Insula Sanctorum et Doctorum Part 36

Beneath his episcopal dress he wore the habit of a Canon Regular, but, unlike the others, next his skin he wore a coa.r.s.e hair s.h.i.+rt night and day; and as if that was not enough to mortify his flesh, he had himself frequently scourged, often no less than three times in the day, by an attendant who knew how to keep the scourging secret. He dined in the same refectory with the other canons, and, as with St. Augustine and his clergy, whilst the body was refreshed with food, the spirit was nourished by spiritual reading. He was most abstemious too at all his meals, and never tasted meat. On Friday his only food was bread and water; and sometimes on that day he absolutely abstained from all food--feeding his soul, however, with meditation on the pa.s.sion of Christ. Yet he was hospitable as became a great prelate, and had banquets rich and abundant prepared for his guests. He even pretended on these occasions to take a share of the good things provided for the strangers, and coloured his water with a little wine, lest his own abstinence might prevent them from fully enjoying the bountiful hospitality prepared for them.

He was a.s.siduous in prayer, and before all things anxious to promote the beauty of G.o.d's house, as well as the splendour and regularity of Divine wors.h.i.+p. Here, too, the example of the holy prelate must have exercised a very powerful influence both on the clergy and on the people. We are told by the writer of his Life that he was a constant attendant at all the offices of the Church, when not visiting his diocese; and not content at presiding at the daily offices, he regularly got up at midnight to recite matins and lauds with his canons; and when they retired to rest after the office was completed, he generally remained behind in the choir, before the miraculous crucifix of Christ Church, sometimes standing, or sitting, or kneeling, but always praying; so that he often continued reciting the psaltery until the morning dawned, and then he would go out to the cemetery to say a prayer for the dead before retiring for a few hours'

brief repose. Yet in all things which might win popular favour or applause, he loved to hide even his good works, lest they might beget self-esteem or hypocrisy.

Such a life was sufficiently rigorous, but it was not enough for this man of G.o.d. His nephew Thomas, whom he greatly loved, became Abbot of Glendalough; and then the holy prelate having one in whom he could confide, used to retire to his beloved mountain valley at the approach of Lent, in order to give himself up to a forty days' retreat in the desert.

All the saints of G.o.d loved solitude, and longed to fly from the haunts of men. They seem to have been especially anxious to select for their place of retreat those secluded spots where the sights and sounds of nature might be most apt to raise their minds to G.o.d. Hence we find them in the islands of the great sea, or of some lonely lake; or they retired to the majestic solitude of some mountain valley, where no mean or sordid thoughts could cross their minds; nay, rather everything around them helped to raise their souls to heaven. It was in this spirit--the spirit of a n.o.ble generous soul that Laurence used to leave the city and go out to meet and commune with G.o.d in the solitude of the mountains of Wicklow.

It was the same Spirit of G.o.d that brought Moses to Nebo, and Eliseus to h.o.r.eb. Therefore it was that St. Gall sought the inmost recesses of the Alps, and St. Kevin the deepest valleys of the Wicklow mountains. So Laurence, like another Kevin, took up his abode not with his nephew in the monastery at the bottom of the valley, but in the bosom of the hills--in the very cave where St. Kevin himself spent his earliest penitential years. There St. Laurence dwelt in the grotto in the face of Lugduff, under the mountain's brow, overlooking the gloomy lake, to which access could be gained only by a boat, or by a ladder planted in the lake itself.

Twice a week his nephew brought him a little bread and water to support life, and ascertained his wishes or commands in all things concerning the government of the diocese. If urgent business called him, he went at once from his retreat; but this rarely happened. Whilst there he saw no one but his nephew. His bed was the rock; his canopy the sky; his lamps the midnight stars that shone above the summit of Comaderry mountain. He was there in cold and hunger, in storm and suns.h.i.+ne, alone all the day and all the dreary night. Yet he was perfectly happy, for he lived with G.o.d. The saints are not alone in these solitudes, they are watched by angels; the light of heaven is around them; the glow of perfect love is in their hearts; G.o.d speaks to them in all the voices of the mountains, and they see Him in all the majestic sights before their eyes. He spoke by day and night to Laurence, as He spoke to holy Job of old.

But what useful purpose does this extreme austerity serve? We can only answer very briefly that it serves two things--first, it serves to emanc.i.p.ate and enn.o.ble the soul in its conflict with the flesh; second, it serves to a.s.similate us with Christ crucified. We with our selfish hearts, our sordid ungenerous souls, cannot understand the saints of G.o.d; we cannot realize how G.o.d speaks to them, and comforts them, and feeds them like the ravens in the wilderness. Yet this bishop was a man like ourselves, a man whose life was cast on evil days, and who lived in the midst of a wicked and perverse generation.

