ; or is it, indeed, that you have fallen into some 
 grievous fault at school, and' fear to declare it to mei"' 
 
 " No, mother," replied Bernard, "they call me dunce, 
 and fool, and they speak truly : but though now I 
 could cry, as though my heart would break, it is for no 
 fault that you would deem ;i grievous one ; it is that I
 
 224 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 am not a poet." And with these words, Bernard hid 
 his face on his mother's knee, and sobhed aloud. 
 
 "A poet, child !" said his mother; "is that your only 
 trouble 'I Heard you ever that poets were happier or 
 better than other men, that you should crave a gift that 
 brings little ease, and ofttimes less of grace : covet the 
 better gifts, Bernard, for this is hardly worth your 
 tears; a holy heart and a spotless faith were fitter 
 things to weep after." 
 
 " But, mother," replied Bernard, earnestly, " you 
 know not how the case stands with boys : we have to 
 learn so many things you would marvel to find the use 
 for ; and among them all there is none so strange to fit 
 a meaning to as the making of these verses. And yet 
 Master Roland says I am a dunce if I do not make 
 them; and shall abide as I am, the laglast of the 
 school, till I better know how to scan my lines, and have 
 learnt the difference between a trochee and a spondee ; 
 and that," he added, with a heavy sigh, " I shall never 
 learn." 
 
 " And so you are in disgrace with Master Roland 
 because you write bad verses, is that the case?" said his 
 mother ; " perhaps it rather is, -that you try not to write 
 them better." 
 
 " Oh, mother," exclaimed Bernard, in a pitiful voice, 
 " vou know not what it is. For first there is the toil 
 to find the words, and that is not so easy; for what 
 sounds brave enough in plain-speaking prose, will never 
 do for verse : then there are lines botl* short and long, 
 and syllables and feet to be counted on ycmr fingers, 
 and seldom counted right ; moreover, I know not how 
 it is, but when I think I have them in their right num- 
 ber, Master Roland is sure to tell me they are all in 
 the wrong place." 
 
 11 Bernard," said his mother, " I do not think I can 
 help to mend your verses, but I may chance to be able 
 to mend your courage. It was but the other day that 
 Master Alan do la Roche told me of a student whose 
 books were as grievous to him as any verses of yours
 
 THE SCHOLAR OF THE ROSARY. 225 
 
 can be, and yet he found the way not only to read 
 them, but to write them too ; and died a great doctor 
 and professor in the university." 
 
 " And what was his way '(" asked Bernard. " Per 
 haps his books were written in prose ; it might have 
 been different if they had been poetry." 
 
 " His way was a very simple one," replied* his 
 mother ; " he asked our dear Lady's help, and every day 
 said the Rosary in her honour. I think there is little 
 to hinder you from doing- the same. Master Alan has 
 given you a Rosary, though I see not that you often 
 use it 5 take it before her altar every morning- before 
 you go to school, and say the prayers as he has taught 
 you ; and remember that no one ever prayed to Mary 
 without obtaining relief." 
 
 Bernard was not slow in following his mother's 
 counsel ; and not content with saying part of the Ro- 
 sary, he every day recited the entire fifteen mysteries 
 on his knees before the image on Our Lady's altar. 
 Nor Avas it long before a sing-uljur change was observed 
 in the boy ; not only did his former dulness and heavi- 
 ness of capacity gradually disappear, but a certain depth 
 of feeling- and gracefulness of imagery was displayed 
 in his school-verses, that placed them very far above 
 the ordinary standard of such productions. How, in- 
 deed, should it have been otherwise.'' His soul was 
 drinking at the very sources of spiritual beauty ; and 
 in the mysteries of joy and sorrow and glory which 
 formed Ui> daily occupation, he penetrated to the very 
 depths of that divine life and passion, which supplied 
 him with a profounder pathos than could be caught by 
 the study of any human emotion. Moreover, the gra-*' 
 cious names which were thus constantly on his lips sank 
 into his heart, and brought their sweetness with them ; 
 the presence of Mary was with him like an unseen com- 
 panion ; and all day long he felt shining on his heart the 
 earnest gaze of those " merciful eyes" he so constantly 
 invoked : it refined his rudeness, and wanned the slug- 
 gish intellect with the flame of spiritual love; and whilst
 
 226 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 others would praise their favourite poets for their airy 
 images and lively fancy, Bernard was happy in the 
 thought that the inspiration of his pen was caught from 
 no phantom of earthly imagination, but from the in- 
 fluence of an abiding 1 Reality. 
 
 The masters marvelled at the change, and said 
 ma^y learned things about the development of the 
 understanding; the scholars wondered also, and soon 
 came to beseech Bernard to help them in their tasks ; 
 as for the boy himself, the light in his soul had stolen 
 into it with such a soft and quiet gentleness, that he 
 hardly knew the change ; and when they praised and 
 questioned him as to whence he drew his thoughts and 
 imagery, he was wont to answer, with a wondering sim- 
 plicity, that any one might do the same, for he found 
 it all in the Rosary. This reply, which he constantly 
 gave, soon became talked about among the rest, and 
 g'ained him the title among his companions of the 
 Scholar of the Rosary. 
 
 Every one now predicted great things of Bernard ; 
 he was the head of his class and of the school ; the 
 highest awards of learning, he was told, were now 
 within his grasp ; with that delicate and subtle fancy, 
 and that solidity of understanding, he might aspire to 
 any thing; the professor's chair or the doctor's cap 
 would never surely be denied him. But their hopes 
 and expectations were not to be realised ; for the Scho- 
 lar of Mary a higher and very different distinction was 
 in store. One day he came home as usual, and com- 
 plained of an aching pain in his eyes ; before the morn- 
 ing the inflammation had increased to such a degree, 
 that he could not bear the light, and was obliged to 
 keep his bed in a darkened room, where, spite of every 
 care and remedy which his mother's tenderness could 
 bestow, he suffered the extremity of pain. For two 
 months he lay in this state, whilst the disease gradually 
 assumed a more dangerous character. The physicians 
 d'.'sired that every ray of daylight should be excluded 
 from his room, and the utmost care taken to preserve
 
 i THE SCHOLAR OF THE KOSARY. 227 
 
 the slightest object from irritating the eye; an order 
 which was strictly obeyed. 
 
 Nevertheless, in spite of his pain and increasing 
 weakness, nothing prevented Bernard from fulfilling 
 his customary prayers. Every day, as usual, he re- 
 cited the fifteen Mysteries of the Rosary, and comforted 
 his mother, when he grieved over the blindness t^at 
 threatened him, by saying his devotion was one winch 
 needed neither book nor daylight to help it, but only 
 the familiar touch of those dear beads that never left 
 his neck. Alas, blindness was before long not the only 
 evil she had to dread; it was soon evident that the 
 malady had reached a fatal form, which no human skill 
 could avail to remedy. Bernard was to die ; all the 
 great hopes excited by his newly-displayed talents van- 
 ished into thin air ; and those whose tongues had been 
 so busy with his precocious genius were now loud in 
 deploring the loss of one from whom so brilliant a ca- 
 reer might have been expected. As to his mother, she 
 thought little of such things ; and if she mourned her 
 own Toss, her grief had its consolation too; for she knew 
 the innocence of his soul, and had the sure hope that 
 she was but trusting him to the arms of a more loving 
 Mother than herself. But there were the last deathbed 
 duties to be performed; the priest was in the house; and 
 before administering the Viaticum and the holy Unc- 
 tion, he was to receive the last confession of the dying" 
 
 1-11 JO 
 
 child. 
 
 His mother entered the room to prepare him for the 
 coming of the priest ; and as she did so, she desired 
 the attendant to bring a candle into the still-darkened 
 chamber. 
 
 " What need of a candle ?" said the boy; " tell them 
 that it is not wanted." 
 
 " It is for the priest, my child," she replied. " You 
 will try and bear the light for a few minutes; for the 
 good father is come to hear your confession, and he 
 could not see to enter without a. light." 
 
 " But there is light," he replied ; " the room is full
 
 228 CATHOLIC LKOKNDS. 
 
 of it, and has never been dark to me. I wonder that 
 you do not see it." 
 
 "What light?" asked the priest, who was by this 
 time bending- over him. " Your mother and I are 
 standing here, but to our eyes the room is darkened 
 still." 
 
 , " It is from Our Lady," replied the boy ; " she is 
 here by my bedside, and the rays are shining from her, 
 and make it day. There has never been darkness here 
 since I have been ill." 
 
