March  21 is the feast  of Saint Enda of Aran, one of the founding fathers of Irish monasticism.  His island home became more accessible during the Victorian era with the provision of a bi-weekly steamer service from Galway.  Last year I posted the moving account of episcopal visitor Bishop George Conroy of Ardagh, published after his sudden death in 1877. It is available on the blog here. Twenty years later a female traveller, Laura Grey, boarded the ‘well-appointed steamer’ at Galway and arrived three hours later on Aran of the Saints. I first encountered Laura Grey in connection with my blog on the Irish martyrs, as The Irish Rosary periodical had published one of her papers on Dominican martyr of Cashel, Father Richard Barry. That paper can be read here. I am very keen to find out more about this lady, she clearly had a link to the Dominican order (was she perhaps a tertiary?) and I wondered if ‘Laura Grey’ was a pseudonym. She would seem to have been a lady of some means too as four years before her excursion to Aran she had published an account of her visit to the Dominican Abbey of Our Lady of Thanks at Youghal, which is available to read at my other site here. She begins her article on Aran with a description of the island and its inhabitants. It’s interesting from a social history point of view in that first she describes how the modern world is encroaching on Aran and secondly she testifies to the developing tourist industry, describing how ‘the visitor can engage neat apartments in one or two cottages on the large island. The tariff is most moderate and the food excellent’. Fascinating though this is, I have chosen to omit the first part of the paper in order to concentrate on what Laura Grey has to tell us about Saint Enda and  his saintly students. The volume is available, however,  from the Internet Archive where the paper may be read in full:

A WEEK ON THE ISLES OF ARRAN, COUNTY GALWAY, IRELAND. 

Laura Grey.

Midway, where the Atlantic Ocean lashes on one side the coast of Clare, and on the other the rocky headlands of Connemara, the Isles of Arran lie. Arranmore, or the great island; Innismaan, or the middle island, and Innishere, or the eastern or southern island. Although all three islands bristle with Christian and pagan antiquities, the tourist will naturally turn towards Arranmore, the largest of the group, and ask its past history…

But the writer must hasten on to contemplate these islands in the fifth century, when St. Enda first landed and steered his currach into Killeaney Bay, where he lived, labored, and died, leaving behind him a school of anchorites that earned for Arran the Celtic epithet, “Arran-na-Naomh,” Arran of the Saints.

ISLES OF ARRAN.

St. Enda (pronounced Enna), the patron of Arran, came of royal Irish blood, being the son of Conall Derg, king of Oriel. His father’s territory extended from Lough Erne in Fermanagh, to the sea at Dundalk. Conall Derg beame a convert to the Christian faith preached by St. Patrick, and during the saint’s lifetime renounced his kingdom and became a recluse.

His son, Enda, succeeded to the crown, and like most youths of the time, indulged in the rough pastimes of his father’s court. He went hawking and hunting, and making warlike raids on the neighboring chieftains who invaded his domains.

He had two sisters, one named Darenia, married to AEngus, king of Munster, whom St. Patrick baptized, and another named Fanchea, who at an early age left her home to join a religious Community near the present town of Enniskillen, in the County Fermanagh.

On one occasion, Enda set forth with his clansmen to chastise a refractory chief, and passed by his sister’s oratory en route. Looking over the low stone wall which bordered the enclosure, he beheld Fanchea and her novices at prayer. One of them was a most beautiful maiden, and Enda secretly longed to carry her off to be his wife. He bided his opportunity, and when the heat of the battle was over, he retraced his steps towards his sister’s retreat, and demanded the maiden in marriage.

Fanchea forbade him to approach near her, saying his hands were stained with human blood, and he was unworthy to enter the sacred enclosure. Enda in defence, urged that it was his duty to defend himself against the inroads of his enemies, and concluded in these words:

“I have not killed any man with my own hands, nor yet have
I sinned with women.”

Fanchea, perceiving it became useless to bandy words with her
warrior-brother, called the maiden aside, and addressed her
thus:

“My sister, a choice is given you to-day. Wilt thou love the Spouse whom I love, or rather a carnal spouse?”

“ I will always love thy Spouse,” replied the maiden.

Fanchea told her to lie down on her couch, and cast a veil over her face. Then calling Enda into the cell, she removed the veil, and brother and sister saw the girl was dead.

