The Irish standard., 1908-03-07
IS WORLD-FAMED
The Famous Monastery of St.
Bernard In the Alps.
How a Protestant Writer Fared
With the Kindly Monks.

The Christian Herald, a leading Eng
lish Nonconformist organ, publishes
the following interesting and sympa-
thetic account of visit to the famous
Monastery of st. Bernard in the Alps:
All the morning our carriage had
been slowly climbing up the long thir-
ty mile road from Martigny to the St.
Bernard pass. Suddenly, in the course
of the afternoon, the temperature
dropped for we had passed the snow
line; at the same time the scenery
grew grandiose, rugged, impressive in
its nakedness. The submits of the
less ether overhead with an air of IT,
tanic defiance; on all sides we beheld
thick. solid layers of snow which new
er wholly melts, although in the sum-
mer much of it is carried down into
the valleys in vast volumes Of rushing
water.
Our horses went more and more
slowly, with more and more frequent
halts, along the zig-zagging, ever
rising road, till at length we felt that
we must get out and walk, in sheer
humanity. 1t is long after O'Clock
nearly ten hours since leaving Mar
tiguy, that we find ourselves in sight
Of the world-famed hospice-a build
ing possessing no architectural preten-
sions, but solid enough to Withstand
the tlerciest onrush of the elements
during the ten months winter obtain
ing on those heights.
Here labor the "Canonical Brothers
of st. Augustine"-some twenty in
number-bound by the rules of their
Order to give board and shelter to all
travellers without distinction, asking
for no return, and to go to the assist
ance Of such as lose their way on the
mountain, in fog or snow-a task in
which they are helped by their famous
dogs, with their almost human intelli-
gence and superhuman strength. If
ever there was case in which burden
with such scrupulous fidelity, it is
here; for while the hospice entertains
some twenty to twenty-five thousand
travellers in the course of the season,
kindly and cheerfully, not word Is
uttered asking for payment.
You put your donation into the re-
ceptacle which is placed for that pur-
pose quite unobtrusively in the chapel,
but which no one even points out to
You, it being left to your honor and
your resources whether and how much
you will give: but no tourist should
receive the hospitality of these self
sacrificing monks without leaving at
least eight francs-a sum he would
nave to pay at any hotel.
Our driver has taken us up some
steps into a vestibule. and rings a
huge bell. which brings the brother
almoner, a bright, mobile, businesslike
parsonage, who with smile allots
rooms to our party Of four. Good
rooms they are. long and narrow, with
quaint fashioned, canopied beds,
which promise plenty Of comfort. and
little windows that look out upon the
mountain lake. whose ice in some years
does not thaw at all. We imagine the
brethrens' quarters make somewhat
1ewer concessions to mans love Of
ease. AS We mount the stone stairs
we notice the inscription Salon" over
door, and from behind 1t there reach
es sound we should never have OK
pected to hear in these surroundings
piano playing, quite gay and lively;
nothing less, in fact, than the strains
of Rossinis "Barbiere de Seyirlia /"
We had arrived, it seems, at the
psychological-or, as some of our par-
ty called it, the Observation-Disclosures
ment; in other words, dinner was lust
about to be served and we were cour-
teously requested to hurry our prelin-
,nariss. We enter the dining room,
and find some fifty guests assembled
round the table, grouped, so far as we
could judge, in nationalities, French,
Italian, English, and German. The
servitors pass busily around, helping
us to substantial meal of four cour-
ses. There is a pleasant polygot hum
OF conversation, with no more con-
r -
stra1nt than you would meet in a hotel.
After the meal most of the visitors re-
sort, to the salon, to chat smoke and
indtte picture cards innumerablc.
We try short walk along the lake,
on the road which leads into Italy. and
Just obtain glimpse of the statue of
st. Bernard. erected two years ago on
the ruins of Roman temple of Jove.
ssBut we are now 2,472 meters above the
sea level; a thick fog is rising and
the air strikes bitterly cold; moreover.
we are all tired ont h,, tho ,.