 The priest felt an awe stealing over him, and invo- 
 luntarily bowed his head towards the spot indicated by 
 the child. 
 
 " And does that light hurt your eyes ?" he asked ; 
 " you could not bear the daylight." 
 
 " It is joy," answered Bernard faintly, "joy and 
 glory; the sorrow is all gone now !" and the priest saw 
 that in his last words he was still thinking; of the Rosary. 
 And so he died ; and those whom he left needed not 
 the evidence of miracles to assure them that the Scholar 
 of Mary had been taken to the fulness of that glory, 
 something of whose radiance had thus rested over his 
 dying bed.* 
 
 XXX. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF ST. HUBERT. 
 
 IN the reign of the Prankish king Theodoric the Third, 
 there lived in Aquitain a certain nobleman Avho bore 
 the name of Count Hubert. In his youth he had gone 
 through various trials of fortune, for the enmity of the 
 celebrated Ebroin, marshal of the king's palace, had 
 compelled him to tiy from his country and take refuge 
 
 * The substance of the above may be found in the work of 
 Father Girolamo Taix on the Kosary.
 
 8T. HUBERT. 229 
 
 for a time in the service of Pepin of Herstal, mayor of 
 Austrasia, somewhere about the year G81. He was, 
 however, enabled to return to his own dominions on the 
 death of Ebroin, which is connected with a legendary 
 tale of peculiar horror. For it is said, that on a certain 
 day some monks had wandered out from their convent, 
 and were sitting by the banks of the river that flowed 
 by the place, where they were indulging in somewhat 
 vain and idle conversation. Their merriment was inter- 
 rupted by the sound of oars, which seemed as if coming 
 up the river ; and looking to see the vessel from which 
 the sound proceeded, they could perceive nothing. Still, 
 however, the stroke of the mysterious oars sounded 
 every minute nearer and nearer, they could hear the 
 water washing' round the prow of the invisible boat, 
 which came on at great speed, and now it seemed oppo- 
 site the very place where they sat. " Who are you," 
 they cried, "who row in that boat?" for they were 
 seized with an indescribable terror. The answer came 
 over the water in tones that struck to their hearts like 
 ice : 
 
 " We are demons, who are carrying away the soul 
 of Ebroin, mayor of the palace to king Theodoric; for 
 he is an apostate from the monastery of St. Gall." 
 
 "Holy Mary, help us!" cried the monks, as they 
 listened trembling to the awful words ; but the infernal 
 voices spoke again : 
 
 " Well may you invoke Mary," they cried ; " for 
 we had thought to have taken you also, because you 
 were speaking unfitting- words at an unseasonable time." 
 And with this warning the sound of the oars recom- 
 menced, and the vessel was once more heard softly 
 parting the waters before her, until the echoes of the 
 strokes died away in the distance. 
 
 This story probably never reached the ears of Hu- 
 bert; for at the time or Ebroin' s death, and his o\\n re- 
 turn to his subjects and dominions, he himself was slill 
 a pagan. Ann yet, though he served the false gods, 
 arid knew nothing of the light of the Gospel, something
 
 230 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 of its influence seemed to have stolen unawares into his 
 soul. He was loved as a mild and gracious lord by all 
 under his rule, and the virtues which he practised, even 
 in this time of heathen ignorance, drew on him the 
 favourable eye of God, who called him to the faith by 
 a special miracle, similar to that already recorded of 
 the martyr Placidus.* Hubert was passionately ad- 
 dicted to the chase ; and one Friday he rode out with 
 a great hunting-train to follow the deer in the forests 
 of Aquitain. When they had ridden some time, there 
 suddenly sprang* out of the thicket the fairest hart that 
 hunter's eye could rest on. She was milk-white, and 
 of a g-entle and delicate form, and she bounded along- 
 the forest-g-lade with such a winged and airy move- 
 ment, that her hoofs scarcely seemed to shake the 
 morning- dew from the grass that grew upon her path. 
 Then the horsemen all put spurs to their steeds, and 
 the bug-les sounded long- and joyously, and Hubert, 
 full of the excitement of the sport, put himself at 
 the head of the train, and soon left them far behind 
 as he followed in the track of the mysterious deer, un- 
 thoug-ht of by the huntsmen. He g-ained rapidly on his 
 g-ame, nay, he was even within arm's length of her, and 
 was about to strike her with his lance, when to his sur- 
 prise she stopped her rapid bounds, and turning- as 
 thoug-h to meet him, he saw between her horns the 
 fig-lire of a crucified man surrounded by a g-reat lig-ht. 
 
 He checked his arm as it was about to give the 
 fatal blow, and g-azed with wonder on the sig-ht before 
 him. As he did so, a voice came from the lips of the 
 fig-iire, and spoke to him in sweet and plaintive tones. 
 " Hubert," it said, " how long- wilt thou chase the wild 
 beasts of the forest ? Is this a day, thinkest thou, to 
 follow thine idle sport, a day whereon I, who am the 
 true God, died for thee and all men, even as thou dost 
 see before thee?" 
 
 Hubert threw himself from his horse and knelt with 
 
 * See p. 139.
 
 ST. HUBEKT. 231 
 
 tears of emotion before the figure of his Lord. The 
 truths of Christianity were not entirely unknown to 
 him, and he had no difficulty in understanding the 
 language which he heard, and which he hesitated not 
 to interpret as a divine call to the religion he had 
 hitherto despised ; moreover, the gift of faith was in 
 his heart, and yielding to the power of its influence, he 
 said in accents of deep humility, " my Lord and my 
 God, hitherto I have not known Thee; but now I will 
 serve Thee in all things whereunto Thou callest me. 
 Speak, therefore, I beseech Thee, and show me what 
 thou wouldest have me to do, that I may be saved." 
 
 And the Lord answered him, and said these words : 
 " Hubert, he that would follow Me must take up his 
 cross, and come after Me. Go to Lambert, the Bishop 
 of Utrecht, and he shall show thee what thou must 
 do." With these words the vision ceased ; when Hu- 
 bert looked up again the white hart was gone, and he 
 found himsolf kneeling alone in the forest-glade, with 
 his horse quietly feeding beside him. 
 
 He mounted, and full of thought rode in quest of 
 his companions ; when they would have questioned him 
 concerning hi? success with the deer, he was silent ; and 
 they deemed that perhaps a sportman's vanity deterred 
 him from speaking- of the failure of his sport ; and so, 
 sunk in deep abstraction, he rode homewards, whilst his 
 retainers followed him, wondering at the unusual manner 
 of their master. 
 
 Before that day's sun had set, Hubert set out alone 
 for Utrecht; nor did he draw rein till he found himself 
 before the palace of the holy bishop who then governed 
 the Church in that city. Something- of similarity ex- 
 isted between the early history of these two men. 
 Lambert, like Hubert, had known the sorrows and 
 trials of a long- and unjust exile. For when he was 
 still young he had been raised to the episcopal throne 
 of Maastricht, from which the cabals and jealousy of 
 King Childeric's courtiers had succeeded in driving 
 him. After wandering 1 about for some time as a home-
 
 232 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 less and houseless stranger, he at lenglh entered a mon- 
 astery of the country, and lived there for some years, 
 happy in the resignation of a dignity for which his 
 humility persuaded him he was unfit. This humility 
 was evinced on many occasions, one of which is thus 
 related in his leg-end. One night, it is said, as he rose 
 to pray, he unintentionally made a slight noise on the 
 pavement of the cloister. The abhot of the monastery 
 was disturbed by the noise, and g-ave orders that who- 
 ever was moving- at that unseasonable hour should out 
 of penance g-o to the cross out of doors, and remain 
 there for a certain space. Lambert meekly obeyed; 
 nor did he venture to return till he should be sent for. 
 It was a cold winter nig-ht ; the snow lay deep around 
 him, and fell on his person in heavy Hakes ; his feet 
 and head were bare, and were pierced by the bitter 
 frost, yet he remained patient and in prayer. Mean- 
 while the brethren rose to matins ; and when the office 
 was finished, according- to custom they assembled before 
 the fire, to warm themselves before again retiring to 
 rest. The abbot looked around him, and missed one of 
 the number. " Where is the Bishop Lambert," he 
 said ; for his dignity was always acknowledged by the 
 brethren, to whom the history of his misfortunes and 
 exile were well known. 
 
