At Tours, Mr. Dupont found himself intimately associated with two noble families, with whom he was united both by the ties of relationship and friendship—the family of Beauchamp and of Marolles. Availing herself of their vicinity to Tours, Madame d’Arnaud was accustomed every year to pass a few months with her grand-daughter, Henrietta, at Gringueniéres, the country seat of the Beauchamp. Mr. Dupont generally accompanied them there, but did not remain long at the castle. He usually devoted that time to solitary excursions, or to pilgrimages to neighboring shrines.

Those, who knew him well, represent him as an indefatigable walker and an intrepid huntsman. To walk for leagues through woods and over rough paths, seemed to him a mere trifle. “One night,” says a relative, “he returned thoroughly drenched from some excursion, during which he had been obliged to cross a wide and deep stream in order to reach a pathway on the opposite side. Being occupied all day by the cares of a numerous family, I was frequently obliged to write or work at night. Léon noticed the light in my room and called me.

I welcomed him cordially, and made a good fire to dry his clothing. But how can I tell you all that he ate! He was dying of hunger! It gives me great pleasure, I said to him, to see you with so good an appetite, and to complete your repast, I will bring you some of the best pears from the fruitery. My aunt, Madame d’Arnaud, was asleep; in the morning I amused her and the family by relating what had passed the previous evening.”

Gringueniéres was distant only four leagues from the Abbey of Solesmes and from the chapel of Notre Dame du Chêne. Dom Guéranger had been a fellow-student of Mr. de Marolles; and thus his cousin, Mr. Dupont, had every opportunity and facility of visiting, in his cloister, the illustrious restorer of the Benedictine order in France. From this period dates the close friendship which united the Abbot of Solesmes and the holy man of Tours, and which time and circumstances only rendered stronger. Mr. Dupont went frequently very early in the morning to Notre Dame du Chêne. He always returned on foot and fasting, arriving in time for the family breakfast.

In Touraine, he was also near Chissay, whither he was attracted by associations of his childhood, and the warm affection testified by his uncle, Mr. de Marolles. When visiting there, he indulged in his old taste for riding on horseback and hunting; but he reproached himself for gratifying these inclinations; such a life appeared to him idle and useless for the soul. “I do nothing for God,” he would say; and the attraction to a penitential and perfect life became daily more and more marked.

It was at Chissay that grace finally triumphed over this privileged soul.

In 1837, he went there with his mother and daughter; three days after his arrival at the castle, he was illumined by a supernatural light which made a deep impression upon him, and of which he has himself revealed the principal circumstances. On the 22d of July, the Feast of St. Magdalen, after communion his eye rested on a picture of St. Teresa, and suddenly his soul was enlightened, and he comprehended the necessity of resolutely embracing Christian mortification. The grace was so marked that every year, wherever he might be, he celebrated in the secrecy and joy of his heart the anniversary of that day of benediction. Not long afterwards, when reading the life of the seraphic Teresa, he met with the following passage: “I declare that I commenced to comprehend the things pertaining to salvation, only after I determined to disregard the demands of the body” He considered this an additional grace, as it furnished him with greater light for his guidance, and he ever viewed this memorable event as his starting point in the path of perfection. It may be that he then had a presentiment of the future, and of those ties which were to unite him so closely to Carmel — an intuition of the great work of reparation to which, in the designs of God, he was to be called.

Circumstances had, sometime previously, brought him in communication with the virgins of Carmel. Mr. Dupont had been a resident of Tours for several months, when, desiring to visit the chapels of the city, he entered that of the Carmelites. It was the chapel of the old monastery in Banchereau street, where the community then lived. His attention was attracted to the picture above the grand altar representing the mystery of the Annunciation. Besides the artistic value of the painting, which was ancient and belonged to the Italian school, Mr. Dupont observed that the attitude of the various personages differed entirely from that usually ascribed to them. In this, the Blessed Virgin is seated, and regards with modest dignity the heavenly ambassador, who, bending respectfully, seems to acknowledge in her the Mother of God and the Queen of angels. The pious visitor, having finished his prayers in the chapel where his soul was stirred by an unwonted emotion, asked at the parlor for the prioress, at that time, Mother Mary of the Incarnation. He imparted to her his impressions of the altar piece, and learned that it was prized as one of the most precious treasures of the community, on account of the miracle of which it had been the object. During the revolution of 1793, after the spoliation of the Convent, this picture, through the secret designs of Providence, had alone remained hung against the wall of the church which had been converted into a storehouse. An offer was made to the proprietor by some individuals, who wished to purchase it for the purpose of arranging it as a theatre. The owner was about to conclude the sale, when one of his clerks with as little religion as himself, entering to attend to some business affairs, noticed that the picture was wet, although it was placed forty feet above the floor, and not the slightest moisture appeared on the wall. He exarained it attentively, and, at last, mounting a ladder he discovers with terror that tears are flowing in two streams from the eyes of the Blessed Virgin, that they run to the bottom of her dress, the blue color of which is spotted by the water. Whether this circumstance was the cause, or some other motive, the sale was not effected, and the dress, without having been touched, resumed its original freshness. Impressed by these details, Mr. Dupont, from that moment, was particularly devout to that chapel, and entertained a strong affection for the community.