Enda burst into lamentations, whilst Fanchea stood by and spoke to him of the shortness of life and the certainty of death. Her words bore fruit. The prince rose from his knees, swept aside his tears, and vowed he would renounce his kingdom, and become a recluse.

Before embracing his new vocation he built a high rampart of earth round his sister’s cloister, to prevent outsiders from invading her privacy, and then he set forth to save his own soul, and those of others. The remains of this rampart may still be traced.

After divers rambles through his native land, Britain, and even Rome, Enda returned to Ireland, and sought for some remote spot where he might live and die.

His brother-in-law, Aengus, hearing of his desire, offered him the Isles of Arran, over which he ruled as king. Enda gladly accepted, and in the year 484 crossed over from Garomna island on the Galway coast, and cast his lot on the rugged shores which were to be the scene of his many triumphs and labors. Into Killeaney Bay, since called after him ( Kill, a church, Enny of Enda), he steered his currach.

By the wild waves he takes his last rest under a leac, or flag, which is usually covered by the shifting sand. One hundred and twenty-seven saints sleep around him in the same churchyard, guarding the oratory of their spiritual father, who dwelt “in his prison of hard, narrow stone ” for more than sixty years. Tradition points to a curious rock on the sea-shore, and tells us that St. Enda’s currach was turned into stone on his landing. The miracle foreshadowed to the saint that his boat had taken her last voyage, and that he was destined never to quit the isles of Arran.

And so it came to pass, for although the islands were frequently visited by Irish saints, the founder of Arran remained true to his home in the ocean. Early in St. Enda’s history, we find St. Brendan, the navigator, visiting Arran previous to his departure on the Western Main to discover America.

St. Finian of Clonard, next passed the way, and paused to take counsel from the saintly hermit whose fame for sanctity was rapidly lighting up the West.

Even the great Columbcill “ of the fiery soul,” heard of Enda, and hastened to join the ranks of his disciples.

He ground the corn and herded the sheep, unconscious of the bloody field of Cuil-Dreimhe which was to be expiated by him in after years by a lifetime of penance on Iona.

At St. Enda’s command he left Arran, lamenting over his departure in the words which Aubrey de Vere has translated from Irish Odes

During St. Columbcille’s sojourn in Arran, St. Ciaran, “ the carpenter’s son,” visited the islands. For three years he lived amongst the anchorites, built his church, blessed the sparkling well which bears his name, and finally set sail for Clonmacnoise on the banks of the Shannon, where he was to found his monastery. Amongst its many ancient churches, Arran holds none quainter or more devotional than St. Ciaran’s.

Overhanging the bay, which still retains the saint’s name, the four roofless walls stand. The altar is there at which he celebrated Mass, and his narrow cell, which communicated with the church through a window overlooking the altar. Window, church, and cell are intact, and attract the devotion of the Catholic, and the curiosity of the tourist.

One morning our saint came to St. Enda, and related to him a dream which he had dreamt the night before. He beheld a gigantic oak tree which overshadowed a broad plain, and touched the ground with its numerous branches. Panting for a reply, the youthful Ciaran watched the tears gather in the eyes of the aged Enda, and a gloomy foreboding seized him that his hour of departure from Arran was nigh. After a moment of silent prayer, St. Enda read the dream. He told his companion that the oak symbolized himself (St. Ciaran), whose name would cover the plains by the Shannon with glory, like the overweighted oak-tree which was bowed to the ground with its load of foliage. “ Thou must leave Arran, my son,” pursued the patriarch.  Into yonder creek thou shalt steer thy currach, and God will direct thy footsteps into the interior of the country, where a winding river flows. There shalt thy name draw many souls into God’s vineyard, and the shadow of thy virtues will overcast the plains, like the oak thou hast seen in thy dream.”

Waving his hand towards the Connemara coast opposite Arran, St. Enda pointed out the bay now called Kilkerran, and Ciaran knew he should make ready to cross the strait which separated him from the mainland. St. Enda and his anchorites congregated on the shore to bid him farewell, and we are told that the Founder of Arran laid his hand on the bowed head of Ciaran, and blessed him and the monasteries he should build. It was to be the last meeting on earth of the two saints — the aged and the young.

