The Legend of the Scapular

HERE were troublesome times in “Merrie England." The Holy Father, the Vicar of Christ upon earth, had vainly remonstrated with the infamous monarch John, who at that time wielded the sceptre upon the English throne. Innocent III, in consequence of the scandalous conduct of the king, had deemed it proper to set aside the custom which had,up to that time prevailed, of consulting the ruling sovereign upon the appointment of a bishop to any of the vacant Sees. The Bishopric of Canterbury being vacant he placed therein one eminently fitted for the exalted position, but in so doing he incurred the wrath of the rebellious prince. John, venting his rage upon all who supported the Pontiff, or loyally tendered their ready submission to the holy prelate, sent his minions to despoil an adjacent abbey, and banish the monks from their much loved home.

Nothing remained but to place the kingdom under an Interdict, a punishment which was never resorted to save when gentler measures had been tried in vain, and mild persuasion been laughed to scorn. The nature of an interdict is, generally speaking,
well known, still it may not be amiss to devote a few moments time to say that it is a something calculated to strike terror to the strongest heart, and fill with anguish the devoted clients of our holy church. During its continuance none of the exterior rites of religion can be observed. The spacious cathedral and the simple village church must alike divest their altars of the adornments with which piety or wealth had decorated them. The symbol of man's salvation must be entirely concealed. The dear pictured faces of the saints, so loved and venerated, are lost to view. Their mild, compassionate glances and sweet smiles so consoling to the sorrowful heart are hidden away, for crucifixes and pictures, saints' relics and statutes alike are covered with thick black veils. The belfries seem to mourn for the loss of the sweet toned bells whose chimes are silent now, and none can go forth joyfully to attend the holy mass. No, for the divine sacrifice could not be celebrated until the portals of God's holy temple were closed and barred. Baptism and communion were permitted only to the dying, youths and maidens going to unite their hearts and hands in wedded love were met with pitying glances as they stood in the church yard to speak their vows away from the altar they loved so well, and mourning relatives were forced to bury their dead in soil unhallowed by our mother Church.

Yes ! faithful hearts were sad in England. But our Lord who never forgets His own
devoted children, sent into the world about this time one who was destined to command
an army by far outnumbering the mighty array of the infamous John—an army which would welcome beneath its standard the great and lowly, the monarch upon his throne, and the beggar at the gate, —decrepit age, scarce able to bear the burden of years, and innocent youth, caroling for pure joy that it had never known a grief. The mightiest intellect was glad to assume the insignia, and the poor ignorant children of the church were consoled when admitted to the band.

St. Simon of the Stock was the one called by our Lady of Mount Carmel to work such marvels, not in "Merrie England" alone, but, as time rolled on, wherever the symbol of salvation proclaimed that the faith was there. He was born in the County of Kent, and when but twelve brief years had passed over his head, at an age when childish sports occupy so large a space in the heart of the growing boy, he left his home and for twenty years dwelt in the hollow trunk of an ancient oak. From this circumstance he was called "St. Simon of the Stock."

Our Blessed Lady, for whom he had always cherished an extraordinary devotion, revealed to him that he was eventually to enter an order which as yet was not established in England. Patiently therefore in prayer and penance, beneath the spreading foliage of the oak, hidden from all in his narrow retreat, he awaited the dawning of that day He entered the Carmelite Order, and in the year 1245, so great was the sanctity of his life that he was unanimously chosen by his brethren as their Prior General. It was in the year 1251, however, that this devout client of Mary was called to be general of the army of which I have spoken of above. One day when in the chapel of the Convent at Whitefriars he knelt wholly absorbed in prayer and contemplation of his dear lady and queen's perfections, a wonderful favour was vouchsafed to him. The blessed Virgin appeared to him wearing an aspect of loveliness, far greater than it hath entered into the heart of man to conceive; celestial strains of music soft and low were heard, and the chapel was filled with a fragrance so sweet that it could only have come from heaven. She presented him with the Brown Scapulars—that dear badge with which we are all so familiar, and assured him of her never ceasing protection.

The saint made known the favour he had received, and the new devotion was welcomed
with universal acclaim. The sovereign Pontiff placed upon it the seal of his approbation, and enriched it with indulgences, an example which his successors have, up to the present day, followed with unvarying unanimity. The beneficial effects were soon made manifest, especially in England, the land of our dear saint's birth. In the year 1251 this great servant of God was called to meet his eternal reward, but not until he had seen many marvels wrought in behalf of those whom he had invested with the colours of his beloved queen.

The year 1245 which was such a bright spot in the annals of the Carmelite Order dawned upon France and beheld its saintly sovereign, Louis IX, full of holy enthusiasm, preparing for that seventh crusade which, alas, ended with disaster and defeat. In one of the loveliest spots of that sunny land, far removed from the city's busy turmoil, lived the Count Felix de la Roque, and his young wife, Blanche. Everything tended to make their lives bright and happy, and grief with careless kindness seemed to pass them by. A beautiful home, tenants who looked up to them with admiration, respect and love; an idolized child, and above all, the priceless treasure of a living faith. These were the gifts lavished by a bountiful Providence upon this happy pair. The countess was the god-child of the illustrious Queen Blanche, and the count was devoted, heart and soul, to his king. In the education of the little Felix his loving mother always took as a model her royal god-mother, and many a time she would assure the boy that, deeply as his death would grieve her and cast a gloom o'er their now happy home, she would far rather give him to God in his guileless innocence than see him live to stain and blacken his soul with sin.

