MONTSERRAT

Montserrat, easily accessible from Barcelona, is one of the four or five renowned shrines of Christendom. The legend of its institution is one of the quaintest and at the same time silliest in the annals of hagiology. In the time, it seems, of Count Wilfred, the Henry of Barcelona, there dwelt on the mountain a hermit named Guarin whose sanctity was famed even to the ends of the earth. Church bells rang of their own accord when he passed, and the forces of nature were at his beck and call. This being so, when Richildis, the Count’s daughter (she was beautiful, of course), became possessed of a devil, Guarin was at once called in to turn him out. Such a task was a mere matter of an Ave and an invocation on the part of the holy man; but the devil thus incontinently expelled from the person of Richildis appears to have passed into the body of the hermit. He conceived an unlawful passion for the maiden, who remained with him after her cure, to learn the arts of sanctity. He succumbed to temptation and consummated his crime by murdering the girl, cutting off her head and burying her in his cave.

Stricken with remorse immediately after, the erstwhile holy man hurried to Rome and confessed his crime. The Pope ordered him to return to Montserrat on his hands and knees and never to resume an erect posture till his pardon should be miraculously announced.

So faithfully did Guarin carry out the penance imposed that he crawled for seven years about the mountain that he had once illumined with his sanctity, living on grubs and roots and becoming to all intents and purposes a wild animal. One day Count Wilfred, while out hunting, noticed this strange beast and had him taken to his stables at Barcelona. There Guarin abode some months, saying never a word but pleasing his captors by his docility. One day he was led into the castle to amuse the Count and his Court. But before he could perform any tricks, the infant son of the Count, a baby but three months old, cried out, “Arise Guarin, for God has pardoned you.” Whereupon the strange beast rose up on his hind legs, praising God, and confessing his enormous crimes.

In these days men were very much alive, and thrilled to the passions of love and hate. But, touched by the miracle, the Count forgave the murderer of his daughter, and set out with him for Montserrat to disinter the body buried seven years before. But lo, when the fair form was revealed, it throbbed with life, and a red line only showed where her head had been severed from her neck.

Richildis was so grateful for her restoration to life that she determined to devote the rest of it to the service of God. The Count founded a monastery for both sexes, of which his daughter was abbess and Guarin became a humble lay-brother.

A mere fairy tale, yet it is full of what was best in the mediæval spirit—the conviction that no misfortune was irreparable, no crime unredeemable, no sinner unreclaimable, that for all men and all things there was indeed mercy and plentiful redemption.

Upon the invasion of the Arabs in 976 the nuns abandoned their convent, but the monastery remained and was recognised as a regular community about the time of Fernando and Isabel.

It is not, of course, to pray before the shrine of Guarin that pilgrims climb the ragged sides of the saw-edged mountain. Long before the hermit immortalised his name by his crime and his repentance, a miraculous image of the Virgin, said to have been carved by St. Luke, and brought to Spain by St. Peter, had been hidden, to save it from the infidels, in one of the caverns. Nearly two hundred years after, its whereabouts was revealed to some shepherds by lights and mysterious melodies. These manifestations were repeated every Saturday—that being the day of the week specially consecrated to the Virgin by the Church. The Bishop came over to investigate the phenomenon, and on entering the cave whence the sounds proceeded, they found the heavy image carved by St. Luke. So heavy was it that it resisted all efforts to remove it; so there it remained till the end of the sixteenth century, when it was found possible to enshrine it in the present church.

Most of those who have seen the image are not favourably impressed, so it is worth while to quote another opinion than the present writer’s. “I cannot conceive [writes Mr. Herbert Vivian] that any one who has been privileged to behold it can deny the imposing majesty of its expression. It inspires awe rather than the sympathy and compassion which we are accustomed to associate with Our Blessed Lady. Indeed, those who change its vestments on holy days, say that it fills them with fear, that they do not dare to look it in the face. In the Virgin’s right hand is a globe, from which springs a fleur-de-lis. The crowns worn by her and the infant Christ are of prodigious valve, being of pure gold and containing no fewer than 3500 precious stones, many of them of exceeding size and purity. Like everything else at Montserrat, they are of modern origin, all the old valuables having been carried off by French troopers in 1811. In front of the image are two little staircases of walnut-wood by which those who wish to kiss its hand may ascend and descend.”

As buildings, the church and monastery of Montserrat are wholly destitute of interest. But they have their memories. Ignatius Loyola, during the process of conversion, passed long hours at the feet of the Virgin of Montserrat; Don John of Austria, before the altar of the Immaculate Conception, swore to maintain the doctrine of the Virgin’s freedom from original sin, against all and sundry, at the sword’s point, and the victory of Lepanto was gained perhaps in fulfilment of that vow.

There is a monastic seminary on the mountain, also an extremely ancient and aristocratic foundation. The boys have some curious customs. On the feast of St. Nicholas, the patron of youth, they elect one of their number Bishop, who entertains them all to dinner and heads the visits which they pay to all the monks in turn.