St. Ciaran’s career was destined to be brief and glorious, and he was to precede St. Enda to the tomb by many years. He was aged twenty-seven at the time he left Arran, and six years ahead would find him dying of the pestilence at Clonmacnoise, with St. Kevin of Glendalough holding before his fading sight the Holy Viaticum.

St. Kevin and St. Ciaran had met at Arran, and cemented a friendship which never died out. A brother of the first-named saint, also named Keevin , is buried on the middle island of Arran.

Most of the Irish saints visited the islands at some period of their lives. St. Carthagh of Lismore, St. Yarlath of Tuam, and a host of others could be named had we space to prolong our researches into the Christian past of Arran. The three islands bristle with remains of their saintly footsteps.

The church of the “four beautiful saints’ may be quoted, where four flat slabs marked the graves of four hermits, who lived a life of common prayer, officiated at the same adjacent little church, and were laid side by side when they died.

Kilronan, the chief village on Arran Mor, derives its name from St. Ronan, whose grave is still shown. He was a disciple of St. Enda’s, but nothing more is known of him.

About forty years ago the tomb of another saint was discovered, named Brecan. His little church formerly stood surrounded by six other churches, which earned for the group the title of the “ Seven Churches.” Only one of the seven remains, Tempull a Phuill, to tell where the others flourished.

We find another disciple of St. Enda’s, St. Colman McDuagh, utilizing an old fort of the Firbolgs, and converting the deserted stronghold into cells for his Community. Round about the pagan fort a cluster of other churches grew up, and the place is known under the name of Kilmurvey.

Close to the seashore, between the village of Kilronan and the church of the four beauties, tradition points to a cluster of ruins said to have been once the abode of religious women who lived under St. Enda’s direction. A female saint, whose name the writer forgets, is buried on the middle island.

St. Enda’s days, and those of his followers, were filled with prayer and manual labor. The hours fled by, diversified by prayer, tilling the ground, and the study of the Scriptures.

Each Community had its own church, where the brethren assembled for public devotions, and each Brother took his meals in the common refectory, and cooked them in the common kitchen. They lived like the first Christians, having all things equally divided. Thus their peaceful lives sped on, undisturbed by any noise from without, except the wild roar of the Atlantic Ocean.

St. Enda himself never tasted meat, though he allowed his disciples to kill a sheep on great festival days for themselves and their visitors. Each monk slept in bee-hive cell, or cloghaun, and wore the same garments during the hours of repose, as he had done in the daytime. The pallet was of straw, or the bare ground, and a rug was the covering by night.

The Community sowed the arid soil with wheat, rye, and oats, or fished round the coast to secure their frugal meals. In this manner they supported themselves by the sweat of their brows. When the crops had been gathered into the rude barns, they were ground by a quern, or kneaded into meal and baked for general consumption.

St. Enda divided the islands into ten portions, and placed a superior over each Community, who was bound in his turn to acknowledge the Saint of Arran as superior.

At stated times, St. Enda made a visitation of his insular territory, and saw that his rule of life was enforced in its primitive vigor.

He died at the advanced age of one hundred years, in the year 540. He was buried in his oratory close to the sea, called after his grave, Teglach Enda, meaning tomb of Enda. From his last resting-place the present village of Killeaney takes its name, being derived from the Irish words Kill Enda, Church of Enda.

Part II. of our sketch of the Arran isles has come to a close. Dr. Healy, the present Catholic Bishop of Clonfert, in his admirable work on “Ireland’s Ancient Schools and Scholars,’’ pays a well-earned tribute to Arran, and the saints who dwelt there.

A perusal of his book induced the present writer to take ship from Galway in the August of 1896, and visit these far Western islands. She trusts others may follow her example, and if this sketch of Arran stimulates them to do so, she has had her reward.

THE ROSARY MAGAZINE, Volume 11, August, 1897, 147-155.

