Insula Sanctorum et Doctorum; Or, Ireland's Ancient Schools and Scholars

by John Healy

Together they drew a sword, that could not save, in defence of hapless Ireland. Together they were forced to bow the knee in homage to the Norman king. But St. Laurence did not forget his old master in his new loyalty. He was faithful through all his misfortunes to the unhappy Roderick O’Connor; and it may be truly said that he met his noble death striving to obtain Henry’s pardon for the discrowned king, and “to render light the chains that bound his fallen land.” The saint’s career, from every point of view, is full of interest; and therefore we make no apology for tracing his history at some length.

It is fortunate that in the case of St. Laurence, or Lorcan O’Toole, we are not left to tradition or imagination to enable us to ascertain what manner of man he was. We have an accurate and authentic Life of the saint, rich in all details, and written by one who was in every way qualified for the task. The writer was a member of that community at Eu, in whose bosom St. Laurence found a home and a grave; and he must have had ample and authentic information at his disposal. For the Life was written shortly after the saint’s death; its author must have seen and probably conversed with Laurence himself; and, doubtless, he made the acquaintance of the clergy who accompanied him from Ireland to Normandy. Above all, he had at his command the official documents, which were transmitted from Dublin to Rouen, at the request of the Bishop and Chapter of that Cathedral, and which were drawn up by the Bishop of Kildare and the Prior of Christ’s Church by command of Henry de Loundres, Archbishop of Dublin, for the process of the saint’s canonization.

Laurence O’Toole, both by father and mother, came of the noblest stock of Leinster. His father, Murtough, was hereditary prince of the Hy-Murray, a race that inhabited the fertile lands of south-eastern Kildare (which still belongs to the diocese of Dublin), until they were driven into the mountains of Wicklow by the Normans. His mother was the daughter of O’Byrne, the ruler of north-eastern Kildare, who shared the same fate; for both were driven from the plains into the mountains, where they maintained a sturdy but turbulent independence, down to a period within the memory of men still living.

The young Lorcan was baptized at St. Brigid’s famous shrine in Kildare, by the hands of the bishop of that ancient see, who seems to have been in some way connected with the family of the saint. We need not dwell on the alleged prophecies of the saint’s future greatness—too often these prophecies were composed after the event. A few years at most after the birth of the child, Dermott M‘Murrough, of infamous memory, became king of Leinster, and, as Gerald Barry testifies, he was a tyrant from the beginning, a cruel oppressor of the nobles, a man whose hand was against every man, and who had every man’s hand against him. The father of the young Lorcan being suspected or defeated by the tyrant, was forced to give his youngest child as a hostage to M‘Murrough. Sometimes these hostages were treated with great cruelty; and if any violation of faith, real or imaginary, took place, were not unfrequently put to death with circumstances of the greatest atrocity. M‘Murrough was a savage, and treated the child savagely. He had him at the tender age of ten led away in bonds; he caused him to be sent into a desert, stony land, somewhere probably to the north of Ferns, and there the child was left almost without food, until he was nearly starved to death, and his clothes were reduced to rags; so that, as the author of his Life tells us, he had nothing to shelter him from the biting north winds of winter. It was the discipline of the Cross which sometime or other God prepares for those whom he destines for a high degree of sanctity, that they may thus learn the best of all lessons—the lesson of patient endurance at the foot of the Cross.

When his father heard of the sad plight to which his poor son was reduced—knowing that prayers would be fruitless with such a man—he fortunately made prisoners of twelve of M‘Murrough’s followers, and then gave the tyrant to understand that if his son were not released, he would take summary vengeance on the captives. The threat was effective; M‘Murrough could not afford to lose his followers. So he agreed to give up the boy to the Bishop of Glendalough on condition that his own followers were at once released.

It was fortunate for young Lorcan that the chances of war brought him to Glendalough, for it was the crisis of his life. His captivity was, after all, a blessing in disguise, since it ended in thus bringing him to the holy city of St. Kevin. In spite of the ravages of the Danes, and of other spoilers like Dermott M‘Murrough, the lamp of learning still burned brightly in the mountain valley, and the virtues of St. Kevin were still cultivated, at least to some extent by his monastic children. There were, it is true, from time to time burnings at Glendalough, and deeds of violence were perpetrated even under the shadow of its holy mountains. But the learning and holiness acquired by St. Laurence in its cloisters—for it was his only school—is the clearest proof that both sacred and profane studies were there cultivated in comparative peace, and that the churches of Glendalough were crowded with holy and learned monks until the Norman spoilers came, when it was made a desert, which afforded refuge only to the robber and the outlaw.