 " May it please you, my lord," said one of them, 
 "he is praying by the cross outside; though, as I think, 
 the snow is falling heavily, and the frost is sharp." 
 
 Then the abbot bade them quickly call him in; and 
 when he was come, he fell at his feet, and besought 
 his pardon for what he had done ; but the saint smiled 
 sweetly at him, and said without the smallest appear- 
 ance of anger, " My father, one learns patience at the 
 foot of the cross yonder." Such was the man to whom 
 Hubert now applied for instruction in the faith. It need 
 hardly be said that, together with the rudiments of 
 Christian doctrine, he received from his hands the teach- 
 ing and direction which tended to lead him on to the 
 highest paths of perfection ; so that he soon became di-
 
 ST. HUBEKT. 283 
 
 vested of all love of the world, and all care for his 
 riches and lands, and the empty toys of honour which 
 had hitherto seemed good and desirable in his eyes, and 
 sought only to adhere closely to Christ in the way of 
 poverty and mortification. 
 
 He come hack to his castle and lands in Aquitain 
 only to hid them farewell for ever. Calling 1 his people 
 about him, he declared to them all things that had passed, 
 and how that he had resolved to answer the strange 
 call which, had been sent to -him, by an entire abandon- 
 ment of the world. His bondmen were set at liberty, 
 his retainers dismissed with generous presents, his goods 
 and lands sold, and the price distributed to the poor ; 
 and when all this was done, and Hubert saw himself 
 reduced from the state and condition of a powerful 
 count to that of a poor and nameless beggar, he turned 
 his back with a light heart on the county where but a 
 short time before he had ruled and been honoured as its 
 lord. 
 
 The next thing was to chose out a solitude for his 
 future home, where he might apply himself with greater 
 diligence to the life which he had resolved to follow. 
 This was soon done ; the broad valleys of France and 
 Flanders were not wanting in spots whose loneliness 
 presented him with all he required. In one of the most 
 savage of these deserts he chose his abode ; scooping 
 out of the hard rock his little cell and chapel, where he 
 spent some time in a life of prayer :md penance, which 
 offered a strange contrast to the gvy and gallant days 
 he had been wont to pass in his noble castle of Aqui- 
 tain. 
 
 Now, he had no comrades save the wild beasts of 
 the forest, whom he no longer pursued as game, but 
 tamed and made his friends, so that they grew familiar 
 with his form, and ranged fearlessly about his cell ; the 
 timid doer, too, were especially dear to him, in memory 
 of that u milk-white doe" who had been made the am- 
 bassador of his salvation ; they would come around him 
 nnd feed out of his hand, and perhaps it was not the
 
 CATHOLIC LKGKN1>S. 
 
 least singnlar part of the transformation which had 
 taken place in Hubert's nature, that the bold and ardent 
 sportsman was now turned into the protector of all the 
 dumb creatures of his solitude. 
 
 His only food was the wild fruit of the forest, and 
 the crystal stream that flowed over its rocky bed beside 
 his hermitage ; he slept on the stone floor, and was clad 
 in a rough sheepskin; and yet, despite his hard and 
 penitential life, Hubert felt that he had never known 
 happiness before. And yet there were not wanting 
 enemies to disturb his quiet, for the demons assaulted 
 him day and nig-ht, and strove to trouble and tempt 
 him with their darkest suggestions ; but he met them 
 stoutly, like a brave and valiant knight, and drove them 
 from him with contempt : and thus sixteen years glided 
 rapidly away. 
 
 Now one night, as he lay on his hard bed, he was 
 awakened by a bright and shining light, which streamed 
 through the rocky cavern, and seemed to turn its dark- 
 ness into day. He looked up, and saw a beautiful and 
 heavenly form bending* over his couch ; the lovely head 
 was crowned with a diadem that seemed rather of glory 
 than of gold, wings of dazzling lustre and many colours 
 floated from the shoulders, and the soft friendly eyes 
 looked down on him with a brother's love. Hubert 
 knew that his guardian-angel was beside him. " Arise." 
 said the sweet and musical voice of the celestial visitor; 
 " arise, for thou hast tarried long enoug-h in tins soli- 
 tude; and henceforth God hath oilier ways for thee- to 
 walk in : arise, and go to Home, it is there His will 
 shall be declared to thee." 
 
 Hubert scarcely knew what to think; for the deceits 
 and frauds of the devil had taught him to mistrust even 
 the fairest visions, lest perchance they should but con- 
 ceal diabolic and dangerous delusions. He determined, 
 therefore, to lay the whole matter before his spiritual 
 master St. Lambert; arid setting out towards Utrecht, he 
 soon arrived in his presence, and narrated all that had 
 occurred. The venerable bishop listened to his tata with
 
 ST. HUBERT. 
 
 attention, and when he had finished, he laid his hands 
 on his disciple's head, and affectionately blessed him. 
 " Go now," he said, " son of my adoption and of my 
 old age, for this thing- is from the hands of God ; go, 
 and fear nothing 1 ; for verily I know that great thing's 
 lie before thee, and that the burden whicli weighs too 
 heavily on weak and aged shoulders shall pass to them 
 that are fitter to bear it." Hubert arose, wondering 
 at the Bishop's words, whose meaning-, however, he did 
 not devise ; and in obedience to the command he had 
 received, he set out for the city of Rome, where St. 
 Sergius I. then filled the pontifical chair. 
 
 Whilst Hubert was pursuing- his long- and painful 
 journey, a terrible tragedy was taking- place in the city 
 he had left behind him. The bold and fearless sim- 
 plicity with whicli the holy Bishop Lambert was wont 
 to reprove sin wheresoever he met with it, could scarcely 
 fail to raise him many enemies. Two of the most unprin- 
 cipled men of Utrecht, who had suffered from the sharp 
 reproof of the Bishop, excited a tumult against him, 
 which ended in the loss of their own life. A relation 
 of these two men, named Dodo, and an officer of Pe- 
 pin's household, swore to revenge their death, and the 
 opportunity of gratifying- his revenge soon presented 
 itself. Pepin subjected himself by the license of his 
 life to the reprimands of his Bishop, who, in the exer- 
 cise of his apostolic functions, never spared rank or 
 dignity ; but dealt his censures to all, without respect 
 of persons. 
 
 Taking advantage, therefore, of the disg-ust which 
 his boldness had caused in the prince's mind, Dodo per- 
 suaded him to give him the command of a bodv ofmen, 
 at whose head he proceeded to the Bishop's palace, and 
 bade him prepare for death. St. Lambert's death was 
 worthy of his life ; whilst the ruffians were battering- at 
 the palace-doors, he called his attendants about him, 
 and bade them confess their sins and prepare for death ; 
 and having given them his blessing, he himself knelt 
 down, arid awaited the blows of his murderers in prayer.
 
 236 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 His body was buried in his own cathedral, amid the 
 tears ana lamentations of his people. 
 
 Meanwhile, we must carry our reader to the city of 
 Rome, where the first streak of early dawn was just 
 breaking its golden bars on the night's horizon, when 
 Pope Sergius was aroused from his sleep by a hand that 
 lightly touched his shoulder ; he awoke, and started as 
 he beheld an angel standing by his bed. "Sleepest 
 thou, Sergius ?" said the messenger of God ; " mark 
 well the words I say, and forget them not. This night 
 there hath been a bloody deed done in Utrecht, and the 
 Church of God hath lost a faithful and true pastor ; for 
 the holy Bishop Lambert is gone to God. The sword 
 of the ruffian Dodo is even now reeking with his blood, 
 and the widowed Church of Utrecht is bewailing him 
 in her tears. And even as I speak, his son and beloved 
 disciple Hubert is entering Rome, not knowing where- 
 fore he hath been led hither, save that the hand of God 
 is giiiding him. He it is, Sergius, whom thou must 
 name to the vacant see, nor shall a sig-n be wanting to 
 show thee that this is the sure will of God ; for this is 
 the staff which thou shalt place into his hands, and thou 
 shalt learn that he is most fit and worthy to bear it." 
 
 With these words the angel placed in the hands of 
 the astonished Pontiff a richly-ornamented pastoral staff, 
 and disappeared. He would have taken the whole to 
 have been only a strange and distressing dream, if the 
 staff which he still held, and which he recognised as 
 the episcopal crosier of the holy Bishop of Utrecht, had 
 not given evidence of the reality of his vision; wherefore 
 he arose in haste, and gave orders that search should 
 immediately be made throughout the whole of Rome 
 until the Prankish pilgrim, who had that morning en- 
 tered it, should be found and brought before him. 
 