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 March 21 is the feast of the great monastic founder and teacher, Saint Enda of Aran. An account of his life by Father Albert Barry can be found on the blog here. Below is an account by another nineteenth-century priest, Father William Ganly, who took time out from his duties as a parish priest in County Galway to contribute a number of scholarly articles on the Early Irish Church and its saints to the Catholic press. In 1889 The Catholic World, an American publication of the Paulist Fathers, printed his paper on Saint Enda and the monastic school he founded.  Father Ganly’s pride in Saint Enda and his achievements is obvious. He places the saint firmly within the history of early monasticism and sees the traditions begun in the deserts of the Thebaid flowering in an island setting of the Atlantic Ocean. Indeed, Saint Enda outdoes his Eastern monastic progenitors as he ‘lived a life of penitence which for rigor was unsurpassed even by the anchorites of the Egyptian desert’. We get a chance too to meet some of Aran’s famous alumni who include some well-known Irish saints. For Saint Enda is also presented here as founder of ‘one of the great Celtic universities of the golden era of Irish history’. The article comes to a bittersweet conclusion as the author ponders that lost golden age amid the ruins and the wild Atlantic scenery of ‘Arran of the Saints’:  

A FAMOUS IRISH SCHOOL AND ITS FOUNDER.

ON the eastern shore of Arranmore, in a picturesque valley, sheltered on one side by a range of dark hills and washed on the other by an inlet of Galway Bay, is the primitive little fishing village of Killany. The place commands a view of a magnificent sheet of water, diversified by islands, capes, and headlands, and outlined in the distance by the Twelve Pins of Benbola, which stand like a cluster of pyramids in bold relief against the sky. Beyond this, however, a more melancholy locality could scarcely be imagined. It seems the very home of desolation. The only sound that breaks the monotony of the scene is the querulous whistling of some solitary curlew wending his flight from shore to shore, or the plaintive murmuring of the ocean, dashing itself fretfully against the huge cliffs which loom in the distance. And yet this desolate hamlet was for many centuries a renowned centre of monastic life and intellectual activity.

Let us go back to the year of our Lord 480, and stand beneath the round tower, which, as we are informed, even then kept guard, like some tutelary giant, over the destinies of this lonely valley. A group of buildings of various forms and dimensions lies beneath our gaze. Around an oblong edifice, which is evidently a church, are clustered several other structures varying in size from the narrow cell, intended for a single occupant, to the public hall, destined for the accommodation of the whole community. Encircling the entire collection is a wall of solid masonry whose sameness is only broken by a single gateway, surmounted by a carved cross. Prompted by curiosity, we descend from our point of observation and ask for admittance. The door is opened by a white-robed janitor, who greets us with a cordial benedicite. On entering we find ourselves in a new world. It is a veritable bee-hive of industry and activity. Transcribers, illuminators, carvers, workers in silver and iron, mechanics of various kinds, are all deeply absorbed in their occupations. Here a group, in tunics and cucullas, are engaged in discussing some of the great scholastic problems which have been endless sources of dissension in the past as they are in the present. There a tonsured priest lectures to an attentive class, the dress and faces of many of his auditors denoting their foreign origin. As we pass along, the sounds of psalmody, now soft as the evening breeze, now loud as the murmuring of the ocean, break upon our ears. Have we visited a land of enchantment? Have we witnessed a fairy scene? We have travelled back over the centuries, and conjured up before our imagination what was once a reality. We have seen one of the great Celtic universities of the golden era of Irish history. We have visited the school of “Arran of the Saints.”

Saint Honoratus, the great monastic patriarch of Southern Europe, went to his reward (428) a little over half a century before St. Enda arrived in Arran (480). When tracing the walls of his hermitage at Lerins, so like, in many respects, its sister island in the Atlantic, the former never dreamt of the vast edifice which, in the designs of Divine Providence, was to spring up from this humble beginning. Neither could the latter, even in his most sanguine moments, have foreseen the luxuriant harvest that was destined to issue from the little seed he had prayerfully planted on the bleak hillsides of Arran.

The early days of the school of Arran were not, however, without those trials and difficulties which make beginnings proverbially weak, and which have been ever the lot of the saints. The old lives of Saint Enda for several have been written as well as the traditions still existing in Arran are filled with legendary anecdotes which detail with great minuteness the encounters of the holy abbot with a certain pagan chieftain named Corban, who at that time held possession of the island. Extravagant and improbable as many of these narratives undoubtedly are, they should not be altogether rejected. Various circumstances, such as the names of places, the traditions still extant, and local associations, all seem to indicate that these legends are but the echoes of authentic miracles which have become obscured by the lapse of centuries.