But if as a shrine Montserrat has little to attract the curious, as a mountain it is without rival for picturesque and strange grandeur. So fantastic is the conformation that in all ages it has been regarded with a certain superstitious awe. The caves with which it is honeycombed are full of mystery and fascination. They extend and ramify in all directions, constituting a veritable subterranean city. At all times they have served as asylums to the natives of the surrounding country when threatened by invaders. On one occasion the French discovered a party of peasants in such a retreat and would have attacked them had not one of the Catalans told them that a single explosion would bring all the surrounding rocks upon their heads. Whether this was true or false the soldiers did not care to prove, and they hastily withdrew.

There are plenty of people in Cataluña still who believe in the wonder-working properties of the Virgin of Montserrat, and newly married couples come up by the funicular railway to spend a night on the mountain, in the hope of thereby assuring themselves of a numerous family.

We may trace the footprints of St. Ignatius to Manresa, a name dear to the Jesuit in all lands, and borne by the Manchester of Cataluña. It is a lively, picturesque town, built on an amphitheatre of hills on the left bank of the Cardoner. High over the factories towers the Collegiate Church begun in 1328 and finished, probably, a hundred years later. It is one of those wide-naved churches characteristic of the principality, its span of nave is, in fact, greater than that of any cathedral with aisles, except Palma. An interesting peculiarity is the flying buttresses built partly in and partly outside the church. Over the first roof rises an impressive bell tower. The interior is disappointing. The side chapels are Gothic. There is some good glass in the clerestory windows, and the organ displays one of those Saracens’ heads we so often find in Catalan churches. In the archives are some interesting pictures by local artists, reminding one of Byzantine work, and there also is preserved that altar frontal which excited the fervent admiration of Street. In a vault beneath the presbytery are treasured the relics of St. Agnes and St. Maurice, translated here from Vienne on the Rhône in the time of Berenguer III.

The fine old church of the Carmen commemorated a miracle reputed to have occurred in the year 1345. The town having been laid under an interdict by the Bishop of Vich, the innocence of the townsfolk was demonstrated by a light which penetrated through the windows of the church, filling it with radiance. But these mediæval traditions are obscured by the glory of St. Ignatius, whose name the citizens delight to honour. In the church of Santo Domingo was formerly shown a black cross which the saint used to bear on his shoulder while he prostrated himself before the altars in turn. The church of the Cueva—an odius baroque work—is raised over the cave wherein during ten months he underwent the dolorous process of his spiritual regeneration. In the Jesuit College you may see one of his fingers, his books, and the bricks that served him as a pillow. There is not a spot nor a house in Manresa that the citizens will not fail to point out as in some way, however slight, associated with the immortal founder of the Society of Jesus.

Not far from Manresa is the flourishing town of Tarrassa, which occupies the site of the old episcopal city of Egara. The primitive arx or citadel gave place in Christian times to a cathedral which was destroyed by Al Mansûr, and the site is now occupied by the three interesting Romanesque churches of San Miguel, Santa Maria, and San Pedro.

The oldest of these is undoubtedly San Miguel, which is distinguished from other Catalan churches by many peculiarities. The plan is rectangular, over the centre of the roof rises a lantern, resting on a quadrangle of columns. The capitals of these columns are evidently part of an older and different structure. Beneath the church is a crypt which is believed to have been the baptistery of the old Roman cathedral.

Santa Maria was consecrated in 1112 by Raimundo Guillen, Bishop of Barcelona, and was served by Augustine canons down to 1592. It is contemporary with the church of San Pedro and both present an aspect of extreme antiquity accentuated by the Roman tablets and fragments incorporated with the structure. Close by are the ruins of a fortress and a chapel attributed by tradition to the Templars. On the other side of the prettily named Rio Vallparadis are to be seen the fragments of a tower and castle.

About six miles from Manresa, on the banks of the Llobregat, is a little monastery of San Benito de Bages, now a private residence. “All here,” says Piferrer, “invites man to lift his eyes to God, and to banish the frivolous recollections of this world. The building’s antiquity, the modesty and simplicity of its plan alike contribute to still the voice of passions and to excite more tranquil thoughts.”

The thoughts of the former occupants, however, were evidently not always tranquil, for the little apses opening into the transepts have been squared off, apparently for defensive reasons, and the tower looks as if it had been constructed for the same object. The church is dark and sombre, like a vault, and the cloister has the same funereal aspect, only slightly relieved by the interesting carvings of courtiers and warriors on the rude capitals.

Piferrer states that the chapel was built in the middle of the tenth century and that it was consecrated in 972 in presence of Count Borrell and his Court by the Bishop of Vich. In the year 1067 it was incorporated with the Abbey of San Ponce de Tomeras near Narbonne; the foundation received women, who were subject, like the monks, to the rule of St. Benedict. At the end of the sixteenth century the community was united to that of Montserrat.