 Many hours had not elapsed before the messengers 
 of the Pontiff, having succeeded in their errand, ushered 
 Hie pilgrim into the papal presence. Sergius regarded 
 him with an earnest and inquiring eye : the sixteen 
 years of solitude had wrought many changes in the
 
 ST. HUBERT. 287 
 
 gallant and knightly form of Count Hubert, and yet 
 neither their lapse, nor the rough sheepskin garment 
 which he still wore, were able entirely to conceal the 
 nobility of his bearing-. But it was not the indications 
 of gentle and courtly training 1 that arrested the eye of 
 the holy Pontiff ; it was the meek and saintly air that 
 breathed in his open brow and gentle eye, and the lines 
 which told how those pale cheeks had been worn by 
 long years of prayer and penance, which still, neither 
 the one nor the other, had diminished aught of the 
 gladness and joyousness of a heart which had found its 
 perfect rest in Cod. 
 
 " What is thy name?" asked the Pontiff at length, 
 after Hubert had knelt for some time in silence at his feet. 
 
 "They call me Hubert," he replied humbly; for he 
 had no thought of further declaring his dignity, or the 
 history of his life. " I come from Aquitain, and have 
 travelled hither by the order of Lambert of Utrecht, of 
 whom I am the unworthy priest and follower." 
 
 " Thou hast had a worthy master," said Sergius 
 gently, for he feared to declare the fate of the murdered 
 bishop with too much suddenness; "when did you hear 
 of the holy man, and what tidings did you gather?" 
 
 "May it please your holiness," replied Hubert, "I 
 have travelled these many weeks over mountains and 
 desert roads on foot, and have scarce spoken to any 
 man, nor have I heard aught of my good father and 
 master since the day I parted from him at Utrecht." 
 
 Sergius paused for a moment in thought; then 
 taking the pilgrim by the hand, he said, "Thou shalt 
 come with me to a place where I will tell thee tiding-s 
 of him, which were better for thee to hear there than 
 here ;" and, so saying, he led his astonished visitor to 
 the great Basilica of St. Peter, and standing by the 
 tomb of the apostle, he declared to him in gentle and 
 affectionate terms how the holy Lambert had met with 
 a martyr's death. Hubert wept bitterly, for the love 
 he bore his saintly bishop was a true and filial one. 
 'Thou must take courage," said the voice of the good
 
 238 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 Pontiff, as he bent over him with the ';enderness of 
 another father ; " for my tiding-s are not ended yet : 
 thou art lie whom God designs to fill the throne which 
 the sword of Dodo has rendered empty ; and it is for 
 this that his ang-el has broug-ht thee hither, and has led 
 thee to me even at this hour, and has taug'ht me also 
 what I must do, and what thou, Hubert, must not 
 refuse to obey ; for thou art now Bishop of Utrecht." 
 
 Hubert was silent, for his tears still flowed fast for 
 his martyred bishop, and he knew not how to answer; 
 at length he looked up with his weeping- eyes to the 
 countenance of Serg-ius, and replied, u All praise, and 
 love, and honour, and glory be to God, for ever and 
 
 * >! 
 
 ever, Amen. 
 
 They were the words with which he offered himself 
 in obedience to the unquestioned will of God ; and Ser- 
 eins understood their import. Giving- him his bene- 
 diction as he knelt, he embraced him affectionately, 
 and said, " We will both pray before the altar of the 
 Apostles, and will ask the Mother of grace and mercy 
 to guide us arig-ht in this matter j" and both accord- 
 ingly prostrated before the sacred shrine, and remained 
 for some minutes in silent prayer. It may be said of 
 the whole life of Hubert, that it was passed under the 
 ministry of ang-els ; something-, perhaps, in his g-entle 
 and loving- nature, made him very dear to those heavenly 
 beings, and drew them closely and familiarly to his 
 side ; for now ag-ain we fire told the prayer of the two 
 saints then kneeling- before the Apostles' tomb was not 
 long- in finding- its answer, and that answer was broug-ht 
 as before by the hands of an ang-el. He stood before 
 them holding- a stole in his hand, and he laid it on the 
 neck of Hubert, saying-, " This comes to thee from the 
 Mother of God ;" then he placed a g-olden kev in his 
 right hand, and added, " and this from the Prince of 
 God's Church and people, and with it shalt thou loose 
 and bind the souls of thy flock." Arid when Hubert 
 had received the stole and the key, he knew that the 
 will of God was clear and manifest, and he dared riot
 
 ST. HUBERT. 239 
 
 refiise the office to which he had thus been called and 
 appointed. 
 
 The Requiem Mass for the soul of Lambert was 
 filling- the minster of Utrecht with its solemn and la- 
 mentable tones. The people crowded the long' aisles of 
 the church, and their tears and sighs mingleu with the 
 sad notes of the funeral cllant. Some weeks had passed 
 since his death, and at first they had scarce dared to 
 give vent to their sorrow, through fear of vengeance of 
 the tyrant Dodo ; but when at length the clergy would 
 no longer delay to perform the public rites of his funeral, 
 all Utrecht assembled to honour the memory of one 
 whom they hesitated not to declare had died a martyr's 
 death. The news of their proceedings reached the ears 
 of the incensed Dodo, and drew from him a torrent of 
 angry words ; but his anger was increased, and carried 
 to a fearful height, when a messenger hastily entered 
 his presence with the tidings that Hubert, the disciple 
 and friend of the murdered bishop, had been appointed 
 to succeed him, and was even then but an hour's journey 
 from the city-gates. 
 
 "Never shall he enter those gates alive," ex- 
 claimed the ferocious tyrant ; and calling* together his 
 retainers, he set out at their head, and rode at a furious 
 pace to meet the new bishop, who was making 1 his way, 
 accompanied by two attendants, towards the city, where 
 a few weeks before he had parted with his friend. 
 
 It was a strange contrast as they met : Hubert and 
 his companions were on foot ; the dust of their long- and 
 weary journey lay on them, and scarcely would you 
 have judged from their poor and way-worn appearance 
 that they pretended to any higher dignity than that of 
 the humblest of the peasantry. Dodo and his followers 
 were mounted and armed after the profuse fashion of a 
 semi-barbarous court ; their corslets glittered with gold, 
 and their plumed helmets flashed like the sun in the 
 eyes of the simple travellers, whom a sudden turn in 
 the forest-road brought face to face with their enemies. 
 Nor was it long before the deadly intention of the troop
 
 240 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 before them became evident ; with many a blasphemy 
 and word ofimpious/ratrage against God and the saints, 
 Dodo called on his men to the slaughter of the three 
 pilgrims ; and Hubert, whose heart bounded for one 
 short moment with delight, as the hope of a speedy 
 martyrdom rose before him, folded his hands on his 
 breast, and waited quietly to receive the shock of the 
 impetuoTis chargers. 
 
 Another moment, and they had vanished from his 
 eyes ! He hardly dared believe the scene that stretched 
 before them, and yet its terrible reality was too clear 
 for him to doubt. There was a fearful chasm in the 
 road, that at one moment before lay so peacefully in 
 the morning sunshine ; and as he drew near and gazed, 
 into its awful depths, he knew that the earth had 
 opened her jaws to receive alive into her eternal prison 
 the souls and bodies of the murderers of Lambert. 
 
 Hubert was received in Utrecht with inexpressible 
 joy, and his after-life was worthy of its beginnings. His 
 diocese included the vast tract of the forest of Ardennes, 
 within whose wild and deep recesses there still lingered 
 remains of the old idolatry which had fled before the 
 face of Christianity, and taken refuge in the wilderness, 
 where its dark and unholy rites were still practised 
 in secret by many. St. Hubert penetrated in person 
 through all the winding's of the forest, casting* down 
 the idols, and preaching' with such a winning grace, that 
 the hearts even of the fierce and savage pagans were knit 
 to him in love. Ardennes long' kept his memory with 
 a loyal fidelity; and in one of the churches erected on 
 the scenes of his labours within her wilds was long pre- 
 served that sacred stole which had been sent to him by 
 the hands of Mary. It was a joyous and beautiful 
 sight, we are told, to see the holy bishop keeping the 
 Rogation-days in that great forest; for all the people 
 kept solemn fast, and followed the procession on foot 
 through the fields and villages, and among the pleasant 
 woods, and the cross was borne over the spots lately 
 defiled by the sacrifices of the heathens, and the relirs
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF NANTERRE. 241 
 
 of the saints and of St. Lambert among 1 the number 
 were carried on the shoulders of the clergy, and the 
 litanies swelled with a loud and solemn echo through 
 the recesses of the lonely wilderness. St. Hubert re- 
 tained something- of his old associations, and to the last 
 was a forest saint. He lived to govern the Church 
 of Utrecht for many years, but he ceased not to sigh 
 for the hour of his release. It came at length, and not 
 without a warning from his angel-friend, a year before 
 that it was at hand. Often during that year he visited 
 the tomb of Lambert, and recommended himself to lu's 
 prayers ; and when the day was come which he knew 
 would be his last, he preached a farewell sermon to his 
 people, and then lay down to die. When the last mo- 
 ment drew near, he rose in his bed, and joining his hands 
 with the simplicity of a child, he recited the Creed and 
 the Our Father, and so expired on the 30th of May, 
 in the year 727. His body, and the golden key of 
 St. Peter, are deposited in the Collegiate Church of 
 St. Peter in Liege. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF NANTERRE. 
 