Young Lorcan was at once placed under the protection of the bishop; and when his father came to bring him home, the noble boy asked permission to remain for ever in the family of St. Kevin, and forego his hopes of an earthly and, in those days, a very brilliant inheritance. The father gladly consented; and thus, at the early age of twelve, young Lorcan was given over to God, and like Samuel, was brought up in the temple of the Lord, serving day and night before His altar. His whole time, like that of his young companions, was given to prayer and study. It was his highest privilege to be allowed to attend at the altar, to train his young voice to sing the praises of God with the monks in the choir, and prepare the requisites for the Holy Sacrifice, especially the spotless host, and the wine, and the limpid water from St. Kevin’s well. He was assiduous in attendance at all the lessons of the lectors, that is the readers in Divinity and Sacred Scriptures, who were attached to the monastic school, and delivered their lectures in a somewhat free and easy, but very effective, sort of way. In rainy weather they assembled in the church, or the abbot’s house, or the reading room; but when the sun shone the professor and monks strolled about, or sat down under the shade of St. Kevin’s yew, while the teacher expounded the sacred page, or read the lives of ancient saints, or went through the canons of the Church, explaining how the law was violated, how transgressors were punished, and how the truly repentant after condign penance were reconciled. It was not so elaborate a system as we have at present; but it was admirably suited to the wants of the time. It certainly produced great prelates and great saints; and beyond all doubt it was more healthy for soul and body to hear the Word of God explained in the bracing air of Glendalough, under the shadow of its majestic mountains, than to be cooped up in a dusty hall, where one could hardly ever catch a ray of the glorious sun struggling through the murky atmosphere.

Lorcan was a diligent and keen-witted scholar. He was, says the writer of his Life, “Fervens in audiendo, sagax in repetendo, prudens in discernendo, sollicitus audita tenaci memoriæ commendare.” No good quality of a perfect student was wanting. He was not merely an attentive but an eager listener—fervens in audiendo. He went carefully and wisely over what he had heard or read—sagax in repetendo. This improved his natural talents, and made him a youth of keen and penetrating judgment—prudens in discernendo—and the knowledge which he acquired he stored up, not in a confused heap, but with system and order, which helped to strengthen his retentive memory, and enable him to have his knowledge ready for use—sollicitus audita tenaci memoriæ commendare.

For thirteen years he spent his life in the service of God, in the improvement of his mind, and the acquisition of sacred knowledge. They were probably the happiest years of his life; his young heart, pure and free from care, was given to the only love that begets perfect happiness, the love and service of God. Then it came to pass that the abbot of Glendalough, the comarb of St. Kevin, died; and, young as he was, the unanimous voice of the clergy, and of the people, called for Lorcan as his successor. He was only twenty-five—too young, indeed, in ordinary circumstances to be placed at the head of a great community; but his virtues, his learning, and his prudence far exceeded the measure of his years, and so they placed him, reluctant as he was, at the head of the great establishment of St. Kevin, probably about the year A.D. 1153, when we read that the abbot Dunlaing Ua Cathail died.

We cannot stay to recount his wisdom, his zeal, and, above all, his great charity in his new post. The abbey lands were wide; the family of St. Kevin was very large; the duties of the abbot very onerous; but we find young Lorcan discharged all these duties with complete success. Above all, his charity to the poor was remarkable. A time of great scarcity had come upon the people in all that mountain region, and great numbers would, undoubtedly, have perished of cold and hunger, but the abbot found means to be generous to all—no appeal was made to him in vain; no one left the gates of the monastery hungry. When necessary he gave the scanty meal from his own table to feed the starving people. Perhaps it was that he was too profuse of the property of the monastery, or because in the common need he made all give a share to the poor, but it is certain that at this period in his own religious family there were false brethren who calumniated their abbot, whispering evil things against him. Yet he bore all with perfect patience, and took no measures to vindicate his own character, until his enemies, from very shame, were forced to confess that they did injustice to their blameless abbot.