Yes, the prelate was a Saint and an Apostle; but the people were sensual and wicked; they would not hearken to his word, nor turn away from their evil courses. Danish Dublin at this time was not a model city, nor a truly Christian city. It was still, in many ways, half pagan; or if they had faith, they certainly had not works. The Archbishop was sorely grieved; he forewarned them, like another Jeremias, of the wrath to come. He told them, what even human sagacity might perceive, that every kingdom divided against itself must fall; that an evil day was in store for them, as well as for the wicked and perverse generation that was over all the land. G.o.d had sent them prophets, and they would not hearken; apostles, but they would not be converted. "So the day is at hand, and thy house will be laid desolate." It was even at their doors--a day of wrath and vengeance--and yet a day of justice and mercy, because their bitter chastis.e.m.e.nt was yet their salvation.

Shortly after the arrival of the Norman freebooters in the year A.D. 1169, Dermott M'Murrough and Maurice Fitzgerald made their first attack on Dublin. On this occasion the citizens kept within their gates, and the enemy was not strong enough to take the city. But the midnight sky was red with the glare of burning homesteads through all the valley of the Liffey; and when the plunderers departed, scarcely a living thing survived in all that fertile region.

Next year the attack was renewed in force, and this time it was directed against the city itself. The citizens had great reason to fear the vengeance of M'Murrough, for they had put his father to a cruel death in the midst of their city, and had shamefully buried him with a dog. Now M'Murrough, with the Normans led on by Strongbow in person, was thundering at their gates. The city, too, was badly prepared for a siege, and there were traitors within the walls; so the citizens resolved to make the best terms they could, and surrender the city. The Archbishop was asked to negotiate the terms of surrender; but even whilst he and the Earl were in conference outside the walls of the city, Milo de Cogan, and some of the more lawless spirits, burst over the walls, and attacked the town. They burned, robbed, and slaughtered as usual, so that the streets were filled with the dead and dying. Then it was that St. Laurence proved himself a true pastor. Rus.h.i.+ng from the false parley, he entered the city, and s.n.a.t.c.hed from the brutal soldiers the palpitating bodies of their victims.

A hundred times he interposed his own body to ward off the fatal stroke from others. He went about through the slippery streets in his episcopal robes, with the cross in his hands, imploring the merciless foe for Christ's sake to stop the horrid carnage; and when he could do no more, he gave absolution to the dying, and helped to bury the heaps of dead. It was a fearful foretaste of what his native land was destined to endure in the future.

But the Archbishop was not only a true pastor, but a true patriot. He knew that the first adventurers were simply robbers, some of whom were afterwards imprisoned for daring to effect a hostile landing in Ireland, without the licence of the king, at the invitation of a traitor. So he stimulated the slothful king, Rory O'Connor, to action; he implored the native princes to give up for a while their insane divisions, to unite against the common foe, and come to the aid of the Capital. These efforts were partially successful. Some thirty thousand Irish soldiers under the supreme command of Roderick himself beleagured the city from Dalkey to Clontarf, whilst the s.h.i.+ps of Hasculf the Dane crowded the river, and watched the river-gate. It was the supreme moment of Ireland's destiny.

Had the Irish been soldiers, or even men, they might have annihilated their foes. But they were neither. After a two months' siege, in which the garrison was reduced to the verge of starvation, Milo de Cogan made a desperate sally with a few hundred soldiers, and routed the hosts of the Irish, almost with a shout, as boys frighten away the flocks of birds from the fields in spring.

The Archbishop doubtless saw clearly enough from what he witnessed on that occasion, that the Irish soldiers had no discipline, that their leaders had no union amongst themselves, and that such a heap of uncementing sand, as the event proved, would have no chance of withstanding the mail-clad warriors, who were victorious on every battlefield in Europe. So when the king himself came over towards the close of A.D. 1171, Laurence O'Toole, with the rest of the Irish prelates, followed the example of the kings of the West, and South, and East, who had all submitted to Henry without striking a blow. Herein, too, he proved himself a true patriot, although submission must have cost him a bitter pang. He had seen enough to prove that resistance was utterly hopeless, and that his duty to G.o.d and to the people was to yield to a power which he could not oppose. So we find his name amongst the prelates who a.s.sembled at Cashel in A.D. 1171, or the beginning of A.D. 1172, to enact such disciplinary laws as the deplorable state of the times had rendered imperatively necessary for the reformation of morality and the reform of discipline. From the Pope's reply to the Synodical letter of this Council we can readily infer, what indeed we might naturally expect from the disturbed state of the times, that very grave abuses prevailed at this period in various parts of the country--abuses which it was a blessing to have reformed almost at any cost.