 IT was the summer of the year 429, and the little 
 village of Nanterre, near Paris, presented a scene of un- 
 usual bustle and festivity. The fronts of the houses 
 were gaily decorated with boughs and many-coloured 
 banners, and the very streets, strewn with rushes, seemed 
 to indicate the presence of some illustrious guest. People 
 of all ranks and ages were crowding to the open door of 
 the church, not, indeed, as might be supposed, to join in 
 the celebration of any festival solemnised there on that 
 day, but rather that they might catch a glimpse of two 
 great men who were to lodge that night in their humble 
 village ; these were the two Bishops Germanus and Lu- 
 
 R
 
 SU2 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 pus. They were on their journey towards the island of 
 Britain, which at that period was gaining 1 its first melan- 
 choly celebrity as the seat of heresy; and it was to 
 oppose the rapid and alarming' progress of Pelagianism, 
 that a council of Gallican prelates nad selected them as 
 champions of the faith, and despatched them to Britain, 
 where Germanus was to bear the office and authority 
 of papal legate. 
 
 Nanterre was a poor and insignificant place, and the 
 population which tilled the church was chiefly composed 
 of rude shepherds and villag'e artisans. The chance 
 which had given them two such distinguished visitors 
 as the Bishops of Auxerre and Troyes was a great event 
 in their simple history ; and when it was known that the 
 legate was about to address the people in a discouz-se, and 
 would afterwards assist publicly at the sing-ing- of the 
 divine office in the parish church, the satisfaction of the 
 villagers was at its height. 
 
 Germanus was in all respects a remarkable man ; his 
 call to the priesthood and episcopate presents us with 
 one of those instances of sudden conversion which were 
 so common in the early days of faith, and so hard of 
 comprehension in our own. A successful courtier and 
 imperial favourite, .he had incurred the displeasure of 
 his Bishop Amator by a passionate lovo of field-sports, 
 which had led him into practices which the jealous 
 watchfulness of that prelate denounced as savouring- of 
 heathenism. For Germanus was wont to adorn the city 
 with the heads of the beasts he had slain, and to hang 
 them solemnly on an old tree which stood in the middle 
 of the city, in accordance with certain superstitions of 
 pagan times ; and when the Bishop summarily stopped 
 these proceeding's by ordering the tree to be levelled to 
 the ground, the young- noble vowed never to rest till he 
 had taken vengeance on the meddling prelate who had 
 spoiled his sport. His anger obliged Amator to fly from 
 the city ; but it was at this verv moment that, by a di- 
 vine revelation, the venerable prelate became aware that 
 his ;>p:-snrutor was the very man chosen to be his succes-
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF NANTERRE. 243 
 
 sor. As the moment of his death drew near, he ordered 
 his ecclesiastics to seize Germanus by force, and give 
 him the tonsure, assuring 1 him at the same time that 
 such was the will of God : the command was obeyed, 
 and he who but a while before had seemed so firm and 
 untameable a spirit, offered no opposition to their pro- 
 ceeding's, but g-ave himself blindly and unresisting-ly to 
 the course marked out for him by Ama'tor. When the 
 unanimous voice of the clergy and people chose him to 
 succeed that prelate in the government of the Church, 
 Auxerre marvelled at the spectacle of the wild and half 
 heathen noble transformed into another man; his life 
 was one of penance and extraordinary sanctity, nor was 
 it long- before the universal reputation which he enjoyed 
 raised him to the highest station among- the councils of 
 the Gallican Bishops. 
 
 Such was the man who, standing 1 on the altar-steps 
 of the church of Nanterre, was now addressing- his simple 
 audience in a few brief and appropriate words of ex- 
 hortation. One of the most learned and accomplished 
 men of the day, he was perfect in the art of adapting 
 his thoug-ht and langniag-e to almost any company; ana 
 with the facility of a truly great speaker, he gracefully 
 fitted himself and his eloquence to the intellectual little- 
 ness of his audience. Never had the g-ood people of 
 Nanterre heard such preaching- before ; and perhaps its 
 power over their hearts was not a little enhanced by 
 the affable and winning- courtesy which Germanus 
 showed to the rude peasantry who crowded about him. 
 He sjfoke to each in turn with a fatherly sweetness; 
 and many a mother's heart was made prouder and 
 happier till her dying- day by the thoug-ht that the 
 lord leg-ate had even noticed her ragged urchins of 
 children, and, it may be, g-iven them a kind word as 
 they knelt to receive his blessing-. Among- those who 
 were thus presented before him, was a little child 
 scarcely seven years of ag-e, whose sing-ular beauty was 
 apparent in spite of the extreme poverty of hf-r dress. 
 The parents of Genevieve were indeed of the humblest
 
 244 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 class ; the wretched shepherd's hut, in which her fa^hei 
 Severus lived, was the poorest in Nanterre : and, young 
 as she was, her life had already begun in hard labour, 
 as she toiled about the hills after the sheep, whom it 
 was her daily care to watch and drive home in the 
 evening. And so when we speak of the beauty of Ge- 
 nevidve, it was a beauty which certainly had little of 
 worldly accompaniments to set it off, and to many it 
 might perhaps have seemed a perversion of terms to 
 call her beautiful at all. The charm lay rather in the 
 innocence which was expressed in every look and ges- 
 ture, and the earnest gravity of her countenance ; and 
 such as it was, it seemed in an extraordinary manner to 
 rivet the attention of Germanus ; for when she came to 
 him in her turn, and knelt with her little companions 
 before the spot where the Bishop stood, a very singu- 
 lar expression of interest passed over his countenance. 
 " Who is this child, and who are her parents ?" he in- 
 quired of the priest of Nanterre, who stood beside him, 
 and who noticed his manner with no small surprise. 
 " It is the little shepherdess Genevieve/' he replied, 
 " the child of one of our oldest villagers. Severus and 
 his wife Gerontia are among 1 the poorest dwellers in 
 Nanterre; but they serve God faithfully, and Genevieve 
 knows how to say her prayers better than many who 
 are twice her age." 
 
 " Are her parents here ?" said Germanus ; " if so, 
 call them, that I may speak to them ;" and in obedience 
 to his summons, the astonished couple found themselves 
 called from the crowd, and brought, to their no small 
 embarrassment, to the presence of the prelate. Taking 
 the child by her hand, Germanus addressed them with 
 the air of one who was yielding to a Divine inspiration : 
 " Severus," he said, " guard this child as the most pre- 
 cious gift of the Divine goodness ; her nativity was 
 celebrated in heaven by the hymns of angels, and the 
 day is not far distant when she will recal sinners from 
 the error of their ways, and perfectly accomplish the 
 resolution even now formed within her heart. And
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF NANTERRE. 245 
 
 you, my daughter," he continued, turning to Gene- 
 vie"ve, " will you not consecrate yourself wholly to Him 
 who has chosen you from all eternity to he His spoiise ?" 
 The singular address of the prelate, and the curiosity 
 and attention of all the spectators, did not seem to 
 disturb or confuse the tranquillity of the little Gene- 
 vidve. She scarcely seemed aware that she was an 
 object of interest, and that the eyes of all present were 
 bent on her with a gaze of wonder and admiration, for 
 her own were never raised from the ground, and to the 
 inquiry of the bishop she replied simply, and without 
 hesitation, " It is what, by God's grace, I have always 
 resolved." " Then be of good courage," replied Ger- 
 manus, " and prove by your actions, that your heart 
 firmly assents to what your lips profess. Neither be 
 afraid of the opposition of man nor devil ; for the Lord 
 will support you, and strengthen you with grace." 
 
