FROM the old Roman town of La Turbie a road dips down into a lonely valley and is soon lost to view. It is an unfriendly highway that appears to turn its face from the world as if to hide among the ascetic hills. There are few signs of human life to make the road companionable, while a row of cypresses on either side seem to impose upon it a reverential silence. At the end of the valley a great monastic building appears, with the figure of the Virgin raised aloft on its summit. It is an unexpected thing to come upon in this solitude; it is so immense, so aggressive looking, so modern, so like a great barrack. Its walls are of fawn-coloured plaster, its roof of rounded tiles of every gracious tint of brown. Its windows would appear to have been inserted as occasion required, without regard to any definite design. Some are in arched recesses; many are no more than the simple square windows of a cottage, while a few are like the lattice of a prison cell. It has a fine bell tower, with a clock, surmounted by a dome on the crest of which is the figure of Our Lady of Laghet. The building stands on a projecting rock and is approached by a bridge over a puny torrent.
Wedged uncomfortably in the gorge above the bridge is a dun hamlet that seems to be trying to efface itself. It is an apologetic little place, standing in apparent awe of the great monastery which it scarcely dares to approach. The huddled houses, hiding one behind the other, are like a cluster of shy children before a schoolmaster’s door.
Various bolder and immodest objects, however, have thrust themselves between the timid village and the monastery. These are certain self-confident restaurants, a stable of almost offensive size, together with many booths and stalls, all deserted it is true, but still very assertive and unseemly. In the little square before the convent door are a bazaar where postcards and souvenirs are sold, a café, and an old fountain in a niche of the wall. Looking down upon the water in the basin of stone is a graceful figure of the Virgin. The fountain, recently restored, is said to have been erected in 1706. Mr. Hare[46] gives the following translation of an inscription it bears:—
“Pilgrim, you find here two streams; one descends from heaven, the other from the top of the mountains. The first is a treasure which the Virgin distributes to the piety of the faithful, the second has been brought here by the people of Nice; drink of both, if you thirst for both.”
 
LAGHET.
No living creatures are in sight, except two children who are playing on the bridge. In answer to a question they state that the booths and other unclerical objects are for the pilgrims of whom they speak with pride. The pilgrims, it appears, do not come regularly. They do not come in ones and twos in the guise of weary men limping on staffs. They come on occasions and in thousands, arriving in char-à-bancs, in motors, in omnibuses, in gigs, in farm carts, on horses, on donkeys, on bicycles and on foot, a crowd of cheerful men and women dressed in their best. A photograph of one such pilgrimage day—exhibited as a postcard—shows the single highway of Laghet as packed with people as any part of the race-course at Epsom, with people too somewhat of the type that is found at such a gathering. Incongruous as the crowd may be it is moved by a fine and estimable spirit much to be respected. People journey to Laghet from far and near to return thanks to Our Lady for preservation from accident, for recovery from disease, for escape from trouble; while yet a greater number come to place themselves under the protection of the revered image which has made this quiet glen so famous.
It is said that the church of the monastery stands upon the site of a little ancient chapel; that the new church was inaugurated in 1656 and that the barefooted Carmelites were established here in 1674. Miracles in the matter of recovery from sickness or of escape from dire mishap commenced in 1652, when the little old ruined chapel was still standing. From that moment the sanctuary in this remote and desolate valley was much sought after. Eminent personages made their way to Laghet and among those who came to offer homage were Charles Emmanuel II, Victor Amédée and his wife, Anne of Orleans. Since then the crowd of pilgrims has increased year by year so that on the great festa of Laghet, on Trinity Sunday, the little place is submerged by an overwhelming throng.
The monastery is entered through a portal of three arches which leads at once into a cloister whose walls are covered by ex-voto pictures. These pictures are small, being, as a rule, from one to two feet square. They date from various periods; one of the oldest being ascribed to the year 1793. The majority belong, however, to the nineteenth century. Not a few are so faded as to be scarcely discernible. Beneath each picture is a brief account of the incident portrayed, a large proportion of the descriptions being in Italian. Two or three out of the vast collection—which includes many hundreds—possess some artistic merit; but the mass are crude productions as simple as the drawings of a child and as regardless of perspective and as lavish in colour as the signboard of a village inn, while a few show but a little advance upon the more earnest sketches in a prehistoric cave.
They deal with accidents and misfortunes from which the subject of the picture has escaped through the intervention of the sweet-faced Madonna of Laghet. The impression left by the gallery is that the dwellers in this corner of Europe are peculiarly liable to fall from the roofs or windows of houses, to slip over precipices, to drop into wells, to catch on fire or to find themselves under the wheels of carriages and wagons. Indeed it is a matter for marvel that they have not become extinct. It is a gallery that might suitably deck the walls of a coroner’s court, the corridors of a hospital or the offices of an accident insurance company.
 
LAGHET: THE ENTRANCE.
Here is depicted a man lying under a cart laden with immense blocks of stone. A wheel of the cart rests poised upon his leg which would normally be reduced to pulp. For his escape he has undoubted rea............