Yet the great Archbishop was devotedly loyal to his own sovereign, Rory O'Connor, and continued to be faithful to him to the end, even when he became a crownless king, forsaken by his own subjects, and despised and imprisoned by his own sons. Indeed it is not too much to say that Laurence lost his life in the service of that worthless king, whose misfortunes he had done so much to alleviate.

In A.D. 1175 Rory O'Connor finally and formally gave up all claims to the kingdom of Ireland, and was content to accept his own hereditary kingdom of Connaught as a fief from the English monarch. The treaty is still extant; and we find the name of Laurencius Dublinensis as Chancellor for the unfortunate King of Connaught. He even went over to London in person in company with the Archbishop of Tuam, and the Abbot of St. Brendan's, Clonfert, to negotiate the treaty for his old and beloved monarch. Such fidelity to fallen princes is rare, and is highly honourable to the great prelate of Dublin.

Towards the end of the year A.D. 1178 Alexander III. convoked for the first Sunday of the following Lent a General Council to meet in Rome, in order to heal the deplorable wounds which the Church had received from a schism of some twenty years' standing. The Letters of Convocation did not arrive in Ireland until near Christmas; the journey to Rome was toilsome and perilous, especially in the winter season; yet the good Archbishop at once prepared to obey the voice of the Pope as the voice of G.o.d. He started immediately after Christmas, and crossing over to England was, with the Irish prelates, his companions, very rudely treated by the king.

Before they were allowed to cross to France the jealous tyrant compelled them to swear that during their stay in Rome they would do nothing derogatory to the dignity of the English crown. But in spite of every obstacle they succeeded in making their way to Rome, and were present at all the sessions of the Council. It is a proud thing to find the names of six Irish prelates amongst the signatories of that great Council--a larger number than came from England and Scotland together--and at their head stands the name of Laurence, Archbishop of Dublin.

But Laurence did more than attend the sessions of the Council. He opened the eyes of the Pope to the true state of affairs in Ireland, and not only secured many privileges for his own Church in Dublin, but also insisted on the Pope recognising and safeguarding the liberty and independence of the Church in Ireland. Unfortunately our information on this question is very scanty. However we are inclined to think that, when it is said St.

Laurence secured the liberty of the Church in Ireland, it means not only that, like Thomas a Becket, he took measures to protect it against the encroachments of the civil power, but what was at least of equal importance, he preserved it from all dependence on the See of Canterbury.

It was only two years before in A.D. 1177 that the Scottish prelates and abbots were forced to swear obedience to the Archbishop of York as their metropolitan. The same crafty policy would no doubt be also attempted in Ireland; and although we cannot prove it, we are convinced in our own mind that it is to St. Laurence O'Toole we owe the spiritual independence of the Catholic Church in Ireland.

The Pope conceived a very strong regard for St. Laurence; he conferred on him the high and special honour of Apostolic Legate in Ireland; and the independence of the Irish Church, having thus been once formally recognised in Rome, could not afterwards be easily undermined. But we must hasten to the end. Laurence came home to Ireland; his stay, however, was very brief, when he was again compelled to travel to England in the interest of Rory O'Connor, the discrowned king. Several abortive attempts were made to get rid of the English influence in the West of Ireland; Rory, or at least his sons, were implicated in these designs, and Henry, who only wanted an excuse, threatened to depose the old king, and confiscate all his territories to the Crown. Rory was alarmed, and what was worse, he was helpless. His own sons had turned against him; so in his misery he implored the Archbishop to be his mediator with the king. He had no one else to rely on, and the Archbishop did not disappoint him.

Again he left the sh.o.r.es of Ireland on a mission of charity; and doubtless his eyes were not dry as he gazed on the lessening summits of the far-off Wicklow mountains, and thought of the many happy days he had spent in the wild solitude of his beloved Glendalough. When he arrived in England Henry could not, or would not, see him; moreover, he forbade the prelate to return again to Ireland, and he himself sailed away to Normandy. For three weeks the Archbishop was kept as a sort of prisoner in the monastery of Abingdon, when, revolving to dare all in order to accomplish his purpose, he made up his mind to find out the king beyond the Channel. He embarked at Dover; but a fever had already laid hold of him, so that when he landed, he was unable to travel. He struggled onward, however, for a little until he came to the brow of the hill which overlooks the church and monastery at the little town of Augum or Eu, on the borders of Normandy. Enquiring the name of the place, he learned that it was the Church of the Canons Regular of St. Victor, a branch closely allied to his own. Thereupon he cried out--"Haec requies mea in aeternum, hic habitabo quoniam elegi cam."