It was near the alleged scene of one of these legends that St. Enda first celebrated Mass on the island. This spot now known as Killany he selected as the site of his monastery. In due time a little damliagh, or stone church; the prointeach, or refectory; the aregall, or kitchen; the abbot’s house, and a cluster of cone-roofed cells were erected. Towards the maintenance of this establishment one-half of the island was set apart. The remaining portion was divided into ten equal parts, on each of which was erected a monastery governed by its proper superior. St. Enda ruled over all. Under him was elected a second in rank, who had the right of succeeding the abbot after his death. The first of these coadjutor abbots is said to have been St. Benedict, brother of the famous Kieran of Saige, patron of the diocese of Ossory, who himself is said to have been one of the many great men who came to St. Enda to learn wisdom and holiness.

The other traces of the internal government of the Arran community which have been handed down to us are of but little importance. Enda ordained that those among the monks who happened to be bishops should have a separate place of burial. All others were to be interred in the common place of sepulture. This regulation seems to have given umbrage to a portion of the community. Eight of the old monks who had accompanied St. Enda to Arran expressed their dissatisfaction. They further found fault with what they deemed the unequal partition of Arran made by St. Enda. To put an end to any doubts which might exist as to his right of governing, the abbot ordered a triduum of fasting and prayer. When this was twice repeated, an angel, we are told, appeared and presented Saint Enda with a chasuble and a Book of the Four Gospels gifts which were understood by all to signify that to him was entrusted the two-fold duty of teaching and governing.

These meagre details throw but little or no light on a question which, in recent years, has given rise to much discussion among archaeologists. What was the rule followed by St. Enda and the monasteries of the early Irish church? To what system of monastic legislation is due the credit of having conferred so many benefits on civilization, and of having given so many citizens to heaven? The well-known antiquarian, Sir James Ware, who, like Ussher and Todd, devoted his energies to the fruitless task of endeavoring to identify modern Protestantism with the teachings and practices of the early Irish church, assures us that the community founded by St. Enda was a branch of the Canons Regular of St. Augustine. It is now, however, almost universally admitted by the best Irish scholars that this institute was unknown in Ireland until introduced for the first time by St. Malachy in the twelfth century. The rule exclusively followed by the monks of the early Irish church was that brought into the country by St. Patrick. This code was only a modification of the monastic system brought originally into Western Europe by St. Athanasius when exiled to Treves by Constantine the Great, in the year 336. It was a rivulet from the great stream which had its origin among the sands of the Thebaid and spread its fertilizing waters towards the regions of the north. Whatever doubt may exist as to the particular form of the monastic code adopted by the Abbot of Arran for the government of his young community, we are certain from the glimpses afforded us that it was based on the great fundamental principles of prayer, labor, obedience, and mortification of the senses. Fasting and abstinence of the most rigorous kind were strictly enjoined upon all. Meat was never used. All kinds of spirituous liquors were absolutely unknown. Bread, meal moistened with water, fish, herbs, and pulse were the only articles of food consumed by the members of the community. The exactness with which the rule of fasting was enforced is illustrated by an anecdote which we find related in Colgan’s Life of St. Enda. To test the fidelity of his monks Enda is said to have subjected them every evening to the following curious ordeal. On the waters of Killany Bay was placed a curroch, or canoe, destitute of the usual covering of skins. Every monk was obliged to go into this curroch. If the water entered and nothing but a miracle could have prevented it it was judged as a sign that the occupant had in some manner violated the rule. On a certain occasion all the monks except the cook had gone safely through the trial. Poor Gigias – for that was his name – no sooner entered than the boat sank, and he escaped only with a severe wetting.

“What hast thou done, O Gigias?” asked the abbot.
Gigias confessed that, overcome by hunger, he had taken some of Kieran’s dinner and added it to his own.
“There is no room for a thief here,” was the reply. So Gigias was obliged to go.

The monastery of Arran was a veritable bee-hive of industry. Labor was imposed on all as a kind of penitential duty. Those skilled in agriculture were appointed to the unremunerative task of endeavoring to snatch a scanty crop from the inhospitable soil; some ground the corn, while others launched forth in their skin-covered barks to reap the harvests of the deep. Copyists, composers, illuminators, and workers in vellum were employed in the scriptorium; lecturers and catechists gave instructions in the schools. In the meantime the prayers of the community were unceasing. The monks succeeded each other in the choir. They stood around the altar and chanted aloud the praises of God in the words of the royal Prophet.