The poor regarded Lady Blanche as an angel; her purse was ever open to relieve their wants, her aid was ever at their service in sickness, and the most repulsive malady did not deter her from hastening to their side. The rich admired her for her beauty and grace, but still more for the bright example she set them. They sometimes tried to imitate it, or resolved to walk in her footsteps "at some future time."

Thus the days passed happily away, but the cloud of separation was overshadowing
them, even now. Count Felix was too loyal a subject and too good a christian not to place his services and his purse at the disposal of the king. Desolate as his departure would make their home, his noble wife, far from seeking to change his resolution, urged him on rather, and frequently by her wise suggestions aided her beloved soldier of the cross. They conferred earnestly upon the course she was to pursue in his absence, especially with regard to their child. And then came the bitter hour of separation. After a most loving farewell the count, noble chevalier that he was, followed by a numerous and chivalrous retinue, set out full of high hopes and ardent resolves History tells us how the king was accompanied by his heroic wife, his three brothers, and all the bravest knights of France. How he lost the half of his army by disease and defeat, how he was taken prisoner and languished for a time under the Saracen iron rule. Then he ransomed himself and the remnant of his troops, and spent several years in promoting the welfare of the Christian colonies. The death of his mother, to whose care he had entrusted the government of his kingdom, eventually recalled him to France. It is, however, the fortunes of Count Felix in which this little brochure is most especially interested, and you will learn of his wonderful escape, wherein the efficacy of the Scapular was so unequivocally displayed. He had borne himself all through that fateful seventh crusade with a bravely and heroism which scarce can be described.

" Our Lady's Knight,'' his soldier comrades styled him, for he never went upon the battle field without specially recommending himself to Mary, wore a large silver medal next to his heart, and had a small picture of our Blessed Mother painted upon his shield. At last he fell, pierced by the lance of a Saracen chief, and was left upon the field for dead. Here the protecting care of the Queen of Heaven was first evinced, for when, later on, the cruel foe began to heap indignities on their lifeless victims, it was found that Felix still lived. The lance had glanced aside, turned from its course by the medal which lay next his heart. And now his misfortunes began.

His captors dragged him lo prison, thrust him into a dungeon, and lore from his bruised form whatever of value met their gaze. One of his most precious treasures was a rosary with golden chain and ruby beads. The rubies had always reminded the pious count of the drops of blood, which, in the Garden of Gethsemane, '' ran trickling down " from our agonized Lord, and the large ruby in the centre of the crucifix, of a drop of blood from His Sacred Heart. This they took, also a miniature of his wife, exquisitely painted and set in a frame of precious stones. The Count seemed to have inspired his captors with a special hatred, for not another prisoner was treated with such unvarying cruelty. When the king sent to enquire as to his fate, and offered to ransom him regardless of the cost,' he was invariably met with the assurance of his death.

And the weary months dragged on. The foul air of his prison cell affected his health, and the work which he was led forth to do was too much for his strength. In hunger and thirst, in much wtatching, beneath the burning rays of an Egyptian sun, this heroic soldier of the Cross toiled on. Not a murmur escaped his lips. To the jibes and jeers of his tormentors he uttered not a word; and to their assurances of freedom and a happy meeting with wife and child, if he would but mock and scoff at the christian's God, he had but one fearless answer to give. Meanwhile, the Lady Blanche: What of her? Hoping almost against hope, she clung to the belief that Felix still lived. All her works of charity, all her prayers, tended to this one end. She was very devoted to the holy souls, and after praying for them or assisting at mass for their release, she would beg them not to forget the dear prisoner she loved so well. At times when her courage, well nigh faltered, the saintly chaplain of the castle would bid her renew her prayers to the "Comfortress of the afflicted," who surely would protect her husband and watch over him in that far off land. But the world awoke to the year 1251, and the fame of the new devotion resounded throughout the church. It penetrated to France, and Lady Blanche was amongst the first to have herself enrolled in the confraternity, together with her child. She had the name of her husband inscribed therein, that he might have an additional claim on the protection of Mary. And her confidence was not misplaced. Not a day elapsed when the wanderer clasped his beloved ones to his heart.

As the legend runs, after a day upon which the ferocity of his tormentors surpassed
even itself, Count Felix fell upon his knees, and with a fervent prayer to the Blessed Virgin and her divine Son, in whose honour he had become a soldier of the Cross, he resigned himself wholly into their sacred hands to live or to die. At that moment a venerable man in the garb of a monk appeared before him, and placing a scapular around his neck, opened the prison door and bade him "go in peace." He knew nothing more until he found himself in his home—his own dear home. Thanks to the interposition of our Lady of Mount Carmel and her devout client — St. Simon of the Stock.
S. X. B.
St. Mary's, Pa.