Arriving at the monastery, he first paid a visit to the church, and after spending some time in fervent prayer before the altar, he was carried to the hospice. The scene that followed is touching in the extreme, and is taken exactly from the Latin Life written by a brother of the Order. After reposing a little he sent for the Abbot Osbert, and made his confession with great sorrow and humility. But still his mind was not easy; for the task for which he crossed the sea was unaccomplished, and he was no longer able to plead in person before the king. Then he called one of his attendant clerics, David by name, the tutor of Rory's son, who was to be given as a hostage to Henry for his father's loyalty. "Go," said he to David, "find out King Henry, tell him I am dying, and ask him in G.o.d's name to forgive the King of Connaught, and receive him again into favour."

David bowed his head, and set out to find the king. He was favourably received, for his story made a deep impression on the king, whose hard heart was softened by the sufferings of the Archbishop in the cause of his sovereign. He granted the boon, and pledged his royal word that he would receive Rory again into favour. So David, after four days, returned to the dying prelate, who anxiously awaited his arrival, and told of his success. Then St. Laurence called David to him, made him sit close by his side, for he was almost unable to speak, and laid his head upon the bosom of the priest to imply that he was now satisfied, and that he would die in peace.

Shortly after, his mind being now at ease, he received the Viatic.u.m with the greatest devotion, and then begged to be anointed. Some one of the bystanders suggested that now, as he had received all the sacraments, it were well if the Archbishop made his will. Raising his eyes to heaven he made use of these solemn and memorable words:--"I declare before G.o.d that I have not one penny under the sun to dispose of--not one penny"--he was a religious, a Canon Regular; he professed poverty and he kept his vow.

Whatever he possessed he gave to the poor; indeed he never possessed anything at all. No sooner was it got than it was gone again. Happy the priest who at his dying hour can make the same declaration with the same truth. Then his thoughts wandered back to his native land--that native land which he loved so wisely and so well, which he tried in vain to save, and which he now saw torn with internal dissensions and trampled under foot by foreign foes--and he dying far away, and leaving no one behind him to guide his people or heal his country's wounds. These bitter thoughts sank deep into his heart; and in anguish of mind he exclaimed--alas! we know how prophetically--"Heu popule stulte et insipiens, quid jam facturus es--quis sanabit aversiones tuas? Quis medebitur tui?" Ah, foolish and misguided people, what will now become of thee? Who will cure thy dissensions? Who will heal thy wounds? He longed to be dissolved and to be with Christ; yet for the sake of his peris.h.i.+ng flock he would still remain. But the end was now at hand. With dim eyes he kept reading a MS.

copy of the Seven Penitential Psalms which he had brought to him; and when he could read no more, orally or mentally, about twelve o'clock on Friday, the 14th of November, the glorious Confessor closed his eyes in a peaceful, happy death.

The body of the holy Confessor was buried in presence of Cardinal Alexis, the Papal Legate of Scotland. But it remained in its place of burial only four years and six months, when the many wondrous miracles wrought at his tomb caused the remains of St. Laurence to be transferred, and with great solemnity enclosed in a crystal case before the high altar of the church.

Shortly after, at the urgent request of the Canons Regular and the faithful of Eu, a pet.i.tion for the canonization of the holy servant of G.o.d was sent to Rome by the Archbishop and Chapter of Rouen, to which diocese the church of Eu belongs. The Pope, Honorius III., ordered the usual investigation to be made by the ecclesiastical authorities. As St.

Laurence came from Ireland shortly before his death, it became necessary to have an official report concerning the life of St. Laurence from that country. The task was committed by the Pope to Henry de Loundres, Archbishop of Dublin; but he being absent in England on affairs of State, commissioned the Bishop of Kildare and the Prior of Christ's Church to collect the necessary depositions and transmit them to Rome. After the usual process with legal proof of the practice of heroic virtues during life and miracles after death, Honorius III., in the tenth year of his pontificate, in a Bull issued from Reate, solemnly enrolled St. Laurence O'Toole amongst the canonized saints of the Church. It was the year of our Lord A.D. 1225 that the latest of our saints was thus formally canonized.