 When this extraordinary dialogue was concluded 
 Germanus desired that the singing of vespers might be 
 begun ; but the wonder with which the people had wit- 
 nessed what had passed, was not diminished when they 
 observed that he kept the child near him during the 
 whole of the office, and that his hand rested on her 
 head. When he retired from the church, he again 
 called Severn* and Gerontia, and charged them to 
 bring their daughter to him on the following morning 1 
 before his departure for Paris. 
 
 The impression which these incidents made on the 
 little world of Nariterre may be easily supposed ; when 
 the people left the church, every tongue was busy with 
 the strange prophecy of Germanus; for the miraculous 
 gifts which he was known to possess gave a character 
 to his words which would not have attached to those of 
 an ordinary man ; and when, very early on the follow- 
 ing morning, Severus and Iris daughter were again 
 brought into the Bishop's presence, not a few of (hose 
 who had witnessed the scene on the previous day con- 
 trived to join themselves to their company, eager to see 
 v jie end. Germanus was sitting with some of the eocle-
 
 246 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 siastics of his suite as they entered, and calling- the 
 child to come close to his knee, he looked earnestly in 
 her face. " Listen, Genevieve, my daughter," lie said ; 
 " do you remember the promise you gave me yesterday, 
 that you would consecrate your soul and body wholly 
 and entirely to God ?" " Yes, father," she replied, as 
 simply and readily as before; " I do remember it." Ger- 
 manus was about to speak again, when something- lying 
 at his feet caught his eye, and he paused to pick it 
 up. It was a piece of bronze, probably some coin of the 
 country, which chanced to be marked with the rude 
 figure of a cross. He took it in his hand, and gave 
 it to Genevieve, saying-, " Always carry this round 
 your neck in memory of me, and of the words you 
 have spoken to me this day. Suffer no richer orna- 
 ment ever to touch your neck, and resolve, were the 
 world to offer you all the jewels and pearls of the em- 
 pire, to trample them under your feet." Then giving 
 her his blessing, he rose to depart ; and in a few hours 
 the little village was again left to the quiet and tran- 
 quillity which the excitement caused by his visit had 
 for a moment interrupted. For a time, indeed, the sin- 
 gularity of his conduct towards Genevieve formed the 
 subject of many long speculations; but gradually the 
 interest died away, as they every day saw the little 
 shepherdess leading her ordinary life among them, with 
 no change either in her manner or occupation which 
 could indicate that the prophecy of Germanus bad 
 roused within her any consciousness of her own im- 
 portance, or impatience for any other kind of life. It 
 is true, neither her neighbours nor even her parents saw 
 much of what passed in Genevieve' s heart ; for her time 
 was spent for the most part on the lonely hills where 
 she watched her sheep, and so the habits of prayer and 
 aspiration which day by day deepened in her soul, fill- 
 ing it with the perpetual memory of Him to whom she 
 had been so solemnly consecrated, grew in secret, and 
 unobserved by any human eye, leaving no trace by 
 which they could be guessed, save in a certain spin-
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF NANTERRE. 247 
 
 tuality in her look, which those who surrounded her 
 were scarcely quick-sighted enough to discern or un- 
 derstand, fler mother Gerontia, though good and 
 kind-hearted in her own way, was in no degree supe- 
 rior to the common faults of her class ; of a quick and 
 hasty temper, she was little in the habit of restraining 
 her tongue; and whilst she was far from comprehending 
 the quiet gravity of Genevie"ve's manner, so different 
 from that of ordinary children, it often provoked her 
 into angry speeches and somewhat rough treatment. 
 
 Now it happened that not very long after the visit 
 of the Bishop of Auxerre, Gerontia was preparing one 
 morning to set out for the village from which their 
 little cottage was situated at some little distance. It 
 was a fete-day, and she had dressed herself in her holi- 
 day attire to appear in church as gay as her neigh- 
 bours; but as to Genevieve, she desired her to remain 
 at home, and mind the house in her absence. For once, 
 however, she was surprised to meet witli something like 
 opposition from the child, who rather pertinaciously 
 pleaded that she too might be suffered to go to church 
 and keep the fete, by hearing Mass. Gerontia was 
 very angry : " Thou shalt stay at home and bridle thy 
 tongue," she said, " which is over-forward for thine age; 
 a fine thing, indeed, if all the children and babies of the 
 village are to be crying thus to keep their fete like 
 grown women. You will be wanting earring's, and a 
 silken kerchief next." u I want no earrings, mother,'' 
 replied Genevieve, "for the Bishop told me I was never 
 to wear them or any ornament save my little bronze 
 cross ; but he told me likewise to serve God, and al- 
 ways to hear Mass on feast-days; wherefore, I pray you, 
 suffer me to go with you to-day, for I promised him I 
 would faithfully do whatsoever he bode me." 
 
 " The Bishop hath turned thy head, I think," ex- 
 claimed Gerontia, who felt a secret consciousness that 
 the pleasure of exhibiting her own gay holiday dress 
 had no small share in the delight of a village fete-day. 
 " May I never see the church-town of Nantcrre again,
 
 248 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 if I do not rid thee of thy whims ;" and as she spoke, 
 she struck her daughter a heavy box on her ear. 
 Scarcely had she done so, than she seemed seized with 
 a sudden fear. "Genevieve, child, where art thou, 
 what hast thou done ?" she cried, extending- her arms, 
 as one who feels in the dark ; " it is surely a jest of 
 thine ; thou hast closed the door, hast thou not / for I 
 cannot see." " mother !" answered Genevieve, who 
 was terribly frightened, " the door and window are wide 
 open, and it is quite light;" and as her mother still 
 looked wild and confused, and felt about her to find the 
 door, Genevieve began to cry, and throwing herself into 
 Gerontia's arms, continued to sob with childish vehe- 
 mence, "See, dear mother, won't you; you can surely 
 see now." But Gerontia could not see; the penalty 
 she had called down on her own head had fallen on her 
 hasty words, and she was quite blind. Nearly two 
 years passed away, and though she tried many remedies, 
 nothing- availed to restore the smallest gleam of sight 
 to her eyes. The terrible privation, however, was not 
 without its effect; and whilst Genevieve served and 
 tended her with devoted care, Gerontia's temper grew 
 more patient, and her tongiie was learning a gentleness 
 or civility to which it had before been a stranger. 
 
 Now it happened one day that Genevieve had gone 
 to the spring which was at a little distance from the 
 house to draw the water. Tired with the hard work 
 which now fell to her exclusive share for her mother's 
 blindness prevented her from taking any active part in 
 the affairs of the household she sat on the brink of 
 the well to rest; and as she sat and thought of her 
 mother, and the affliction which had come upon her, she 
 began to weep. " Oh, that our Lord would give sight 
 to my mother !" she sighed ; " if He were here, He 
 could do it in a moment : and He is here, for He is 
 every where. And Germanus called Him my spouse ; if 
 He is my spouse, He will surely do what I ask Him; 
 and when I go back I will ask Him to cure my mo- 
 ther " And with these thoughts revolving in her mind
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF NANTERHE. 249 
 
 she filled her buckets with the clear sparkling water, 
 and tottered back to the cottage. " Is that you, child /" 
 said Gerontia, as she heard the footstep on the threshold. 
 " Come here ; for our Lord has put a thought into my 
 heart, and bring- with you some of the water which you 
 have drawn; for I verily believe that this day He will 
 give me back my sight." " mother !" exclaimed 
 Genevieve joyfully, " it is what I have been praying 
 for; but what will you do with the water?" Gerontia 
 did not immediately answer : with a movement of great 
 reverence she took the water in her hands, and raised 
 them and her sightless eyeballs to heaven; she prayed 
 for a few moments in silence, then holding out the ves- 
 sel to her daughter, she desired her to make over it the 
 sig-n of the cross. Genevieve having obeyed, Gerontia 
 bathed her eyes several times in the water, whilst her 
 daughter stood watching her with feeling-s of extraor- 
 dinary tenderness and anxiety. And as she so stood, 
 her mother looked up, and she saw that her g-lance was 
 no longer wandering and expressionless. Gerontia's 
 sight was restored ; and as she herself hesitated not to 
 acknowledge, through the merits of her child. Her 
 time of suffering' had produced its effect, and the grati- 
 tude and reverence with which she had now learnt to 
 regard Genevieve showed itself in the care which she 
 now displayed in cherishing and forwarding the holy 
 design to which the child had so resolutely consecrated 
 herself. It wns not long- before an opportunity pre- 
 sented itself for this consecration to be made in a for- 
 mal and solemn manner, according to the custom of the 
 times, on the occasion of the Bishop of Chartres visiting 
 Nanterre. Genevieve was presented to him, with two 
 others older thnn herself, to receive the religious veil 
 from his hands. When they all three stood before 
 him, Genevieve, as being- the youngest, was placed the 
 last in the rank; but a secret inspiration revealed to 
 the Bishop that a more than ordinary degree of sanctity 
 was concealed under her simple and modest exterior. 
 Regarding her earnestly for some minutes, he delayed
 
 250 CATHOLIC LKOENDS. 
 
 commencing the ceremony ; and then turning- suddenly 
 to some of the attendant priests, he said, " Bring- that 
 youngest child to the front, for God has already sancti- 
 fied her." 
 
