The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1903-08-29

;is lonely five-mile road that leads
out of the world, up the slopes of the
Knockmeledown mountains, to the
'Trapplst monastery of Mount Melleray,
says The London Mail Along this
roah you will find no sign of human
industry until the cross -surmounted
gates leading to the poor pastures warn
:you that you are OH holy ground. Once
within those gates you have left the
world far behind you and are received
into a family to whom the voices of the
world are silent, it's interests dead, and
where the whole business of life is a
preparation for the life beyond the
grave. Founded sixty years ago by
Irish Cistercians who We're expelled
from France during the troubles that
followed the accession Of Louis Phillip
pc, the community has prospered under
the industry of the monks. who have
reclaimed large tract of wild noun
tain land, planted it with trees and
reared the plain quadrangle of build
ings that forms their prison and their
home.
It is a place of silence, strangely
peaceful and melancholy. The Trap
pIst rule forbiJs all speech except of
-praise OF prayer, and all necessary
communication is made by signs. This
rule is only suspended in the case of
those attending on guests or transact
ing business, but even the guests are
expected to practice silence, and indeed
the atmosphere Of the place is dis
conn7aglng to speech. So, day in. day
offices, hardly a sound but Of the drip
ping rain, the chirp of birds, the wind
in the trees or footsteps in the cloisters.
Tlle fathers wear a white, the lay
brothers a brown habit, and in the
f0ng corridors and cloisters one sees
them like ghosts pacing up and down
with folded hands, avoiding the glance
and even the presence of the stranger.
The hush of human voices dwells here
like Il presence, sitting the mind, en-
t,onrag1ng the soul.
Here all day, however, mngle tile
sounds of labor and of praise. the low
ing of cattle with tine booming of the
Chapel organ, the ring of the smiths
anvil with the Gregorian plainsons.
From prime to conlpline the monastery
bell is never for long dumb, but is con-
tinually sulMnoning abbot from his
cell, the father from his meditatiOns,
the brother from his work in the fields.
the guest from the guesthouse. Or
ringing out it's message of the uplifted
host across the empty mountain side,
where there s"e no ears to hear or
heads to be bowed. but only the idle
cattle and the Indifferent birds.
The monks rise at in the morning
all the year around, except on Sundays
Hnn feast days. wAlen they arise an
hour earlier. From that hour until
4 at might they arc continually coupled
with the offices. as well as by their
manual work. and their time is so di-
rided and apportioned that the hours
and days seem to glide away easily
enough. They eat nothing but bread
and vegetables. and drink nothing but
skim milk or water. and even of their
spare diet they have but two meals in
their long day, and sometimes only one
They sleep in their habits. in tiny cub
icles partitioned off in the great dormi-
tory, and the furniture of these cub
icles is simply a raised wooden plat
form with mattress laid upon it.
A monk may live here for twenty
years and never speak to the man be-
side whom he kneels in chapel or eats
i'll the refectory. And he may die here
and be laid in the burying ground
among the rows of his brethren who
sleep there without human soul
knowing what We're his thoughts. his
1Ilividualities. the little mental char
acteristics that endear human beings
TO one another.
In the guesthouse the routine is also
n,onastic. The guests are confined
a