The soul and centre of this angelical world was St. Enda. He was a model of all virtues, but above all shone his admirable sweetness of disposition and his self-denial. In selecting Arran as the place of his abode he was actuated by no other motives than a desire to hide himself from the eyes of the world, and sanctify his own soul and the souls of his brethren. By a wise dispensation of Providence, however, history has torn away the veil behind which he sought to conceal himself, and the former chieftain stands revealed to us in all the greatness of his soul and in all the beauty of his sanctity. Saint Cummian of Conor, who was born half a century (589) after the death (540) of St. Enda, and who is so well known for his famous letter on the Easter controversy, has left us a poem in which he pictures the holy Abbot of Arran living in a cell of flinty stone and practising austerities of such rigor as to seem almost incredible. Near the church of St. Benan, overlooking the village of Killany, is still pointed out a rude building called the bed of St. Enda. In the words of Froude, who gives the result of a visit to Arran in his Short Studies, “it is such a place as sheep would huddle under in a storm, and shiver in the cold and wet which would pierce through the chinks of the walls.” “Enda,” says St. Cummian, “loved victory (over self) with sweetness, he loved a prison of hard stone to bring the people to God.” This victory over self had only been obtained after a severe struggle. Enda was by nature passionate and impulsive. An anecdote illustrative of his fiery disposition is found in his life. Immediately after assuming the monastic garb he was on a certain occasion engaged in conversation with his sister Fanchea, who loved him most tenderly and who exercised a powerful influence on his life. Their conference was rudely broken by warlike shouts. A neighboring clan, the hereditary foes of the family of Enda, had invaded an adjacent territory and were returning home with their booty, when they were intercepted and attacked by the warriors of Oriel. A bloody battle ensued. Forgetful of his new vocation and filled with the old warlike ardor, Enda seized a weapon and was about placing himself at the head of his clansmen, when his sister interposed and exclaimed: “Enda, my brother, place your hand on your head and remember thou hast taken the crown of Christ.” The rebuke was effectual. Enda relinquished his battle-axe and returned to his prayers.

During the interval which had elapsed between this event and his arrival in Arran so thoroughly had he overcome his natural disposition that, like St. Francis of Sales, sweetness and gentleness became his most prominent virtues. In the long range of monastic biography no more charming picture has been presented to us than the paternal kindness with which the holy Abbot of Arran treated the monks under his care. He was a father to all. He shared the sorrows of his brethren, dispelled their doubts, and when despondent he inspired them with a share of the invincible courage which glowed in his own great soul. Among the many anecdotes related in his life is one in which we are told that the monks of Arran, who from the circumstances of their abode became skilful and adventurous navigators, complained that owing to a huge rock which blocked up the entrance to the harbor they were often in danger of shipwreck. The abbot went to the spot, made the sign of the cross on the boulder with his abbatial staff, and prayed that God might do the rest. That night an angel bearing a flaming sword was seen descending from heaven, and, striking the rock like a flash of lightning, it crumbled into atoms.

The fame of the austerities practised by these athletes of penitence spread like an odor of sanctity over all Western Europe. The tide of empire had moved westward, and the wonders of the Thebaid were revived in the Atlantic Ocean. The trackless deep became a highway, and the barren hillsides and gloomy valleys of this desolate island swarmed with human beings. There Saxon and Celt forgot their ancient race hatreds; the Iberian and the Gaul, the Frank and the Teuton might be heard conversing in the common language of all – the Latin of old Rome.

Space will allow us only to cast a glance, in passing, at a few among the crowd who composed that holy company. Foremost among them we find Columkille, the Dove of the Cells, whose hermitage, clothed in a mantle of sweet-brier and wild roses, is still pointed out in a lonely spot by the sea-shore. On his departure from Arran he composed a poem, which has been handed down to posterity, and which is one of the most exquisite relics of ancient Irish literature we possess. Aubrey de Vere – one of Ireland’s truest poets – in his English version has transmitted the touching pathos and tenderness of the original with so much fidelity that we are tempted to quote the following stanzas:

“Farewell to Aran Isle, farewell!
I steer for Hy; my heart is sore:
 The breakers burst, the billows swell
‘Twixt Aran Isle and Alba’s shore.