 "It is Genevieve," said one of those standing by ; 
 "and the holy father Germanus did indeed in some 
 sort consecrate her when he came here eight years 
 since, and prophesied that great designs of God should 
 be accomplished in her." 
 
 And so for a second time the attention of the people 
 was directed to the little shepherdess, who was now 
 once more pointed out to them as the chosen favourite 
 of Heaven. In those times the holy virgins consecrated 
 to God remained in their own homes, and followed a 
 life of devotion and mortification, without wholly with- 
 drawing- from the society of their families. But very 
 shortly after the reception of the sacred veil, the death 
 of both her parents obliged Genevieve to seek a new 
 home with her godmother, who resided at Paris ; and 
 with her change of residence a new life opened before 
 her. The celebrity attaching to her name accompanied 
 her to the capital, and was increased by the innumer- 
 able miracles which followed her prayers, and the visits 
 of charity in which her time was spent. These visits ex- 
 tended far beyond the boundaries of Paris, all the chief 
 cities of France became familiar with the presence of one 
 whom they regarded as a kind of messenger from heaven. 
 The secrets of consciences were laid open to her ; and 
 her arbitration and judgment were accepted in many a 
 feud which might else have found its settlement in a 
 sea of blood. It is to be regretted that so much of the 
 history of this period of her life is sunk in the obscurity 
 of the times; yet if we may judge from the imperfect 
 notices preserved, it seems to have borne a striking- 
 resemblance to that of St. Catherine of Sienna. For 
 whilst constantly engaged in long journeys and trouble- 
 some affairs, living before the public eye and accom- 
 panied by a number of those who wore living like her- 
 self in u state consecrated to relijrion, whilst v-t riot
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF NANTERRE. 251 
 
 wholly separated from the world, and who considered 
 themselves her spiritual children, neither the distrac- 
 tions nor the fatigue which she suffered had the effect 
 of disturbing- for one moment the interior calm of a 
 soul which united the contemplation of a solitary to the 
 labours of an apostle. 
 
 Like St. Catherine, she had her enemies ; and for a 
 time the world banded against her, and denounced her as 
 a hypocrite and a visionary. Like her, too, the mysteri- 
 ous and supernatural life of ecstasy and miracle mingled 
 with the thread of her ordinary existence; and whilst the 
 marvels of such a life made some venerate her as a saint, 
 many others were equally ready to persecute her as an 
 impostor. She was scarcely more than twenty when 
 St. Germanus returned from England after an absence of 
 thirteen years ; and we give the events that followed in 
 the language "of an old legendary life of the fourteenth 
 century. " Then having- returned to France, he came 
 to Paris ; and all the people went out to meet him with 
 great joy. But before all thing's the blessed Germanus 
 asked how fared the virgin Genevieve ; and the people, 
 who are ever more ready to speak evil than well of good 
 people, replied that there were no good tidings of her. 
 But as they tried to blame her, their words did them- 
 selves praise her ; wherefore he took no count of their 
 evil speech, but as soon as he had entered the city, he 
 went strait to the dwelling- of the virgin, whom he sa- 
 luted after so humble a sort, that the people who beheld 
 the same marvelled greatly ; and then he showed to those 
 who despised her the ground watered by her tears, and 
 related to them the beginning of her life, and how it 
 had been made known to him at Nanterre that she was 
 chosen of God, and therefore he had recommended her 
 to the people." 
 
 The stedf'ast friendship and protection of Germanus 
 turned for a while the current of popular feeling, and 
 silenced the busy tongues that sought hor ruin; but hia 
 fresh absence in Italy in the year 449 was the signal for 
 a renewal of the persecution of her with greater violence
 
 252 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 than before. They even determined to take her life, 
 and were preparing 1 to drown her as a witch and im- 
 postor, when once more the intervention of Germanus 
 was the means of restoring- her to the popular esteem. 
 At the very moment that they were dragging their 
 unresisting' victim to death, the archdeacon of Auxerre 
 arrived on a mission from the Bishop, and imperatively 
 demanded to he permitted to speak with her. The 
 character and authority of Germanus commanded re- 
 spect for his messenger, and the brutal mob were awed 
 into gentleness when they beheld the archdeacon pre- 
 sent her with the usual ceremonial, a portion of the 
 blessed bread, which Germanus, after a custom of the 
 time, had sent her as a special token of esteem, and as 
 a token of communion. This had the effect of chang 1 - 
 ing 1 the rag'e of the fickle populace into a veneration for 
 her person, which they continued to retain during* the 
 remainder of her life. But events were at hand which 
 were destined to exhibit Genevieve to the world in a 
 new character, and to give her a laim on the gratitude 
 of the country, of which she was now to become the 
 defender. News came to Paris that Attila, the felon- 
 king* of the Huns, was ravaging 1 every part of France, 
 and had sworn to subdue it to his rule ; wherefore the 
 citizens of Paris, by reason of the great fear that they 
 had, sent their property into other cities that were more 
 secure. In this general alarm Genevieve undertook 
 to reanimate the drooping" courage of the people, and 
 to encourage them to a manly defence. " She admon- 
 ished the women," continues the ancient writer before 
 quoted, " that they should watch in prayer and fasting 1 , 
 whereby they should powerfully resist and overcome 
 the tyranny of the enemies, even as the two holy women 
 Esther and Judith did in old time. And they obeyed 
 her, watching many days together in the church in 
 fasts and prayer." But she was not content with this ; 
 leaving her companions in the church, she herself ap- 
 peared in the streets and public places, calling on the 
 men to arm themselves and remain at their posts, and
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF XAXTERRE. 253 
 
 promising- them the protection of Heaven. Each day 
 the danger appeared more imminent ; for tidings were 
 continually reaching the terrified inhabitants of the 
 nearer approach of the barbarian hordes, whose wav 
 was marked by a track of devastation ; and still each 
 day was Genevieve to be seen going about among the 
 fearful and faint-hearted people, and assuring them that 
 the day of deliverance was at hand. Some, indeed, 
 disregarded her prophecies, and treated her as an im- 
 postor; but the greater part so far yielded to the extra- 
 ordinary power which she had over them, that they 
 remained in the city, and consented to prepare for its 
 defence. And at length the intelligence arrived, that 
 when within a day's inarch of the capital Attila and his 
 savage army had suddenly changed their course, and 
 abandoning their designs on Paris, had returned in the 
 direction of Orleans. The reason of this unexpected 
 change in the plan of the barbarians was not explained; 
 but the people of Paris were not slow in attributing it 
 to the particular grace of God, who had guarded the 
 city by the prayers and merits of Genevieve. 
 
 It was this circumstance that subsequently caused 
 St. Genevieve to be considered as the patron saint of 
 Paris ; and yet, perhaps, the city did not owe her less 
 for the influence she exerted in sanctifying and chris- 
 tianising it, than for its deliverance through her means 
 from the scourge of the Huns. 
 