It is the greatest glory of the School of Glendalough to have produced such a man--so learned, so holy, so faithful to his king and to his country in the hour of trial. When shall we see his like again? And who will deny that the Church which produced such men as St. Laurence and St.

Malachy was sound at the core in spite of many faults and abuses?

After his death the School and Monastery of Glendalough gradually fell into decay, until at length the holy valley of St. Kevin became little better than a nest of robbers and murderers.

CHAPTER XIX.

SCHOOLS OF THE SEVENTH CENTURY.

"I found in each great church, moreo'er, Whether in island or on sh.o.r.e, Pity, learning, fond affection, Holy welcome and kind protection."

--_King Aldfrid's Poem on Ireland._

I.--THE SCHOOL OF LISMORE, ST. CARTHACH.

The Munster Schools were of somewhat later origin than the monastic schools of the North; but during the seventh century some of them became very celebrated, especially the great School of Lismore, which was second only to that of Clonmacnoise. It was founded by St. Carthach about the year A.D. 636, and soon became the chief seminary in the South of Ireland.

St. Carthach, its founder, was born about the middle of the sixth century in that remote district of West Kerry, which also gave birth to St.

Brendan of Clonfert. He was sprung, too, from the same race as Brendan, for his father Firaull, son of Fingin, derived his descent from the renowned Fergus Mac Roy, the northern hero, so celebrated in romantic legend and bardic song. His mother, Findmaith--the n.o.ble-fair one--is said to have been the daughter of another Fingin, who was chieftain of Corcoduibhne, in the same County Kerry. This lady was twice married, and by the second marriage became the mother of St. Cuanna of Kilc.o.o.ny, and probably of other saints also.

The infant was baptized by a priest called Aidan,[329] who gave him Carthach as his baptismal name; but the future saint was more commonly called Mochuda, which seems to have been a pet name given to the boy by his teacher St. Carthach the Elder.[330] The Elder Carthach at this time, about A.D. 570, lived at his monastery at the foot of Slemish (Slieve Mis) on the right bank of the river Mang, not far from Castlemaine. His younger namesake had just attained the age of twelve, and was according to the writer of his Life, a handsome youth, whose bright face and winning ways made him a great favourite with all who knew him. As yet, however, he had received little or no training either in virtue or learning. Like St.

Patrick at the same age, he was employed in herding his father's swine on the banks of the river, when it chanced that he came near the monastery of St. Carthach. Just then he happened to hear the monks pouring forth the solemn strains of sacred psalmody, and was filled with such rapture that he remained all night near the holy place without food or shelter. When asked by his parents where he had spent the night, he told them; and added that he was ready to leave all and join that sacred choir of white-robed monks. His parents gladly consented, and sending for the Bishop Carthach, they handed over the boy for the service of the Lord.

The bishop trained the youth in sacred learning, and saw him daily, to his great joy, make even greater progress in virtue, so that after some years he ordained him priest. The holy prelate then after a short term of trial gave him permission to found a monastery of his own at a place called Killtulach, which is described as between Slemish mountain and the river Mang--not far it would seem from Castlemaine, on the right bank of the river. This was about the year A.D. 590; so that we may a.s.sign the date of his birth to about the year A.D. 560.

It was very usual at this period for young monks to travel to different monasteries, and spend a period in each in order to perfect themselves in sanct.i.ty and learning. Bangor had acquired great fame under the rule of St. Comgall, and so Carthach went to visit his kinsmen in the far north, and make himself still further acquainted with monastic discipline under so great a master. After staying some time at Bangor he returned home to Kerry; but once more went northward to the extreme limit of Munster to pay a visit to St. Molua of Clonfert Molua, whose monastery was situated at the roots of Slieve Bloom at the place now called Kyle. It still forms a part of the diocese of Killaloe, though quite close to the frontier of the ancient Meath.

Shortly afterwards we find him at the great monastery founded by Colman-elo, and called from him Land-elo, now Lynally, quite near to Tullamore, and only three miles from Rahan, where the saint was soon to found an establishment of his own.

It is evident that it was St. Colman-Elo who advised St. Carthach to found a monastery near his own in the territory, not of Munster, but of Meath--in fact it was near the site of some of our most famous battles, which the sons of Heber and Heremon fought for supremacy on this border land. The name _Raithain_ signifies _filicetum_, or the Ferney Land; and it was not more than three miles from Lynally, the ancient Land-elo, which is derived by some from _ealla_, meaning an ancient grove or wood.