“O Aran, sun of all the West!
My heart is thine! As sweet to close
Our dying eyes in thee as rest
Where Peter and where Paul repose.

“O Aran, sun of all the West!
My heart in thee its grave hath found;
He walks in regions of the blest
The man that hears thy church bell sound.”

Next come the founders of the great schools of Moville and Clonard the two Finnians. Saint Finnian of Clonard was a man of such vast learning that, after his return from Arran, he became a kind of consulting theologian for all Ireland. His namesake of Moville was even still more famous. Filled with love and veneration for the Apostolic See, he set out from Arran on a pilgrimage to Rome, and after a long sojourn in the Holy City he returned to Ireland laden with gifts from the reigning pope. He afterwards made several other journeys to Rome, and brought back a vast store of relics, the penitential canons, known as the Canons of St. Finnian, and a copy of St. Jerome’s translation of the Holy Scriptures, until then unknown in Ireland. He founded the monastery of Moville in the year 540 and afterwards returned to Italy, where he was elected Bishop of Lucca, in Tuscany, and is to this day venerated in that country under the name of Fridian or Frigidian. He died in 589.

The great Saint Kieran of Clonmacnois, whom Alcuin calls the glory of the Irish race, was also a pupil of the school of Arran. Having come to the island in his youth, and being endowed with a vigorous constitution, he was appointed to the task of grinding all the corn of the community. For seven years he discharged this duty. Visions of his future greatness broke in upon his humble labors. He dreamt, at one time, that he saw a great tree laden with leaves and fruit growing on the banks of the Shannon. It spread out its branches far and near until it covered with its shade the whole of Erin. He related the vision to his abbot, who interpreted it as follows: “The tree,” he said, “thou art thyself, for thou shalt be great before God and men, and shalt bring forth sweetest fruits of good works. Proceed, then, at once, and, in obedience to the will of God, build thou there a monastery.”

Saint Kieran prepared himself for the work allotted to him. Having been ordained priest, and having said his first Mass at Killany, he took an affectionate farewell of his brethren. The parting was most affecting. Walking between Saint Enda and Saint Finnian of Moville, and escorted by the entire community, he proceeded to the place of embarkation. No words were spoken, but tears flowed in abundance. Long and wistfully did the monks gaze after the bark which bore their beloved brother away from their island home. When returning to his cell, Saint Enda, sobbing with grief, said: “O my brethren! good reason have we to weep, for this day has our island lost the flower and strength of religious observance.” St. Kieran died at Clonmacnois in the year 549, having governed the monastery only a short time.

Among the many others who were trained to holiness in this great nursery of saints were Saint Kevin of Glendalough, whom the poet Moore has touched with his poetic wand; St. Jarlath, patron and founder of the See of Tuam; St. Carthage of Lismore; Saint Benignus of Armagh; Saint Colman MacDuagh and St. Mac-Creiche, both natives of Clare; St. Loran Kerr; St. Caradoc; St. Kybi; Saint Papeus, and Saint Brecan, son of Euchu Ball-dearg, prince of the proud Dalcassian race.

It was a gathering at once democratic and cosmopolitan. Prince and peasant, plebeian and patrician worked and prayed side by side. Children of races as divergent as the poles, but united by the catholicity of a common faith, lived together in harmony.

Among the many objects of interest to be seen in this wonderful island is a sculptured cross bearing the inscription “VII Romani,” or the Seven Romans. We ask in vain who they were. This solitary monument cast on the shore of time, a relic of the shipwreck of ages is the only evidence of their existence we possess. And yet we know that these strangers were only a few among the countless numbers who came from afar to drink copious draughts of wisdom and holiness from the fountains which flowed in perennial streams in Arran of the Saints.

