FRANCIS CARDINAL BOURNE, Archbishop of Westminster. Feast of the Presentation of Our Blessed Lady, 1912. ______________________________ PROLOGUE: THE PARENTAGE & BIRTH OF MARIE FRANCOISE THERESE MARTIN In the month of September, 1843, a young man of twenty climbed the mountain of the Great St. Bernard. His eyes shone with a holy enthusiasm as the splendour of the Alps stirred to the depths his responsive nature. Presently, accustomed as they were to discern God's beauty in the beauty of His handiwork, they glistened with tears. He paused for a space, then, continuing his journey, soon reached the celebrated monastery that like a beacon on those heights darts afar its beams of faith and magnificent charity. The Prior, struck by the frank and open countenance of his guest, welcomed him with more than wonted hospitality. Louis Joseph Stanislaus Martin was the pilgrim's name. He was born on August 22, 1823, at Bordeaux, while his father, a brave and devout soldier, was captain in the garrison there. "God has predestined this little one for Himself," said the saintly Bishop of Bordeaux on the occasion of his baptism, and events have proved the truth of his words. From this town, by the banks of the Garonne, his parents went to Alencon in lower Normandy, and there in their new home, as in their old one, Louis was the cherished Benjamin. It was not the loveliness of Swiss lakes and mountains and skies that had drawn the traveller from distant Alencon. He came to the monastery--and his journey was chiefly on foot--to consecrate his days to God. On learning his purpose the Prior questioned him upon his knowledge of Latin, only to discover that the young aspirant had not completed his course of studies in that language. "I am indeed sorry, my child," said the venerable monk, "since this is an essential condition, but you must not be disheartened. Go back to your own country, apply yourself diligently, and when you have ended your studies we shall receive you with open arms." Louis was disappointed. He set out for home--for exile he would have said--but ere long he saw clearly that his life was to be dedicated to God in another and equally fruitful way, and that the Alpine monastery was to be nothing more to him than a sweet memory. * * * * * *