St. Carthach lived at Rahan for nearly forty years,[331] and at Lismore, certainly not more than two years; yet his name is generally connected with the latter, and hardly ever with the former monastery. Perhaps it was because the men of Meath treated the saint so badly after his long and laborious career at Rahan. Indeed, it is quite evident, that it was jealousy--jealousy which the Hy-Niall monks, probably of Durrow, near Rahan, felt at the success of St. Carthach--that prompted them to expel the saint and his scholars from the dear old convent, where he had lived so long. There are few things less creditable to the Southern Hy-Niall, both princes and priests, than their conduct on this occasion. It is manifest that Carthach by his piety and learning had gathered around him a great monastic school at Rahan. For not to speak of boys and servants, the Life in the _Salamanca MS._, tells us that he had gathered round him some 847 monks, who supported themselves and succoured the poor by the labour of their own hands, and with their holy founder served G.o.d together--unanimiter--with one mind and in one spirit. "Their toil," says the Life, "was severe, but the fire of charity lightened the burden of this labour, so that to none of them did it seem heavy" (Vita I., sect.

15). It is said, too, that Carthach himself was raised to the episcopal dignity in Rahan.

Now, the 'native clerics,' says the Life, of the Hy-Niall race, were jealous of this success, and instigated by Satan, they resolved to drive the southern monk from their territories. The Kerryman, of course, though a saint, was, no doubt, annoyed by these proceedings of the men of Meath.

It was indeed hard to be borne, for his was a holy, a useful, and an inoffensive life. He had spent forty years amongst them. His soul clung to the place, because he fondly believed, as it was the scene of his labours, so also it would be the place of his resurrection. He had built for himself and his monks a very beautiful church, the ruins of which are still to be seen. He had established a famous school, and crowds of young men had placed themselves under his direction, and were, doubtless, tenderly attached to their master. He was near the monasteries, too, of some of his dearest friends, who dwelt around Slieve Bloom. And now they were going to drive him from his home, and his monks, and his friends, at an age too when the strength of his arm was weakened, and the vigour of his mind diminished.

It was a wanton and a cruel eviction, for which Prince Blathmac, son of Aedh Slaine, seems to have been primarily responsible. The Annalists denounce this expulsion; but they seem afraid to mention openly the authors of the crime. The _Ulster Annals_ (A.D. 635), call it the 'effugatio' of Carthach from Rahan, which is not merely a flight but an expulsion. The Four Masters say that he was 'banished' from Rahan, and date it as taking place in A.D. 631; but both the _Chronicon Scotorum_ and the _Annals of Ulster_ give A.D. 635, at Easter, which is in all probability the true date.

The _Life of St. Carthach_, however, a.s.signs the real motive for thus evicting the saint. The clergy of the district moved by jealousy at the success of Carthach, resolved to expel the 'stranger' from their province; and Blathmac, then ruler of that territory, was persuaded to carry out this wicked purpose. Can it be that the Columbian monks of Durrow were envious at seeing the fame of their own establishment eclipsed by the greater renown of Rahan? It is not at all unlikely, although it is not expressly stated; for the Life attributes it simply "to some of the native clergy of that province." Elsewhere it is said that the expulsion of Carthach is one of the three evil things for which certain 'saints' of Erin were responsible--the other two being the shortening of St. Ciaran's life, and the banishment of Columcille to Iona. We entirely sympathise with this traditional sentiment. If any of the 'saints' were responsible for driving away the venerable old man from his monastery at Rahan, they must have done penance for the deed before they could deserve the name. It was a cruel and an evil deed; and although Providence brought much good from the evil by the foundation of Lismore, there is some reason to fear that it broke the old man's heart, and brought down his grey hairs in sorrow to the grave.

When the edict went forth that Carthach and his monks were to be driven from Rahan, we are told that he departed reluctantly. "Leave this city with your monks," said the chiefs of Meath, "and seek a settlement in some other country."[332] "I wish to end my days here," said Carthach, "for I have served G.o.d many years in this place, and now my end is nigh.

Therefore, I will not depart, except I am compelled, lest men think me inconstant of purpose. I am ashamed to become a wanderer in my old age."

After some hesitation the men of Meath plucked up an ign.o.ble courage; and it is said that Blathmac himself took the hand of the saint, and led him forth from his monastery.

The poor old man was not equal to long journeys; and so slowly and regretfully he travelled southward, having turned his back for ever on the jealous and ungrateful men of Meath.