 Every Saturday night there might be seen a long: 
 procession of women winding through the rough and 
 dirty roods that lay between Paris and the mountain of 
 Mont Martre, which had been the scene of the martyr- 
 dom of St. Denys. \~Jenevieve was at their head ; her 
 piety was constantly mi ted to a patriotism as fervent, 
 and, if we miirht so say. as romantic, as that which in a 
 subsequent age animated the breast of Joan of Arc: and 
 this devotion to the great apostle of France had been 
 insti'uti'il by her to implore his protection on the cuun- 
 try, which was then sharing in the terrible s-utit'rings 
 thut attended the final dissolution of the western em-
 
 254 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 pire. One night, as they were on their way, the rain 
 descended in torrents, and they could scarce keep their 
 footing 1 in the dirty roads ; yet still they kept on, brave 
 and undaunted, singing 1 psalms and litanies, and battling 
 with the wind, which arose with tempestuous violence, 
 and rendered their progress slow and difficult. At 
 length the lamp which was earned in front of their little 
 company was blown out, and they were left in total 
 darkness. Many of them were frightened and disheart- 
 ened, and began to weep; but Genevieve reassured them. 
 " Give me tlie lamp," she said j and the sound of her 
 sweet and gentle voice restored courage in the hearts of 
 her children, even though they could not discern her 
 form ; " I will light you to the church." And taking 
 it in her hand, she had scarcely touched it, when it in- 
 stantly relighted of itself ; and bearing it in front of them, 
 so that its clear ray fell over the whole company, she 
 thus led them on to the church-door, and so accom- 
 plished the night's pilgrimage. 
 
 We have instituted a comparison between the cha- 
 racters of Genevieve and St. Catherine of Sienna, a 
 comparison which is forcibly suggested in the public ond 
 patriotic passages of their lives ; in their interior suffer- 
 ings, and the martyrdom of love which each "endured, 
 they were not less alike. "The precious virgin Gene 
 vieve," says her historian, " did most hardly torment 
 her body all her life for the preventing of sin ; her only 
 delights were fasting, prayers, and penances." At length 
 the Bishops laid her under obedience to moderate her 
 penances, and to take a more nourishing kind of food. 
 She obeyed ; and yet, "whenever she did eat," continues 
 her biographer, "she did use to look to heaven and 
 weep ; and it was thought that she did then verily see 
 our Lord in open vision, according to the gospel promise 
 which saith, that it is well with the pure in heart, be- 
 cause they see God." We shall not pause to enumerate 
 the many miracles which she performed ; but hasten to 
 another scene in her life, when she was called from her 
 prayers and pilgrimages to the service and defence of
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS OF NANTEHRE. 255 
 
 her country. A new enemy was fast establishing 1 itself 
 in Gaul, and after having 1 taken possession of the western 
 and southern portions of the country, was now preparing- 
 to advance ag-ainst Paris. These were the French under 
 their King 1 Childeric, who, appearing- before the city 
 walls, commenced a siege which they afterwards turned 
 into a blockade that lasted ten years, during- which 
 time the suffering's of the half-starved inhabitants reached 
 a terrible heig'ht. A vast number perished of hung'er, 
 and the cries of the famishing- populace fell on the ear 
 of Genevieve with a power she could not resist. Yet 
 what could she do ? her own scanty portion was every 
 day divided among 1 the most distressed ; but the suf- 
 ferers were to be numbered 'by thousands; and as she 
 passed through the streets, her heart, which felt like a 
 mother's heart for the people whom she loved so dearly, 
 was torn to see them lying- in her way in the agonies of 
 despair and destitution. That heart was, however, one 
 of too truly heroic a nature to be content with giving- 
 pity and compassion where there was room for action. 
 With her usual resolution and composure, she proposed 
 fo some of the boatmen of the river to endeavour to 
 make their way up the Seine to some of the distant 
 villag-es, whence they could procure a supply of corn 
 and other provisions for the distressed city. The pro- 
 posal seemed nothing- short of madness, for the banks 
 of the river were crowded by the hosts of the enemy, 
 and every avenue from Paris was strictly watched and 
 g-uarded. Genevieve' s plan therefore met with a sturdy 
 and abrupt repulse. " Boats," they said, " there are in 
 plenty ; but we will not man them : as well die in Paris 
 for want of bread as on the swords of the barbarians." 
 '' Mnreovei 1 ," said another, " all the world knows that 
 the Seine is now scarce navigable : for hig-hcr up, near 
 Troves, a g-reattree has fallen over the river, and manv 
 boats that have attempted the passng-e have been 
 wrecked, and their crews have perished. Neither is it 
 possible to reach the hig-her stream till the hindrance 
 be removed." "Well then," replied GeneviAve. without
 
 256 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 the smallest appearance of disturbance, " since you have 
 none of you the heart to go, I must needs go myself;" 
 and so saying 1 , she loosened one of the smaller boats 
 from its moorings, and pushed it from the shore. " We 
 are shamed for ever, if our mother perish alone," said 
 one of tlie men ; " I for one will surely go with her ; 
 one can die but once." His words revived the courage 
 of another ; and so she set out on her perilous journey 
 with her two companions, whose dangerous course she 
 herself directed, exhorting them not to fear, but to put 
 their whole trust in God. 
 
 The citizens had gathered in great numbers on the 
 banks at the news of the departure of their protectress; 
 and followed her with their eyes, as they watched her 
 little vessel, until the windings of the stream hid her 
 from their gaze. Days passed on, and still no news of 
 her return reached their ears ; and the possible loss of 
 one they counted as their mother was for the time a 
 sorer trouble than the perils of the city or their own 
 sufferings in the famine. At length, on the third day, 
 the men who were set to watch on the towers which 
 commanded the river gave notice that a boat was to^ 
 be seen coming down the stream, which bore every re- 
 semblance to that in which the three adventurers had 
 embarked. The tidings brought all the populace to 
 the shore ; and in a short space Genevieve landed safe 
 amid her fellow-citizens, having succeeded in bringing 
 them a welcome supply of provisions, which she had 
 collected at the peril of her life from the surrounding 
 villages on the Seine. Even the noble exertions of 
 Genevieve, however, could only defer the fate of the 
 city, which fell into the hands of Childeric after the 
 blockade had lasted ten years. Genevieve, however, 
 had still a part to perform, even in the hour of defeat 
 and surrender. She presented herself to the pagan con- 
 queror, with a noble daring, to solicit the lives of the 
 prisoners, and to exhort him to clemency and humanity 
 in the hour of victory. What power there must have 
 been in the eloquence of that appeal, we may judge
 
 THE SHEPHERDESS DF NANTERRE. 257 
 
 from the fact, that the barbarous chief, who had made 
 other cities of Gaul run with the blood of his victims, 
 is known to have signalised himself, on the taking- of 
 Paris, by a clemency which formed no part of his usual 
 character. Nay, even thoug-h Genevie"ve's name was well 
 known to him, as having- been the foremost among- those 
 who rallied the citizens to their long- and obstinate de- 
 fence, and tlioug-h her exploit on the Seine had reached 
 his ears, and he might naturally have conceived some 
 enmity against one who had proved herself so stedfast an 
 opponent, yet he could not resist the extraordinary in- 
 fluence which she exerted over all who approached her, 
 and whose most powerful element was probably to be 
 found in that union of heroic strength with childish 
 simplicity, which was the most striking- feature of her 
 character. 
 
 Childeric continued to treat her with respect and 
 veneration during- the remainder of his life ; and his 
 successor, Clovis, who embraced the Christian faith in 
 406, was often wont to take her counsel on matters of 
 consequence, and frequently at her suggestion released 
 prisoners, and performed other acts of generosity and 
 mercy. 
 
 She lived to the ag - e of eig-hty-nine years, all her 
 life being- illustrated by miracles of every kind. They 
 continued to be worked" at her tomb, and to those who 
 sought her intercession, in what might be called a pro- 
 fusion; so that the shrine of "Madame Saincte Gene- 
 vieve,"'as she is called in the old legend, became the 
 place of pilgrimage for all France. The lame walked, 
 the blind saw, and the lepers were cleansed. But this 
 was not all. "All this was worked in the bodies of the 
 sick by the holy virgin," says her biographer, " \vho 
 did even yet more accomplish spiritually, by hermerits 
 in the souls of men." For indeed the conversions 
 which she made, both during- her life and after death, 
 were far more, numerous and more glorious to her 
 name than all the other offering-* which long- adorned 
 
 s
 
 258 
 
 CATHOLIC LEGENDS. 
 
 her sepulchre, and bore testimony to the relief which 
 her invocation had brought to the sick and maimed. 
 
 Such was the career of the humble shepherdess 01 
 Nanterre, the holy Genevieve ; and we may safely ven- 
 ture to say, that rich as the subsequent history of her 
 country has been in both characters, France will scarcely 
 find any to equal her as a heroine, or to surpass her as 
 a saint.
 
 ^^v /-^ 

 
 
 ; ,