As the monastery is under the invocation of the Incarnation, he conceived for this adorable mystery an especial devotion, as well as for the Archangel Gabriel, who was its ambassador. When the daughters of St. Teresa transferred their residence to the house they now occupy, in the street of the Ursulines, the precious picture was removed and placed in the new chapel, where it may still be seen above the high altar. Mr. Dupont continued to venerate it, and several times wished to have it photographed, but was forced to abandon the design, because there was not sufficient light thrown upon it. In his last illness, he declared that he beheld it with the eyes of his soul, and he requested to have his bed turned, so that he might see the rose window, saying it was a consolation to him. A few days before his death, fixing his eyes upon it, he said to his servant, Adele: “How Carmel shines! It is brilliant with rubies and emeralds!” The Carmelite nuns remarked with admiration that his death took place on a Saturday, the day consecrated to the Virgin Mother of God, and on the 18th of March, feast of the Archangel Gabriel, whom he had so much honored.

Several other holy friendships held a large place at this time in the life of Mr. Dupont. There lived at Tours a worthy canon of the metropolitan church, regarded as a wise director, a man of good works, M. L’Abbé Pasquier, the founder of the present orphan asylum. Both clergy and laity considered him a saint. The Archbishop, Monseigneur de Montblanc, had selected him for his confessor, consulted him on all occasions, and desired to receive the last sacraments at his hands. Mr. Dupont became acquainted with him, and as the bad health and constant occupations of Mr. Jolif du Colombier often prevented him from attending to his penitent, Mr. Dupont finally placed himself entirely under the spiritual direction of Mr. Pasquier. He saw him nearly every day. In the evening he recited Matins and Lauds with him and M. l’Abbé Verdier, a young deacon, who had been sent to aid him in the charge of his orphan asylum.

Through this canon he made the acquaintance of another holy priest, M. l’Abbé Botrel, who still lives, and with whom Mr. Dupont remained on intimate terms till his death. These three holy men conversed upon God and united in prayer. When Mr. Pasquier, in 1836, established his orphans outside the city in the old convent of St. Francis of Paula, near Plessis-lez-Tours, Mr. Botrel accompanied him there. Notwithstanding the distance, Mr. Dupont rarely failed to visit these two friends daily. The tomb of the thaumaturgus of Calabria, near which they took their solitary walks and where they entertained themselves with pious conversation, the antique walls built by the Minims, the vast enclosure in which formerly arose so celebrated a church, everything in this memorable place, suggested to the fervent layman projects of works of reparation, and all he saw aroused his zeal to restore the memory of the patrons of the country.

It was on that spot and during a conversation with these two men of God, that Mr. Dupont broached the subject of the reconstruction of St. Martin. When he first fixed his residence at Tours, he was astonished and grieved to find the name of the great bishop, to whom his native isle was dedicated, totally effaced from the hearts of his fellow citizens. He sought, in vain, in the center of the city for the exact spot where rested the remains of the thaumaturgus of Gaul, in order to pray there; no trace marked the sacred place; the very remembrance of it was lost. There was even a fatal mistake existing in this respect. It was erroneously supposed, from judgments based upon plans published at a certain period, that the glorious sepulcher lay under the public street, and as it was considered an impossibility to induce the authorities either to condemn the street or to turn it in another direction, the hope of restoring the tomb to the veneration of the faithful was abandoned.

