A LA FETE DU SOLEIL

New Zealand Tablet, 26 January 1911, Page 165

A LA FETE DU SOLEIL

By Louise M. Stacpoole-Kenny, Author of Francis de Sales, Love is Life, Jacquetta, and

St. Charles Borromeo.

Shrines and Sunshine.

You ask me to send you my impressions of our journey to La Cote d’Azur and of our sojourn there, and to give you descriptions of the Shrines of our Lady we visited. Well, here they are! They have been dashed off anywhere ■ —anyhow—in the midst of the distractions of what Bourget so aptly calls ‘la vie de colis.’ I have not had time to mould them into shape or polish them up. I will skip both the Irish and English Channels—what a blessing it Avould be if one could do so!—rush through Paris on board the Nice express, and not stop till w-e reach Lyons, in the cold, grey dawn of a dark February morning. . Lyons is a city that does not attract me, nor have I ever met anyone avlio liked it. In spite of its broad thoroughfares, its handsome buildings, fine shops, and the rest, there is a something about it, a ‘ je ne sais quoi,’ impossible to describe; it is beautifully situated ‘ cela va sans dire,’ at the confluence of the Rhone and the Saone; they say it is one of the finest cities in this land of fine cities; and the view from the heights of Fourviere is certainly splendid. Still, there is no accounting for these things, and I do not wish to spend another day there. It was chiefly to please you we rested there, as I knew you were pining to get an account of the famous Pilgrimage Church of Notre Dame de Fourviere. We ascended to it by the railway, as it is a very steep climb. It is situated quite on the summit of the Hill of Fourviere, the dome is crowned by a colossal gilt statue of our Lady. There are tw'o churches. The older we considered most devotional; the Avails are covered with paintings representing miracles performed through the intercession of the Madonna, but her revered image is enshrined in the modern Romanesque Church, and is yearly visited by millions of pilgrims. We did not meet many; probably it was too early in the season, and then the day was so bitterly cold. We Avere just as well pleased; it was so much more peaceful it was so much easier to pray thus, almost alone before the holy shrine, with the red glow from the sanctuary lamp throwing a soft radiance over the calm, gracious features of our dear Mother. On leaving the church we noticed over the entrance an inscription, which stated that Lyons had been preserved from the cholera through the intercession of Notre Dame de Fourviere.

. It was so cold and gloomy outside that I fear we did not appreciate the beauty of the view. It is very extensive; one gets a good idea of the size and grandeur of the city at one’s feet. The two rivers Aoav round and through it, crossed by numerous handsome bridges; the spires of the cathedral and the churches shoot arroAv-like skyAvards; round it are miles and miles of Avell-cultivated fields and gardens. They tell me that on a clear day one can see Mont Blanc.

On our way doAvn Ave glanced in at the Cathedral of St. Jean. It is supposed to be Gothic, but seems a little mixed, as there is a Roman fringe of red and Avhite marble running round the apse. The building is of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; the stained glass of the same period is really beautiful. The little Chapel of St. Louis, built by the Cardinal de Bourbon in the thirteenth century, is a gem; the ornaments are exquisite floAvers and foliage most delicately sculptured. The next day we left Lyons, spent a night at Avignon to have a look at the old palace of the Popes, doav used as a barrack. We only srav the outside, and were sadly disappointed. HoAvever, Ave were enchanted with the vieAv from the ramparts, and found the Cathedral very interesting, particularly the tombs of Popes John XXII. and Benedict XII., and the beautiful marble one of the brave Crillon.

We arrived at Marseilles about 11 p.m., and just walked straight upstairs from the platform to our rooms on the second floor of the comfortable Hotel Terminus. The next morning the sun shone and the sky Avas cloudless, and down beloAv Ave could catch a glimpse of the blue waters of the Mediterranean. We hurried out.. Oh! the glorious air ! the delicious warmth of the sun; the heavenly blue of the sky; the scent of the flowers from the square in front of the hotel ! The fruit-laden orange trees ! We felt we Avere indeed at the * fete du soleil ’in this magic land of the Cote d’Azur. We Avalked ouickly down the hill, and. through the famous street of La Cannebiere, of which the natives say: „ ‘ Si Paris avait La Cannebiere, Paris serait un petit Marseilles.’ It was almost deserted then, but later on in the afternoon Ave Avere able to appreciate its charm. CroAvds of people of all sorts and of all nations thronged it; the" cafes and shops were brilliantly illuminated: motors and carriages .fIeAV past; all Avas life and movement. Nevertheless, I think I prefer the walk along the queer old quays, lined with quaint old houses with arched colonnades, under one of which we breakfasted in the open air in February. Of course 'we partook of «* Bouillabaise.’ I can’t sav we cared for it, but we considered it a duty. When in Rome

do as the Romans, when at Marseilles eat ‘ Bouillabaise.’ At any rate, if we did not do full justice to the fish mixture, we did revel in the sunshine and in the strange sights and sounds. All the world seemed to pass by that little table of ours; the East and the West, the real working world, not simply tourists and trippers; Turks, Jews, negroes, in their quaint costumes, jostled tweed-clad Englishmen; picturesque Italians hobnobbed with fat, ponderous sons of the Fatherland and the babel of voices! Then before us was the harbor, with crafts as different as the humans; white-winged yachts, brown-sailed fisher boats, Levantine ships, colossal liners, tiny ferry boats such a medley! And beneath them the blue and silver waters of the' Mediterranean. It is a steep climb up to Notre Dame de la Garde, but somehow we did not feel tired; but when we reached the summit, and the magnificent view rejoiced our eyes, we felt how good it was to be alive. Such a view! The city, the villa-crowned hills, the harbor, the islands; there is the one —the Chateau d’lf, where Mirabeau was imprisoned and from which Monte Cristo escaped. Then we turned towards the church there was the statue of the Blessed Virgin dominating all, perched on the highest point; truly, Notre Dame de la Garde keeping guard over this fascinating City of Marseilles. This church of hers is beautiful both within and

without, as the shrine of the Mother of the King should be. It is a dream of beauty, and again Ave think it is w'ell for us to be here. The upper chapel is lined with fine marbles, and over the altar there is a lovely silver statue of the Madonna, but the original miracle working one is of olive wood, and is in the crypt. It is that the sailors and fisherfolk of the neighborhood, and the devout pilgrims from distant lands come to venerate and pray before, and many curious offerings are hung on the Avails—models of ships, crutches, ends of rope, e*c. testifying to miraculous cures and escapes from death. At last Ave tear ourselves away. We had rather an exciting afternoon, getting into Avrong trams and losing our Avay, but finally Ave. arrived at the promenade of La Cannebiere in time to indulge in tea at one of the big bright cafes—another meal in the open air. Was it not just too jolly for anything ? Particularly Avhen one remembered the cold and the., damp and the gloom Ave had left behind up north. Later on avo strolled round to the Cours Belsunce to have a look at the statue of the good Bishop. His name Avas Belsunce, and Avhen, in 1720, the awful plague broke out—the one that lasted for several months and carried off over 40,000 persons— was one of the very feAv Avho remained faithful to their posts, performing bravely all the offices of his sacred ministry, praying over the dying and the dead, attending the hospitals, where he Avas helped by a feAv pious, devoted nuns. Pope writes of him ;

‘ Why dreAv Marseilles’ good Bishop purer breath, When nature sickened and each gale Avas death?’ But I must wind up. In my next letter I hope I will be able to give you a description of Hyeres, and of the Sanctuary of Notre Dame de I’Ermitage at Costebelle.