In this, as well as in the other great centres of monastic life throughout Ireland, there was an intellectual development unknown among the monks of the Egyptian desert. The prodigies of penance practised by the eremites of the Thebaid found a parallel in Arran, but to these were added the charm that mental culture always gives the actions of mankind. The study of the Holy Scriptures and the writings of the fathers of the church were the great foundation stones on which the Irish scholastic system was erected. In Ireland itself but few relics of her ancient literature, with the exception of legendary narratives, have escaped the vandalism of Dane and Saxon. The libraries of Europe, however, possess ample evidences of the literary eminence to which national feeling lays claim. These records consist chiefly of books of the Gospels, the New and the Old Testament, with glosses on the margin, and distinct commentaries, such as that of St. Columbanus, which bear ample testimony to the depth and fulness of knowledge possessed by the authors. Augustin Magraidin, in his life of Saint Enda, tells us that a book of the Gospels, richly bound and illuminated, was in his time (he died in 1405) still preserved in the monastery of Arran. Among the original works said to have been composed in this island is a poem entitled the “Voyage of the Children of Ua Corra,” which tells us of seven brothers who set out in a skin-covered bark, on a pilgrimage of discovery into the depths of the Atlantic, where they met with as many adventures as the heroes of the Odyssey. The study of the Greek and Latin classics formed a portion of the educational course in the Irish schools. From the frequency with which we meet with copies of Virgil, Ovid, Cicero, Lactantius, Plato, and Aristotle these authors would appear to have been special favorites among the Irish monks.

Nor were the fine arts neglected. Besides the art of illuminating, which attained a degree of perfection never since surpassed, metallurgy, sculpture, and architecture were also successfully cultivated. The relics of antiquity still to be found in Arran, such as portions of a round tower, exquisitely carved crosses, incised inscriptions, finely formed arches and cut-stone mullions and lintels, are all eloquent witnesses of the artistic skill of the monks of the early Irish church. From the circumstances of their abode, it will not be considered strange if the science of navigation had a special attraction for Saint Enda and his insular community. They loved the sea. Its solemn voice filled them with joy, for it seemed to them to be for ever chanting a hymn of praise to its great Creator. As they launched fearlessly out upon its waters they mingled their psalms with the cries of the sea-birds, and thus animate and inanimate nature united in adoration of the Almighty. Among the saints who were friends and contemporaries of Saint Enda was the famous navigator, Saint Brendan. Many claim for this holy man, and not without a certain amount of probability, the first discovery of America. Before setting out on his voyage he paid a visit to the Abbot of Arran, to ask his prayers and to be guided by his counsel. As one of Erin’s poetic sons -the lamented Denis Florence MacCarthy- has immortalized this pilgrimage in verse, we shall here be excused for quoting a few verses:

“Hearing how the blessed Enda lived apart,
Amid the sacred cares of Ara-Mhor;
And how beneath his eye, spread like a chart,
Lay all the isles of that remotest shore;
And how he had collected in his mind
All that was known of the old sea,
I left the hill of miracles behind
And sailed from out the shallow, sandy Leigh.

“Again I sailed and crossed the stormy sound
That lies beneath Binn-Arte’s rocky height,
And there upon the shore the saint I found
Waiting my coming through the tardy night.
He led me to his home beside the wave,
Where, with his monks, the pious father dwelled,
And to my listening ear he freely gave
The sacred knowledge that his bosom held.

“When I proclaimed the project that I nursed,
How ’twas for this that I his blessing sought,
An irrepressible cry of joy outburst
From his pure lips, that blessed me for the thought.
He said that he, too, had in visions strayed
O’er the untracked ocean’s bellowing foam;
Bid me have hope, that God would give me aid,
And bring me safe back to my native home.”

It was in the midst of these hallowed associations that Saint Enda went to his reward in the year 544, having for over sixty years lived a life of penitence which for rigor was unsurpassed even by the anchorites of the Egyptian desert. His remains were laid to rest in the cemetery of the little mortuary chapel which he himself had built, and which still exists, as if its founder had imparted to it a share of his own immortality.

As one stands over the grave of St. Enda, with the ocean spreading out before him, and the cliffs of Moher looming in the distance, all the associations of the place rush upon him and fill him with emotion. The spirit of the angelic life practised there fourteen hundred years ago comes back upon him in all its beauty. He sees once more the sea covered with craft filled with pilgrims eagerly flocking to this desolate island. He hears the accents of the Celt and the Roman mingling with the rougher cadences of the Saxon and the Cymbri. He listens to the voices of human adoration chanting in concert with the mysterious music of the ocean; and he feels that land and sea, arch and altar, while echoing the praises of the great Creator, also become eloquent of Ireland’s glory.

WILLIAM GANLY.

Clifden, Co. Galway.

The Catholic World, Volume LXIX (1889), 464-473.

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