One day, Mr. Dupont turned his steps towards the supposed location, venerating in his heart the memory of the holy Pontiff. As he had but recently arrived in the city, he interrogated the inhabitants of the neighborhood, and a good old woman, a vender of vegetables, explained to him, in her way, that the tomb of St. Martin was not in the street as was generally said and believed; that the engineer, who had been employed to locate a street over the ruins of the ancient church, intended, it is true, to draw the line so that it would pass above the site of the tomb, but that “during the operation, St. Martin had caused his instrument to deviate to the right,” she said, “in such a manner that the engineer had failed to carry out his design.” Mr. Dupont paid but little attention at the time to the remark of the good woman. He concluded that the true location of the sepulcher, venerated by the whole world for so many centuries, was no longer known.

At least, although ignorant of the exact spot, he would offer the homage of his prayers near it, and from that day he often stopped at the corner of St. Martin and Descartes streets, when passing through the city to satisfy his devotion. Whoever might be his companions, whatever the weather, he never failed to take off his hat, and recite in a low voice that verse of the Psalmist which he applied to the tomb and basilica of St. Martin. “Benigne fac, Domine, in bona voluntate tua Sion, ut aedificentur muri Jerusalem” “Deal favorably, O Lord, in Thy good will with Sion, that the walls of Jerusalem may be built up.” It had not, at that time, occurred to any one at Tours to build up the walls of the antique and celebrated edifice; those who had formerly conceived the idea had abandoned it as chimerical and impracticable. Mr. Dupont, alone, did not doubt that the project would, at some future day, be carried into effect. He made it the object of his unceasing petitions to Almighty God, regarding the rebuilding of the basilica and the restoration of pilgrimages to the shrine, such as they had formerly been, as two things not only possible, but indispensable for the salvation of France and the regeneration of society. Possessed by this thought, he was accustomed to set out, generally alone, but sometimes accompanied by one or two friends, about nightfall, and he made through the silent streets, what he called his “way of the cross,” which consisted in reciting, as they walked along, the Miserere and other prayers, kneeling and praying on the ruins of churches or chapels which had been destroyed or profaned. He numbered fourteen of these; the basilica of St. Martin held the first place in his affections; after this came St. Julien, St. Clement, the Cordeliers, the Minims, the Jacobins, &c. Each of the above was a station where he would stop and offer to God on his knees the most fervent acts of reparation.

The ruined churches and desecrated sanctuaries of Tours were not the only ones which were visited by this fervent Christian in a spirit of reparation. A secret attraction led him to all the shrines consecrated by the piety of our ancestors to our Blessed Lady and the saints. If he felt any preference, it was for the poorest and the most dilapidated.

The devotion of pilgrimages seemed innate in him. It was the principal motive which led him to undertake his distant excursions and frequent journeys. Even when business affairs or the exigences of propriety caused him to go upon a journey, he never failed to take advantage of it to visit, as a pilgrim, the celebrated places and even the least frequented sanctuaries, which were either directly on his route or not far removed from it. From this attraction arose his idea of composing a book unique of its kind.

In 1840, he accompanied to Havre a relative who was about to embark for the colonies. His friend, desiring to make his confession before leaving France, applied to the parish priest, and during the day made him a visit of courtesy in company with Mr. Dupont. This simple circumstance was the commencement of a long and close friendship between the priest of Havre and the pious layman. Whenever business affairs called him to Havre, he received hospitality from his friend, the curate of Notre Dame. In the frequent pious conversations they had together, and which Mr. Dupont rendered so interesting by the lively expression of his faith and by his great zeal to procure the glory of God, they discussed the means of serving the Church and contributing to the good of souls.

Mr. Dupont, who, among all the practices of devotion, esteemed the most highly those which did homage to the Blessed Virgin, thought immediately of the pilgrimages which were formerly so common, and which were still made in various places. Thence he conceived the idea of a book, in which different pilgrimages should be proposed to the piety of the faithful under the form of “Visits to Mary for Every Day in the Year.”

The environs of Havre offered a specimen of those antique sanctuaries towards which his soul was so strongly attracted: it was the little chapel of Our Lady of Gournai, at that time totally neglected. Situated in a fertile and charming valley, it had been, before the revolution, a place of pilgrimage for all the parishes of the country in its vicinity. Mr. Dupont went thither with his friend, the priest, and through devotion carried away with him, as a memento, some of the water from a fountain which flowed beside the chapel.

In like manner, he made a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Grace, another renowned sanctuary of Normandy, on the road from Havre to Harfleur. “He prayed there,” says his companion, “with his usual fervor, and received from the chaplain, as a souvenir of the holy spot, a small fragment which had been broken from the statue.”

These two pilgrimages accomplished with such dispositions in company with a pious and learned priest, the conversations which ensued, the supernatural impression made upon him personally, all confirmed Mr. Dupont in the project he had conceived. His idea was to describe, and visit in imagination as many shrines as there are days in the year. France alone, without speaking of other Catholic countries, presented a sufficient number of such places consecrated to the honor of Mary; but it was necessary for him to know them well. To obtain the requisite information, he must open communication with some learned ecclesiastic, or with a competent and obliging layman of each diocese. This was no easy task; but whilst the author foresaw all the difficulties, he did not lose courage. Being on terms of friendship with persons who resided near these shrines, and who could enter into his views, he did not hesitate to make use of them to obtain the notes he needed for his work. He undertook several journeys for that purpose, collected documents, and made inquiries in every direction; he wrote to Germany and even to America, neglecting no means of arriving at the truth.

He was thus enabled to furnish the reader with a lecture and a visit, not for every day in the year as he desired, but for every other day and even for every day during the month of May. Each pilgrimage is the subject of a “historical notice,” which, giving a description of the place, enables the reader to visit it in imagination. The greater part of the historical notices were accompanied by an engraving representing the sanctuary, which was the object of the pilgrimage. The work appeared in 1842, with the approbation of Monseigneur de Montblanc, Archbishop of Tours.

Notwithstanding some imperfection in the arrangement of the book, it proved very valuable by contributing to render the ancient devotion of pilgrimages more practical and popular, and the servant of Mary had the happiness of seeing his simple publication aid the magnificent development which this devotion has acquired in our days. The work was intended by the author to be a kind of manual for the use of pilgrims. He commences it by summing up, under the form of preliminary counsels, the dispositions with which pilgrimages should be made, if we desire them to be spiritually profitable.

For him a pilgrimage was a solemn act of religion. As far as possible, he performed it on foot and fasting; he never omitted receiving Holy Communion. He was alone the first time he made the pilgrimage to Candes, the place rendered memorable by the death of St. Martin. The traveler at that time did not meet the same facilities and the rapid transportation we now enjoy. Mr. Dupont arrived at Candes only at eleven o’clock, and the curate of the parish had finished his Mass some time previous. However, addressing the venerable pastor, who was in the church, Mr. Dupont asked the favor of communicating, saying that he had assisted at the Holy Sacrifice early in the morning. The curate of Candes, to whom he was a perfect stranger, unaccustomed to see men of rank ask for communion under similar circumstances, distrusted him and dryly refused. The pilgrim, without a word, resigned himself to the loss of communion and quietly knelt upon the bare ground, interiorly rejoiced at being despised. God soon recompensed him. The good curate, perceiving that he was dealing with a simple, fervent Christian, offered to render the service he had just refused.

He had the habit of speaking indirectly of himself as “the pilgrim.” He used the name familiarly, and it was commonly applied to him by his friends. He answered as readily to the appellation as to his own name. The “dear pilgrim” took pleasure in making a personal application of the expressions so frequent in the Scriptures, in which man is called a “traveler,” a “stranger” here below. A stranger to all except God and the things of God, passing through the world without being attached to anything on earth, he was truly “the pilgrim.” None had more perfectly the spirit; none put it more seriously into practice; he went from one sanctuary to another, praying, meditating, or conversing piously with the friends who were induced, by his example or solicitation, to accompany him. His enthusiasm won a cheerful acceptance of these invitations. He was, on a pilgrimage as elsewhere, say those who knew him, the most amiable and obliging of travelling companions. Without any effort to put himself forward, and without affectation, he was attentive even to the personal comforts of each individual, thoughtful and ingenious in providing for every want, profiting by his great experience in these kinds of excursions for the benefit of the party, delicate in his attentions and courteous to all, enlivening the conversation and relieving the tedium of a long journey by interesting and sprightly anecdotes; in a word, as a perfect gentleman, putting every one at his ease. The friendships he contracted on these occasions were unalterable and lasted as long as life.

There were in Touraine shrines forgotten and abandoned. Mr. Dupont preferred to visit such as these, and strove to restore them to the veneration of the faithful. He never failed to leave an abundant alms at every shrine. He foresaw, twenty years in advance, the immense good that pilgrimages were destined to do in France, and he proposed them as a most efficacious means of arousing the faith of the people; willingly would he have traversed France from shrine to shrine, openly bearing the pilgrim’s traditional staff.